Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  Mount Lewis Boys High School was over the other side of the railway line from the girls school. Which made the station the perfect place to meet the boys. And for them to meet us. It was also why so many mothers picked up their daughters by car and drove them home.

  ‘Reckon Tom’ll be there?’ asked Bassima as we crossed the road.

  ‘Dunno,’ I said. She’d been looking out for him every day since the time he caught her umbrella before it blew onto the railway tracks. Rescued it. Her eyelashes were fluttering overtime.

  We were almost on the platform when Bassima stopped suddenly. ‘Look, there he is! Near the drinks machine.’

  It was hard to miss him. He was tall and loose-limbed, and one of the few fair-haired guys on the platform. I started to wave at him, but she jabbed me in the ribs.

  ‘Don’t look! Pretend we haven’t seen.’

  ‘Ow!’ I said. ‘Make up your mind.’

  As we shuffled along the platform, Bassima focused intently on the weeds growing between the railway sleepers.

  Tom stepped out in front of us. ‘Hey, Bassima. Hey, Az.’

  Bassima took a couple of steps back, faking surprise.

  ‘Hey, Tom, didn’t see you! How’s things?’

  Tom dropped his bag on a bench and tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. ‘All right,’ he said, giving her a dazzling, slightly lopsided smile.

  While Bassima paused, trying to think of something smart to say, Vanessa and her friends walked past. She called out to us, ‘Hey there, geeks rock!’

  Her friends laughed as she waved to us. I waved back, but Bassima didn’t.

  ‘They mean you?’ said Tom, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Bassima. ‘How’s about if you were talking to two of the smartest girls in the universe?’

  Tom laughed. ‘Well, if they were talking to me, I don’t reckon they would be.’

  Bassima blushed, the colour bright against her pale blue scarf.

  I felt obliged to help her out. ‘Yeah, well, what if they were also, um, friendly?’ I asked. It was pretty lame.

  Tom coughed. ‘Yeah, right.’

  A lanky boy with neat dark hair walked along the very edge of the platform, his school backpack slung over one shoulder and a hockey stick in his hand.

  ‘Hey, Pratik,’ said Tom. ‘Over here!’

  The boy stopped and looked across, not sure if he’d heard right. Tom waved him over.

  ‘Here. Over here. These girls are geeks like you. Come say hello.’

  Pratik turned and walked towards us. He nodded to both Bassima and me. ‘Hi. I’m Pratik.’ Then he looked over our heads and up at the timetable display board.

  ‘This is Bassima and Azra,’ said Tom. ‘Pratik just got a distinction in that Smart Science thing, didn’t you?’

  Pratik looked down at his trainers. He had long black socks pulled up over well-muscled calves. It looked like he ran a lot. ‘Yeah,’ he said, tapping the edge of his hockey stick on the platform.

  ‘Really?’ said Bassima, her face a calmer colour. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Tom, looking surprised. ‘I got a credit.’

  Bassima crossed her arms. ‘Well, Az beat you both, she got a high distinction.’

  Pratik gave a low whistle and looked right at me, his dark eyes wide.

  My neck felt hot and I concentrated hard on the railway tracks. ‘Thanks,’ I said, in a tiny voice.

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘Well, should we celebrate? Ah, like, with snow cones at the mall?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry, I can’t. Have to pick up my sister.’

  Bassima groaned. ‘Again! Aren’t you sick of doing that?’

  I was. But there was nothing I could do about it. Mama didn’t finish work till after five.

  ‘Yeah. Kinda sucks.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Tom. ‘Pratik? How ’bout you?’

  Pratik scrunched up his face. ‘Hockey training. Again. And don’t we have that physics assignment due? Besides, snow cones in winter freeze my teeth off!’ He grinned, with a flash of bright white teeth, the ones that he didn’t want to freeze.

  The track hummed with a train. Mine.

  The wind lifted Bassima’s hijab and blew hair across Tom’s eyes.

  He brushed his fringe off his face. ‘Whatever.’

  I knew there was no way Bassima would be allowed to go to the mall just with Tom; she would be in massive trouble if she got found out.

  ‘See ya,’ I said, waving as I stepped into the carriage.

  ‘Hey,’ said Pratik, holding up his hockey stick to get my attention. ‘Are they water molecules on your hand?’

  I looked down to double-check, as the doors started to close. ‘Yeah, they are!’ But he probably couldn’t hear me.

  Funny he should notice that. And how come I never noticed him before?

  III

  Diffusion

  the movement of particles from an area with higher concentration into an area with lower concentration

  Soraya was at the school gate when I arrived. She looked like a doll next to the bigger kids, with her big green eyes and neat black plaits.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been waiting ages!’

  Plenty of other children were still waiting to be picked up; some curled over iPods, others playing chasings behind the fence. A teacher leaned against the school entrance, talking on her mobile.

  ‘I’m here now, let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘My bag’s heavy,’ whined Soraya. ‘My legs are tired.’

  Seriously? I so wished she hadn’t started school this year, it was way easier when she was with Mama all day.

  ‘Okay then—I’ll carry your bag if you carry mine?’

  ‘No way!’ she said. ‘You have too many homeworks.’

  She was right. I did. And picking her up every afternoon made it harder to finish them.

  ‘Your bag would be lighter if you ate all your lunch.’

  She frowned. ‘There’s no time.’

  I opened up her bag and took out the pink Dora the Explorer lunchbox.

  ‘Why can’t we drive home?’ she asked. ‘Everyone else does.’

  Which wasn’t totally true, but almost. I could’ve said to her that we couldn’t drive home because Rashid had lost his licence already. I could tell her that Baba would probably never be able to drive her home, not since Uncle Zarar suggested bribing the instructor when he took his test.

  Or I could say that maybe I’d pick her up one day, if Rashid would let me drive his car. Or Uncle would teach me. He’d taught Auntie Shakeela, and his boys. But I knew it’d take years, even if he would.

  ‘Because we can’t,’ I said. ‘Look, here’s an apple and some water. Eat them, and you won’t have to carry so much.’

  She bit her apple and sang we all live in a yellow submarine as we turned the corner into our street. A torn brown sofa sagged onto the edge of the road.

  ‘The chair’s still there!’ said Soraya, ‘and it smells even badder.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. As we passed the sofa, there was a low growl.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Soraya. It growled again, louder, as we walked close to the peeling metal gates of the old house next to our flat.

  ‘That,’ I said, pointing to a large dog’s nose flaring under the gate.

  Soraya pressed into me. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it can’t get you.’ I held her hand more tightly, and hurried past.

  Up the road, Rashid’s battered Hyundai rested against the kerb, leaves bunched up behind the wheels. His red P plates were fading to pink since his licence was suspended. Ninety k’s in a sixty zone, twice past the same speed camera. The fine was almost as much as his car cost, and he was still paying off the loan for that from Uncle. On top of borrowing to pay for the fine.

  Before we even opened the door, I could hear the television. Motor racing. Inside, Rashid lay on the divan, dropping pistachio shells onto the carpet
.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he called out. ‘Aren’t you late?’

  ‘No,’ I said, kicking my shoes under the rack. ‘I had to pick up Soraya. How come you’re home?’

  He scowled. ‘They changed my shifts to earlies. Six o’clock for the next month!’

  Too bad for him. He was big on sleeping in.

  ‘Oh well,’ I said. ‘You can just stay up after dawn prayers.’ I knew he only got up that early during Ramadan.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, turning back to the cars skidding around the track. ‘What’s to eat?’ he asked, not looking at me. ‘I’m starving.’

  I didn’t answer. I went to my room and shut the door. No point telling him about my science award. He wouldn’t care. I’d wait for Mama and Baba. They’d be pleased. It wasn’t like Rashid ever brought home awards from school.

  ‘Azra!’ called Rashid through my closed door. ‘You cooking or what?’

  Just minutes after I served up some defrosted dhal and chapatis, Mama came in carrying two shopping bags. By the way she swung them, I could tell they were heavy.

  ‘Baba not back yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Nah, not yet,’ said Rashid. Baba had been away for almost two weeks, checking a shipment in Pakistan. Uncle sent him over every few months, which made more work at the shop for Mama and Auntie.

  ‘What’s that you’re eating? You’ll want more than that,’ she said. She dumped the bags onto the bench and rummaged around for cucumbers. ‘These were cheap, only a little soft at the end,’ she said, pulling out a knife.

  Just then, Baba burst through the door.

  ‘Salaam!’

  ‘Baba!’ Soraya scrambled to her feet and ran to him.

  He pushed his bag out of the way and picked her up.

  ‘Hello, little sparrow. I can’t believe you’ve grown so much in two weeks! Next time I come back, you’ll be so big I won’t be able to lift you.’ His eyes creased in a smile behind his glasses.

  Soraya giggled. ‘I’ll be big as Azra. Big as Mama. Bigger than a giraffe.’

  ‘Really?’ he said, tapping his finger on the end of her nose. ‘I had better go to the zoo soon and start looking for a Mr Giraffe for you. And a tall house.’

  ‘Nooooo,’ said Soraya, wriggling out of his arms.

  Baba slipped off his shoes and hugged me, and then Mama. On his way to the hallway, he squeezed Rashid’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ll wash, and be back to eat with you in a minute,’ he called from the bedroom he shared with Mama.

  I breathed out. It was good to have him home again. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the science prize. I knew he’d be pleased.

  Mama perched a plate on her knees, sitting on the floor near Rashid. He crammed in his food, chewing with his mouth open. He was always in a hurry.

  ‘Rashid, don’t gobble,’ said Mama, ‘you’ll get stomach ache.’

  He shook his head, spraying flakes of chapati.

  ‘Mama,’ said Soraya in a whiny voice, ‘I need to colour in a rainforest for tomorrow, and I need lots and lots of coloured pencils!’

  ‘Homework already?’ said Mama. ‘Don’t you do enough at school?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Soraya. ‘But we don’t have enough pencils at school anyway. And I have to do it tonight!’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Mama. ‘I’ve already done a million things today. Azra, can you help?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. It was always me who had to help. ‘What colours do you need?’

  Soraya rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. ‘It’s a rainforest, dummy! I need green, lots of green. A million greens!’

  ‘Yeah, dummy,’ said Rashid, ‘what’s so hard about that?’

  I tried to swallow some chapati but it lodged in my throat. I was so not a dummy. I’d just won a science prize. Who was he to say that?

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ I said, ‘you’re no great brain yourself.’

  ‘Oooh, touchy,’ said Rashid. He knew he’d got to me.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, ‘you’re such a jerk.’

  Baba came down the hall. ‘What’s this? Everything all right?’

  Rashid got in first. ‘Azra called me a jerk. She’s in a foul mood.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Baba. ‘It’s not what I like to hear when I come home from being away. What’s going on, Azra?’

  My eyes stung. This was all wrong. Not like how I’d imagined telling Baba about the award.

  ‘They both called me a dummy,’ I mumbled. ‘And I’m not.’ It sounded pathetic. Why did I let them get to me?

  ‘Seriously, Azra, is that such a big deal?’

  He was right. It wasn’t. But I couldn’t help it. At school I was praised. At home I did chores and got teased. The difference felt cruel.

  ‘I know. I know. But I’m not a dummy. I won a prize today at school.’

  ‘Not again,’ said Rashid, rolling his eyes. I didn’t want to care what he thought, but I could feel the burn of tears inside my nose.

  ‘Rashid!’ said Baba. ‘Don’t be unpleasant.’

  He turned to me. ‘Azra, you’re being oversensitive. What’s the award?’

  I sniffed, trying to hold back the crying that wanted to come.

  ‘It’s for science,’ I said.

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said. ‘What sort of award?’

  ‘For the Smart Science test. A national competition. I won a high distinction, and Bassima got a distinction. The principal gave us certificates in front of the whole school.’

  Rashid made a choking noise.

  ‘Rashid!’ said Baba. ‘Just because you were lazy at school.’

  ‘What?’ Rashid said, all innocent. ‘The chapati’s dry, that’s all.’

  Mama gave him a stern look.

  ‘That’s very good, Azra,’ said Baba. ‘You’ve always been an excellent student. Well done.’

  ‘Now can I have my pencils?’ said Soraya, with a big sigh. Like I had stolen all the attention from her.

  Well done? Was that it? Usually he’d give me a hug, and a kiss on the head, and make a joke about being able to retire early thanks to his clever daughter, but not tonight. Instead he turned to Mama and changed the subject.

  ‘Sorry I was delayed those extra days. Fatima had her hands full with Grandma. She had a funny turn and spent a night in hospital.’

  ‘Is she all right now?’ asked Mama. ‘Back home?’

  ‘Yes, she is now,’ said Baba. ‘Fatima’s staying with her, so I was over at her place too, working through the details.’

  I could tell this conversation didn’t include me. And that any discussion of my science award was over. And that no one at home was going to ask to see the certificate that I had been given in front of the whole school. The biggest award I’d ever got.

  I put my plate on the floor, and went into the bedroom I shared with Soraya. I pulled out the drawer of my desk, and ran my fingers through a shoebox of half-used coloured pencils. My initials, AA, were scratched into the painted skins.

  ‘Azra!’ called Soraya. ‘Need more green!’

  Last time I used these was to colour in a periodic table, with two of the greens. Lime green for the metalloids, forest green for the lanthanides. Neatly, to the very edge of the squares. As if it mattered. A teardrop slipped down my cheek, trickling salt into the corner of my mouth.

  ‘Azra!’

  I could hear Soraya clanking her plate in the sink.

  ‘Hurry up!’

  I wiped my hand across my face. I pulled out khaki, olive, forest, lime and evergreen.

  ‘Azra!’ Soraya stood in the doorway, waving her black- and-white rainforest at me.

  ‘Here they are,’ I said, holding the pencils just out of her reach. ‘But you’re not getting them without asking nicely.’

  ‘Azra! Please?’ she said. ‘I need them.’

  ‘Nuh. More nice than that.’

  She stamped her foot. ‘Azzzz! Azzzz! Give me!’

  ‘Nicer.’

  �
�Please!’

  I lowered the pencils so she had to stretch to snatch them out of my hand. I knew they needed sharpening. But I didn’t care. She could mess up her rainforest if she wasn’t going to be grateful.

  I blew my nose, and closed the desk drawer.

  ‘Azra!’ called Mama from the kitchen. ‘Don’t just disappear.’

  ‘What now? I’ve got a maths assignment for tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ve always got homework,’ she replied. ‘I need your help to clean up the kitchen.’

  I dabbed my face with a tissue. There was always housework too.

  In the living room, Baba wiped his bowl with a chapati. He looked up. He could tell I’d been crying.

  ‘Come here, Azra; come sit down.’

  I sat cross-legged on the floor next to him. He patted my knee.

  ‘You’ve done well, Azra,’ he said. ‘Very well. It’s excellent to be a clever young woman, it makes good opportunities for you.’

  That was more like it. ‘Yes, Baba.’ I sniffed. ‘You mean like university?’

  He laughed and tilted his head back. ‘I wasn’t thinking of that! More about other things. But, yes, it’s a possibility. One step at a time.’

  ‘Like the cousins,’ I said. ‘Omar and Javid are doing okay at uni.’

  Baba put his plate onto the floor. ‘Yes indeed. Like the cousins.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘A university is a big place, Azra. All sorts of people there.’

  I could tell he meant boys. Strange boys who couldn’t be trusted. ‘Lots of Muslim girls go to university,’ I said. ‘It’s not like Pakistan.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ he said. ‘I know. But it’s expensive. All the books and laptops and everything. We don’t have money, like Uncle. Maybe later. After other matters are settled.’

  What other matters? Paying back Uncle? Or other things I didn’t know about?

  ‘But it’s still a possibility, right?’

  ‘Of course, chicken. Of course. Who can say?’ He crinkled his eyes and held up his palms. Like it was something out of his control.

  At the kitchen door, Mama wiped her hands on her apron and called out to me, ‘Nearly done now, Azra? Can you bring in those plates, please? And wash up while I get Soraya’s bath?’