Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  ‘Okay, Mama, just one minute.’ I wanted to hear if Baba had anything more to say.

  As she went past, she leaned over and kissed me on the head. ‘Thanks, meri jaan. You’re a clever girl. We all know that.’

  Baba nodded. ‘Yes, we do.’ And then he said to Mama as she went up the hall, ‘Nadira, where’d you put the mail? I should check if there’s anything important.’

  I stood up and went to the kitchen, while Baba read through the letters that mattered more to him than looking at my science award.

  IV

  Buffer solution

  a solution that resists a change in pH

  The next day, Bassima and I walked down to the science block, in through the swinging double doors, and dumped our bags on the black-and-white-chequered floor of the corridor.

  ‘My parents were stoked about the science award,’ said Bassima, pulling out her folder. I could see she hadn’t cut her nails short yet. ‘Bet your dad was pleased. Hey, is he home yet?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘just last night.’ I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t really understand why he’d reacted so half-heartedly.

  Bassima must have sensed something. ‘Everything okay?’ ‘Yeah, I think so,’ I said. ‘But I think he was distracted, coming back from the airport and everything. And my grandmother’s been sick.’ To be honest, I wasn’t convincing myself, but I wasn’t sure what to think. At least we had a chem prac to get on with.

  Mrs Kaminski had already opened up the lab, like she did when there was a lot of setting up. Usually these were my favourite days, because it meant we’d be trying something new, and that suddenly we would understand something from the textbook about the volume of gases at different temperatures, or why something exploded in the way it did. Today was extra special, because she’d opened up the side room that had the fume hood in it. We’d never been allowed to use it before.

  For this chem prac I paired up with Bassima, as I always did, but as soon as Mrs Kaminski demonstrated the procedure for our first experiment using the fume hood, I had second thoughts.

  ‘First up, place a flask of nitric oxide and a syringe of oxygen on the bench inside the hood. Make sure they’re in easy reach.’ Mrs Kaminski slid her hands into the built-in gloves of the fume cabinet. ‘Then push down the screen to keep in the gases. Of course, you need your safety goggles.

  ‘Light the Bunsen burner inside the hood, like so,’ she explained. ‘Heat up the copper coil around a glass rod, and hold it over the flame. When it glows, plunge it into the gas mixture. It’s a bit fiddly, but you should be able to manage. Any questions?’

  Right then I should have asked the most important question—can I change partners? I had a bad feeling about the combination of the fume-hood gloves and Bassima’s long fingernails. But I couldn’t do that. She was my best friend.

  When it was our turn, Bassima slipped her hands into the gloves and went for the glass rod. ‘These gloves are impossible!’ she said. ‘Can’t get a grip.’

  She flailed her hands around the fume hood, like she was in a demented puppet show. But, in one lucky swipe, she somehow picked up the rod.

  ‘He-hey! Got it!’ She held it up to show me, and smiled defiantly. Then dropped it. It shattered on the benchtop inside the hood. ‘Damn! They don’t make them strong enough.’

  Mr Ridge must have heard the smash, and came in. With his wizard’s beard and wild eyebrows, he always looked annoyed.

  ‘Not you again,’ he grumbled at Bassima. ‘You’re a regular nuisance.’

  Bassima wriggled her fingers out of the gloves. ‘Not my fault the equipment is hopeless,’ she said.

  He raised his eyebrows, like he was preparing to cast a spell. I could tell it wouldn’t be good. And there’d be lots of sparks and exchanged electrons.

  ‘Clear out,’ he said. ‘I need to clean up for the others. That’s your turn over.’

  Bassima tossed her head as she walked back to the main lab, the edge of her scarf flicking over her shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Ridge,’ I said, even though it wasn’t my fault. I was sorry. Sorry that I hadn’t had my turn. And sorry that I’d teamed up with Bassima. And her nails.

  As I followed Bassima back into the lab, I heard Mrs Kaminski speaking to her.

  ‘Bassima, that’s your last chance,’ she said. ‘If you don’t trim those nails, you can change subjects. You’re a hazard to the others, and you’re wasting valuable time. And equipment.’

  Bassima pouted and crossed her arms.

  ‘Vanessa and Layla, go in now. Check with Mr Ridge first.’

  She turned to me. ‘Azra, you and Bassima can observe them do the experiment; there won’t be another chance for you two. We’re out of time.’

  I nodded, though I wanted to yell at Bassima, Cut your stupid fingernails!

  At the end of the prac, Mrs Kaminski asked Bassima, Vanessa and me to stay behind. My throat tightened. I hoped it wasn’t going to be another lecture about the fume hood.

  Mrs Kaminski wiped the Ostwald process off the board and picked up a red clipboard.

  ‘Girls, come in close,’ she said, waving us to her desk. Bassima and I hung back. ‘You’re not in trouble. But, Bassima, you will be if you don’t do what I’ve asked by next lesson. Okay?’

  Bassima nodded. ‘Yes, miss.’

  We shuffled forward.

  ‘Here,’ said Mrs Kaminski, handing each of us a page. Vanessa read it aloud.

  ‘NSW State Chemistry Competition—now seeking entries. First-round heats Chatswood, Hurstville, Kingsford, Parramatta: June 17.’

  We all looked to Mrs Kaminski.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Bassima. ‘What are we supposed to do?’

  Mrs Kaminski cleared her throat. ‘It’s a one-day chemistry test for students in Year Eleven. Teams enter from schools all over the state. You get three science problems to solve—one in a lab, another outside, and then a theoretical task.’

  She looked at each of us in turn, a big smile widening her face and crinkling the skin around her blue eyes.

  ‘What do you reckon? Doesn’t it sound great! And we can combine forces with a partner school, so we’ll make one team together with Mount Lewis Boys.’

  Bassima’s eyes widened. ‘The boys school?’

  Mrs Kaminski nodded, her wiry hair bobbing up and down.

  ‘You might already know the students. Let’s see.’

  She flipped through the pages in her folder. ‘Ah yes, here they are. Pratik Singh. Bradley Lim. And Tom Webber.’

  Bassima blushed. I swallowed. Vanessa chirped up, ‘Oh, I know Bradley, he’s my friend’s cousin.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mrs Kaminski. She paused as if trying to remember something. A train rattled behind the school. ‘The heats are on in three weeks—Sunday, June seventeenth. And we’ll have a practice run the week before, so you can all get to know each other beforehand.’

  ‘What day is the practice, miss?’ asked Vanessa. ‘I’ve got tutoring Tuesdays, and I’m rostered at Kmart Thursdays, but I can swap.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll let you know. Bassima, okay for you?’

  Bassima nodded. ‘Yes, miss. Sounds good.’ I was pretty sure B meant being in the team with Tom, not the actual chemistry comp. But whatever.

  ‘Azra, okay?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I’ll need to ask my parents.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘I nearly forgot. Here’s the permission notes. The school will cover the entry fee. Bring this back by Friday?’

  After we bundled up our chemistry books and shuffled out to the corridor, Mrs Kaminski locked the door behind us, and went into the staffroom.

  Bassima tugged at my sleeve to hold me back.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, ‘that’s our Tom. On the team!’

  And our Pratik, I thought. Not that Bassima had noticed him at all. But I wasn’t going to say anything about him to her. She’d make a thing of it, for sure.

  ‘Oh my God, Tom just
friended me yesterday,’ she said, ‘after we went to the mall. Do you think he knows about us being on the team already? I feel like such an idiot.’

  ‘You went to the mall? With Tom? Just you and him?’

  B looked away. ‘I meant to tell you. It wasn’t anything. After that science award. You know. When you had to go pick up Soraya.’

  ‘Oh then,’ I said. ‘Like, yesterday? It was so not anything, you didn’t even tell your best friend you went to the mall by yourself with a boy? B! What were you thinking? Anyone could have seen you and told your mum. And don’t you think it’s wrong?’

  ‘Sheesh. Don’t be so uptight. What are you, the parent police? Nothing happened. We just got snow cones and hung out. Millions of teenagers do that every day.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But if my parents saw me doing that, I’d be grounded.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’ve only been in Australia for five minutes.’

  ‘And your parents would think it’s okay if they saw you and Tom alone together?’

  Bassima twisted her mouth around in a funny way.

  ‘That’s not an answer, B,’ I said. ‘Besides, I’ve got an older brother, and I know boys can be jerks.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Az, don’t stress out. He makes me laugh. That’s all there is to tell,’ she said. ‘But now I don’t know what to wear for the comp. Or what eyeliner. And, even worse, I can’t have awesome fingernails!’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, thinking she really was an idiot, if that’s what she was worried about. ‘But, B, just be careful. He might think you mean something. Might want more than you think.’

  Bassima rolled her eyes. ‘With me in a hijab?’

  ‘Still,’ I said, ‘he’s Anglo. He might not get it.’

  ‘Az! You don’t know how it goes, you haven’t even got an older sister! I’m not a baby.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said. Perhaps she was right, what did I know? But maybe she didn’t get it either. How could she be so sure about what Tom was thinking?

  As Soraya and I walked home towards the flat, I could see the house across the road had been half-pulled down. There was a big padlock on some new wire fencing, and a stack of bricks blocked the footpath.

  Ahead of us, the cushions of the brown sofa lay strewn like spongy stepping stones. Soraya jumped onto the first one and toppled off sideways.

  ‘Ow!’ she cried, rubbing her leg. ‘Ow!’

  From behind the fence, the big dog barked. Soraya ran to my side, her face ready to cry.

  ‘Shhh,’ I said. ‘Nearly home.’ I offered my hand.

  ‘Carry me?’ she said, her bottom lip stuck out.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘It’s not far now. I’ve got too many schoolbooks to carry you. Besides, you’re a big girl now, aren’t you?’

  She pulled on my arm the rest of the way, and the whole time up the stairs, but at least she didn’t cry. Through the door, I could hear the television up loud.

  ‘Hey, Rashid,’ called Soraya as she pushed off her shoes.

  Rashid lounged on the floor, his laptop hooked up to the TV for mixed martial arts. He waved his hand, but didn’t turn around.

  ‘This is so awesome,’ he said. ‘Top ten MMA knockouts. Check this out! Power bombs and spinning heel kicks.’

  Soraya sat on the floor by him, next to the heater. I’d been looking forward to having some time out by myself. But my bedroom was cold from being closed up all day, and in there with the door open, all I could hear was full-strength MMA.

  ‘Rashid! Turn it down, will you?’

  He groaned. ‘Ouch, did you see that? A reverse elbow. He didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘Rashid!’ I stuck my head into the hallway again. ‘Rash! Turn it down alright?’

  ‘If you don’t like it, go out,’ he grumbled. ‘I can’t hear over your shouting.’ He turned up the volume some more.

  I slammed my door and sat on the bed. In the gust, a chain of bells and painted elephants slapped against the wall. Outside the window, birds flew through the grey sky. Maybe they called to each other, but I couldn’t hear anything over the television, even with the door shut.

  Rashid and I used to get on better, but not so much in the last couple of years. Sometimes, everything I did annoyed him. Occasionally, he was friendly. Like, he could switch from hot to cold in a day. Sweet to sour. It didn’t seem to have much to do with what I did, or how I was with him.

  I could understand he was extra moody when he hated being at school, and I knew he was down after he dropped out. Especially when it took ages for him to get the supermarket job. But now that he was hanging out with Cameron from his work, and smoking weed, and wanting stuff he couldn’t afford—while still owing Uncle a bunch of money for his car and the fine—he was way more often grumpy than nice.

  I tipped out my backpack, and took my chemistry textbook into bed. Propped up with pillows, I started the questions at the end of chapter four, tucking the unsigned permission note at the answers page.

  I’d nearly figured out the answer to the question on Dalton’s five postulates of the atom when Soraya opened the door and came in.

  ‘Azzie, it’s cold in here!’ she said.

  ‘Nice in bed, though. Shut the door, hey?’

  The TV was still super loud. She closed the door.

  ‘Can I get in too? Please?’

  Really? Was I never going to get my homework done in peace?

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but don’t wriggle.’

  ‘Yay!’ She jumped in next to me and I shuffled over to a cold patch of sheet. She lay still for almost a minute, looking up at the ceiling. I propped a pillow under her head.

  ‘Comfy?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. Now, you need to be very quiet, okay?’

  She lay still for two minutes, tops.

  ‘Azzie?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘What you doing?’

  ‘Chem homework.’

  ‘Is it fun?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Can I have a turn?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She was quiet for maybe one more minute.

  ‘Azzie?’

  ‘Hmmm. What?’

  ‘I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat?’

  I groaned. ‘In a minute.’

  ‘How long is that?’

  ‘Just count to sixty, okay?’

  She started counting on her fingers in a loud whisper. There was no way I could finish question three now. I pulled out the permission note from the answers page and looked at it again.

  Parramatta. Sunday. June 17.

  Oh no! Not then.

  After dinner, the flat was quiet. Rashid’s early shifts meant he went to bed soon after Soraya did. Baba sat reading the Urdu newspaper, cross-legged on a cushion, while Mama hemmed a pale orange dupatta.

  ‘Come here, Azra,’ she said, patting a space next to her. ‘Let me show you how to topstitch the edge.’

  I was trying to finish a question about lithium isotopes.

  ‘Not now, Mama, this is due tomorrow.’ Lately, she was extra keen to teach me sewing and cooking. And offer random cleaning and laundry tips, like I might genuinely be interested. Even though I’m sure I knew more than she did about the chemistry of washing powder. Why this burst of extra instruction now? Couldn’t it wait until the holidays?

  ‘You won’t ever know how, unless I show you sometime.’ She put down the sewing and stretched her arms up to the ceiling. Then she went up the hall to the bathroom.

  Good. Here was my chance. Baba was always more encouraging about my schoolwork.

  ‘Excuse me, Baba,’ I said, hoping he was in a good mood.

  ‘Yes, meri jaan?’ he said, looking over the newspaper, his glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. ‘What’s up?’

  He seemed relaxed. It could be okay. I took a deep breath.

  ‘You know how I got that science award?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said, still half-reading.
r />   ‘Well, our teacher has entered us into another competition, and I’m on the team.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said, lifting his paper up again.

  ‘I need you to sign a permission note,’ I said, a little too quickly. My stomach fluttered.

  His eyebrows pinched together as he folded up the paper. ‘Permission—why? Did you need it last time?’

  ‘Can’t remember,’ I lied, handing him the note. ‘Here’s a pen.’

  His eyes narrowed as he read, studying it for a long time. My heart raced as I sent urgent telepathic messages—Sign it! Quick! Now!

  He cleared his throat. ‘So, why is permission required exactly? Won’t your teacher be supervising?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. Hurry up. Hurry UP.

  ‘But it won’t be at your school. It says Parramatta here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. We have to go to a school with enough labs.’

  ‘Christian Brothers. Sounds like a boys school.’

  I shrugged. ‘I guess. But I’m in a girls school team.’ Almost true.

  The toilet flushed. Any minute, Mama would be back. Baba rubbed his chin as he looked at the note.

  ‘Well, Azra, this looks quite interesting. I can’t see a difficulty,’ he said, as Mama returned.

  ‘What difficulty?’ she asked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  My throat tightened. He’s already said okay, I wanted to shout at her. But I couldn’t.

  ‘Azra wants to go in a chemistry competition—here.’

  He passed the note over, though we all knew she couldn’t read English very well.

  ‘I just need to sign it here at the bottom?’ he asked me, waving the pen like he was writing on air.

  Mama interrupted. ‘This says the seventeenth of June, doesn’t it?’

  Snap! She’d worked it out. Then so did Baba.

  ‘Of course, it’s Isra and Mi’raj,’ he said. ‘Oh, that’s no good. That won’t work. I’m sorry, sweetheart, we can’t change plans for that day. Uncle and Auntie are expecting all of us.’

  ‘But,’ I protested, ‘I can still come to the mosque later. I don’t have to be at the family picnic. I’ve been to heaps already.’