Mama frowned and shook her head. ‘Of course you have to come. Everyone is. You know it’s the anniversary of our coming to Australia. Twelve years! And it’s a holy day. We’re closing the shop! What will everyone say if you’re not there? Besides, I need your help with the food.’
‘Sorry, Azra,’ said Baba. ‘I didn’t realise. Another time.’
‘Please, Baba,’ I pleaded. ‘We see Uncle and the cousins all the time. And I really want to go. Please, Baba . . .’ I sat by his feet and looked up, imploring.
‘Your father said no, Azra,’ said Mama. ‘We wouldn’t even be here in Australia without Uncle’s help. Or have work at his shop. You know he looks after everything. It’s only polite. It’s not all about you.’ She looked at Baba. ‘Don’t encourage her, it only leads to disappointment.’
‘It’s important to me, Mama!’ I said, my voice rising. ‘Science is what I’m good at. I really like chemistry.’
She shook her head. ‘Shhhh. Don’t go on. You’ll wake Soraya.’
‘Please, Mama—Bassima’s allowed. They’ll still go to the mosque. Why can’t I go with them?’
She shook her head. ‘No more talk. I’m sure there’ll be another time,’ she said, stepping over to kiss me firmly on the head. ‘Bedtime. Allah Hafiz.’
‘Night, Azra,’ said Baba, taking my hands in his. ‘It’s too complicated, as your mother said. Allah Hafiz.’
My legs were stiff as I stood up, the crumpled note in my hand.
It was so unfair, I was never allowed to do anything. And this wasn’t the end of it, I’d have to face everyone at school tomorrow. And tell them I was letting them down.
V
Activation energy
the minimum amount of energy that is required to start a reaction
Next morning, I caught up with Bassima before she reached the quadrangle. ‘Hey, B!’
She turned, holding up her hands. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘fully tragic!’
Her fingernails were trimmed short and stripped of polish.
‘Naked and ugly. I feel sad every time I see them. Like they’re alien hands that belong to someone else. Isn’t that a medical condition?’
‘Ouch, B. They look almost painful. For you, anyway.’
‘It is,’ she said. ‘But what’s with you? You don’t look too cheerful either.’
I told her about what my parents had said last night.
‘What do you mean, you can’t go?’ she asked.
‘Just that. I can’t go. It’s Isra and Mi’raj, and I have to be at our family picnic with Uncle and his family. Then afterwards, we go to the mosque. I can’t get out of it.’
Bassima widened her eyes. ‘But that’s terrible! We need you. I need you. The whole team needs you! I’ve already trashed my nails especially.’
Just then, Mrs Kaminski walked past. ‘Hello, girls,’ she said, heading towards the staffroom.
‘Hey!’ said Bassima, calling after her. ‘Mrs Kaminski, we have a problem!’
She turned to look at us, her earrings swinging. ‘A science problem?’ she asked, half-smiling.
‘No! I mean, yes! A very big science problem,’ said Bassima.
‘Very big?’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘Like what?’
Bassima looked at me. ‘Go on, you tell her.’
‘Well,’ I took a big breath, ‘on the day of the chem comp, there’s an Islamic festival, and I have to be with my family. I’ve tried to get out of it, but my parents won’t let me. I’m sorry, Mrs Kaminski.’ My voice cracked.
Mrs Kaminski said nothing. Bassima threw up her hands.
‘We must be able to do something! They don’t understand how important it is! My family won’t go to the mosque till the evening, after the comp is over. Can’t you stay at mine for the weekend? Come to our mosque instead—I’ll get my mum to call your mum.’
Mrs Kaminski looked at me. ‘Would that work?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. Sorry, B.’
Bassima pulled down hard on her backpack straps and pleaded. ‘Please, Az, can’t we even try? You don’t get to do anything cool, ever.’
She was right. That’s how it felt. But I didn’t think anything would work. I shook my head.
‘Sorry, B. I can’t. They won’t change their minds. I already tried.’
‘Gah! What’s the point of even being at school when you’re not allowed to do anything that matters?’
Bassima stomped off across the quadrangle towards C block.
‘Bassima!’ called Mrs Kaminski. ‘Bassima, come back here now!’
Bassima didn’t stop or turn. About fifty girls watched her march off. They stared at Mrs Kaminski and me at the edge of the playground. A hot tear slipped down my nose.
‘Azra, are you okay?’ asked Mrs Kaminski.
I nodded, sniffing up snot.
‘Can I help, perhaps? Call your parents? See if there’s something we can do?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t think so, Mrs Kaminski. It’s just not a good time for the competition to be on. I’m really sorry.’
Mrs Kaminski held my elbow. ‘Oh, Azra, such a shame! But if ever you think I can help, please ask. Sometimes it’s tricky when parents aren’t used to Australian schools.’
The bell rang as I wiped my face with my sleeve. ‘Thanks, Mrs K. I will. And sorry.’
‘Can’t be helped.’ We were both quiet for a moment. ‘Now, don’t you need to be somewhere?’
I nodded and picked up my bag. And followed Bassima into C block for maths.
Bassima wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. If she saw me looking her way, she turned and pretended she hadn’t seen. In chem and maths, she sat with Layla. I could hear Layla going on and on about wedding table decorations, until Mr Henson told her to keep it quiet.
We didn’t even walk to the station together after school. When I got there, Tom was waiting near the drinks machine on the platform.
‘Hey, Azra,’ he said. ‘Not with B?’ He could tell something was up.
‘Different classes,’ I said. Tom looked along the platform. His eyes lit up.
‘Here she comes,’ he said. ‘Running late.’
I wasn’t sure what to do. She’d hate me talking to Tom without her. But maybe I should annoy her. She wasn’t being that nice herself.
‘Hey, Azra,’ said another voice, too close to be Bassima’s, too deep to be a girl’s. I spun around. It was Pratik.
‘Hi,’ I said, not sure what to say next. He was taller than I remembered. And his dark eyes were smiling, like he was happy to see me. I’d never noticed his long eyelashes. Almost like a girl’s. A gust of wind blew dry leaves along the platform, and we both scrunched up our faces.
‘Windy today, hey,’ said Pratik.
‘Yeah,’ I said, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear.
‘How about the chem comp?’ he said. ‘I heard you’re on the team.’ He looked encouragingly at me. I didn’t feel like telling him that I couldn’t go. I just nodded.
‘I don’t know what to study, but I’m reading the whole textbook. Just in case.’
‘Well, helloooo,’ said Bassima, approaching. She looked straight at Tom, ignoring me and Pratik.
‘I’m going up the end,’ I said. ‘More seats.’ Pratik nodded, looking confused.
Tom waved. ‘See ya.’
‘Yeah, see ya,’ echoed Pratik.
Bassima didn’t say anything.
I trudged up the platform, squinting against the wind, and felt the sharp prickle of more tears. I didn’t look back, not even to watch my train pull in.
When Soraya and I got home, the flat was empty. I was glad. When Rashid wasn’t there, I could watch old Doctor Who DVDs in the living room, and with Mama out as well, I could lie on my bed and read for as long as I liked.
I tipped out my bag and sorted out my books. There was a physics test to study for, to distract me from chemistry, and from thinking about the competition. And to take my mind off Bassima being a
jerk.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from B.
Am thinking blue for subatomic nails to match scarf.
And navy eyeliner. What you reckon? PS sorry I know you can’t help family rules. Overexcited.
Bad friend. Crazy friend. Sorry.
I smiled. And texted back.
Crazy for chem or Tom?
Just crazy. Volatile gas.
Propane to match your nails. And eyeliner.
Thanks. And headband. See you tomoz. X
Night, crazy propane.
I put my phone on my desk, and felt a bit better. By a molecule or two.
VI
Passivate
to treat or coat (a metal) so that it reduces the chemical reactivity of its surface
A week or so later, Mrs Kaminski asked Bassima, Vanessa and me to stay behind after chem prac.
‘Now, girls,’ she said, ‘next Sunday’s the chemistry competition, as you know.’
We nodded, though I wondered why she’d bothered to include me. She knew I couldn’t go.
‘We’ve got the practice here, next Thursday afternoon. Does that work for everyone?’
Vanessa said, ‘I’ll have to swap shifts, but that’s okay. What time?’
Mrs Kaminski peered over her glasses at her diary. ‘Um, let’s see: three to six.’ Then she looked up at me. ‘Azra, I know you can’t come to the actual comp, but how about the practice session? It’d help the others to work alongside you.’
Bassima leaned over to me. ‘Please, Az, can you do that? Please?’
‘I can give you a lift home too, if that helps,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘It’s no trouble.’
I knew I had to pick Soraya up from school. I knew my parents would be at work. And I knew Rashid wouldn’t want to cover for me.
But I wanted to be there, and I wanted to not let the others down. I wanted to be there for Bassima. Maybe I even wanted to be there for Pratik, but I only said that to myself in a microscopic whisper.
And, besides, I was sick of saying no all the time. So I said yes.
When I walked up the steps to the flat after school, I felt hopeful. It was a sunny June afternoon with no wind. Only days until the winter solstice, when the earth’s tilt would turn us back towards the sun and summer. The golden light cast long shadows along the street. The old sofa was gone, and the dog hadn’t barked at us. Even Soraya wasn’t whingeing.
I opened the front door to find Rashid lying in front of the TV, again. Soccer this time. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile.
‘Hey, Rash,’ I called out. ‘Want something to eat?’
I didn’t usually offer to cook for him. But, right now, he was all I had to work with.
Soraya dropped her bag behind me, and pulled off her shoes.
‘I’m hungry too,’ she said.
Rashid turned down the sound, and looked over. ‘Sure,’ he said, surprised. ‘That’d be awesome.’
I tossed my schoolbag on my bed, and went to the bathroom.
When I came back, Rashid was shaking his head at the TV. ‘Check this out, Az! Women’s soccer! On TV? Do you reckon anyone actually watches it?’ He pressed the off switch on the remote and dropped it on the floor.
I bit my tongue. ‘Not into Bend It Like Beckham then?’ I couldn’t help myself. But I couldn’t take things too far. I didn’t want to annoy him.
‘Nah,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not my scene. What is there?’
He followed me into the kitchen, where I pushed jars around the fridge.
‘Hmmm.’ I looked through the veggie drawer and the freezer. ‘How about biryani? With lamb and okra?’
Rashid nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sweet.’
I rinsed the rice and left it to drain, like Mama had shown me. As I sliced the onions, Rashid disappeared into his bedroom. He had the smallest room, but at least it was all his. Soraya spread out her coloured pencils on the carpet and bent over a colouring-in book, scratching her pencils up and down.
I dropped onions into the hot oil, watching the browning of the Maillard reaction. When I scattered the fried onion over the biryani, it almost looked like restaurant food.
‘It’s ready!’ I called.
Rashid came back down the hall. ‘Smells awesome,’ he said. ‘I’m starving.’
He seemed in a good mood today. This could all work out, I hoped. ‘Here you go,’ I said, handing him a heaped bowl.
Soraya pushed her colouring-in book under the window. She waited expectantly on a cushion. I gave her a small bowl and sat on the divan. No one spoke as we ate.
When his spoon clinked the bottom, Rashid looked up. ‘Thanks, Az,’ he said. ‘Great. Lucky to have a sister that cooks as good as you.’
‘Really?’ I said. It was ages since he’d said anything nice to me. My heart lightened. ‘Want some more?’
I took his bowl to the kitchen, and ladled on three more scoops. As I handed him the food, I took a deep breath. ‘Can I ask a favour?’
He laughed, but there was a hard edge to it. ‘So, that’s what this’s about. What kind of favour?’
I smiled tightly. ‘Not a big favour. Something after school next Thursday. Can you pick up Soraya from school, please? Just for one day? Like you used to?’
I didn’t mention that when he used to, he’d still been allowed to drive. No point rubbing it in. Or risk spoiling his mood.
‘A school thing? After hours?’ He scraped his spoon inside the bowl.
‘Please?’ I said. ‘Only this one time?’
He chewed for a moment.
‘I could make you more biryani,’ I said, ‘or whatever.’ I hated grovelling, but there were no other options.
‘Is this something we’re telling the parents?’ he asked, looking at me sideways.
‘Ummm. Possibly not,’ I said. ‘Kind of not worth it.’
He made a blowing-out sound. ‘Well, that makes it a bigger favour then, doesn’t it?’
I shrugged, trying to look like I didn’t care.
‘And what’s in it for me?’
‘Does there have to be something in it for you?’ I asked, as playfully as I could. ‘Isn’t doing your sister a favour once in a while enough?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe. But I can’t remember any recent favours from you, eh? Apart from this dinner. And not . . . not when there’s something to hide.’
He looked pleased at his answer. But I’d show him. He wasn’t smarter than me.
‘So,’ I paused for effect ‘—what you’re saying is that we need to balance the favours?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘something like that.’ He gave a big-brother kind of smirk.
‘Well, how about I don’t mention the bong you keep in the shoebox under your bed, or the stash of weed in the old shampoo bottle?’
His eyes widened.
Soraya waved her spoon. ‘What’s a bong?’ she asked. ‘It sounds funny. Can I see it?’
Rashid scowled. ‘Not funny, Soraya. It’s for bonging stupid girls on the head. Ask me again, and I’ll show you. On your head.’
She put her bowl on the floor and didn’t look up.
‘Besides,’ he looked at me, ‘how do you know about it?’
‘Cleaning your room. Ever notice that happens? But I won’t tell, if you help me out.’
He sucked on his spoon and looked at me. Like he hadn’t looked at me properly for a very long time. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
‘Take your bowl?’ I asked, super-politely, my teeth clenched.
‘Thanks, Az,’ he said. He stood up, and shook rice grains from his jeans. He picked up the TV remote.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it. But just this once—don’t get used to it.’
I couldn’t hold back a smile. ‘Thanks, Rash. Really appreciate it. And my lips are sealed.’
‘Your lips aren’t seals!’ said Soraya. ‘It would be too noisy to have animals for lips!’
‘Hmmm, yes, it would,’ I said. ‘Now, where ar
e you up to with that colouring-in?’
While I washed up, Soraya came into the kitchen and whispered loudly, ‘Why did Rashid wee into a shampoo bottle?’
I smiled. Weed in the shampoo bottle.
‘Perhaps he couldn’t wait for the toilet, because you were spending so long in the bath.’
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said seriously. ‘Sorry ’bout that.’
I laughed. It was such a relief to be able to do something I wanted.
For the next few days, I was ultra-nice to Rashid. Every afternoon when Soraya and I got in, he’d look up expectantly from the divan.
‘What’s cooking then?’
All sorts of things, and lots of it. Dhal, roti, jalfrezi, kofta, curry. Everything Mama had taught me. With some help from YouTube videos for the bits when I hadn’t paid attention.
While we ate, I pretended to be interested in his opinions on motor racing, and which cars he’d like to drive, and what were the best soccer teams and why. Even his favourite killer moves in MMA.
Mama noticed too. ‘Lovely to see you so interested in cooking all of a sudden, Azra, but why now?’ she asked. ‘The weather?’
Rashid looked at me and grinned. ‘Az watches too much Pakistani SuperChef on WorldTV,’ he said. ‘She should be a contestant when we go back to Lahore.’
What? ‘Yeah, right . . .’
‘There’s hardly anything left in here!’ said Mama, opening and shutting the cupboard doors. ‘Barely a grain of rice. Like locusts have been through!’
She sighed. ‘Now we really need to do a big shop, what with the picnic on Sunday as well. Uncle can pick us up from the market on Thursday afternoon, so we don’t need to carry everything home on the bus.’
I looked up.
‘Thursday? This Thursday?’ I asked.
Mama started to write a shopping list in her curving Urdu script.
‘Yes, yes, of course. This Thursday. The picnic’s on Sunday. No point shopping next Thursday!’ she said. ‘I’ll pick up Soraya from school and meet you in Lakemba.’
‘But, but,’ I said, casting around for obstacles, ‘don’t you have to work that afternoon? And isn’t there late-night shopping on Thursdays? We could even go after dinner!’
Promising Azra Page 4