Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  Mama looked at me with her clear green eyes. ‘What’s your problem? It’s just a shopping trip. Auntie Shakeela is minding the shop so we can get ready for Sunday. It’s all arranged.’

  I rubbed my sweaty palms down the front of my trousers. Rashid looked at me with a hint of a shrug. Did he know about the shopping trip already? Was all of that cooking for nothing?

  ‘Sorry I can’t help this time, Mama,’ said Rashid. ‘Another couple of months and I’ll have my licence back.’

  Mama tucked the shopping list into her wallet. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that would be good. But, in the meantime, we have to make do.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But when I do—’

  Mama nodded. ‘Yes, yes. That’ll be good. Now, Azra, how about you meet me at the Jasmin Market in Haldon Street at four o’clock? I’ll bring the wheelie bag, so we can get everything at once. Ten kilos of basmati, for a start.’

  ‘Couldn’t Rashid help instead?’ I said. ‘He’s got early shifts.’

  Mama looked at me, her head tilted. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Since when can he choose fresh eggplant or a good cut of mutton?’

  Rashid smirked. Blood pulsed through my ears.

  ‘You okay, Azra?’ asked Mama. ‘You look flushed.’

  ‘I’ve got a headache. Think I’ll lie down.’

  Mama looked concerned. She put her hand on my forehead. ‘A bit warm,’ she said. ‘Not a temperature, though. Better keep healthy for the weekend. You should take it easy, you’ve been studying too hard.’

  If only I could. I smiled weakly and went into my bedroom. When I lay down, my head really did hurt, and there was a thumping pulse in my temple. Less than two days to find a way around the shopping trip. Barely a day and a half.

  The next day, I wanted to tell Bassima about the shopping-trip problem, but as she’d got so worked up about me not being able to go to the actual competition, I didn’t want more grief about bailing on the practice as well. I’d just have to sort it myself.

  Besides, Bassima was already on edge about impressing Tom for a whole three hours. Though she didn’t say it quite like that.

  ‘Do you think the problems will be really hard?’ she asked me. ‘Reckon we’ll look stupid if we don’t know how to do them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answered, thinking of my more difficult problem. If I could solve that, the rest would be easy.

  Vanessa was stressing too, and kept quizzing Mrs Kaminski on what topics we should study.

  ‘Nothing you haven’t already covered,’ she said.

  Vanessa pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Good, good,’ she said. ‘I’ve nearly revised everything already.’

  After lunch on Wednesday, Mrs Kaminski stopped us in the corridor. ‘See you in lab two by three o’clock tomorrow. Sleep well tonight! You’ll need fresh brains.’

  Fresh! I thought. Mine would be working overtime to figure out how to even get there.

  Bassima hugged her geography textbook, swinging her backpack behind her.

  ‘Tomorrow!’ she said, her eyes glittering. ‘Do you like my new mascara?’

  For a second, I considered telling her what it would take for me to get there tomorrow. But I knew it could start her off on another rant about me not being allowed to do anything. I didn’t have the strength for it right now.

  Besides, my family kind of had their reasons. And hers weren’t like mine, they’d been in Australia for much longer, so she didn’t fully get how it was for me. I needed to work through this problem in my own way, one thing at a time, one after the other. Like a substitution reaction.

  VII

  Masking agent

  a chemical that is added to a mixture to block impurities from affecting the chemical analysis

  When I walked into the flat, Rashid looked up expectantly from the divan.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I said. ‘Feed yourself.’ He actually looked disappointed. Confused, even.

  In my room, I opened my school laptop and googled ‘faking sick’. There was a bunch of websites. Even recipes for realistic vomit.

  Making fake vomit in the kitchen without anyone noticing me would be too hard. Stomach cramps were out, because everyone would know I’d had my period last week, when I skipped prayers. A virus was definitely my best option.

  Mama came home soon after five, which was early for her. I lay in bed, reading my physics textbook. She opened the bedroom door and came in.

  ‘No cooking today?’ she said. ‘Not hungry?’

  ‘I am!’ called Rashid from the living room.

  ‘You’re always hungry,’ she said. ‘What about you, Azra?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. My throat hurts.’

  She put her hand to my forehead. ‘Temperature’s normal,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’re exhausted.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. I’ll need to make my skin feel hot, I thought. Heat up a face washer under the tap.

  ‘I’ll make you some spicy soup,’ she said. ‘Would you like that? You get some rest for now. We need you fit for carrying shopping tomorrow!’

  Exactly what I don’t need to be fit for, I thought.

  At dinnertime, I came out to the living room with a blanket over my shoulders, and cleared my throat noisily whenever I remembered to. It made my throat sore. I swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup, and slouched like a sick person.

  ‘Poor Azra,’ said Baba, peering at me over his glasses. His hair had more speckles of grey in it than I’d realised. ‘Look at you, miserable poppet. Best get to bed. See how you are in the morning.’

  Rashid looked at me, like he couldn’t make out what was really going on. I drooped my eyelids half shut. No way was I telling him.

  I lay in bed, trying to read Jane Eyre. I ran my eyes over the preface three times, but nothing would sink in. My brain was racing ahead to tomorrow, and all the steps in between that had to go right. Next thing to be ticked off the list; I needed Mama to come and tuck in Soraya so I could get some sleep.

  Once Mama had done that, and switched off the light, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Soraya snuffled loudly. Mama clanked pots in the kitchen. Baba cleared his throat and shook his newspaper.

  After forever, they went to bed. I could hear Baba snoring through the wall. I lay on one side for a while until my shoulder hurt. When I rolled over, my back got cold. Then the light from the street lamp outside pierced my eye through a crack in the curtain.

  Then I really needed to go to the toilet. I did a wee in the dark, not flushing. Mama was a light sleeper, and I didn’t want her checking on me.

  First I worried about not having enough rest for the science practice. But then I worried that if I did fall asleep, I’d look too healthy to stay home. Besides, I needed to layer up with extra clothes to fake a good high temperature. And find the right clothes in the dark without making a noise. I reached for my phone, careful not to knock over my drink bottle. I’d need that for my feverish sweat. It was only two o’clock. Too early.

  The main thing I worried about was the lying. I knew it was wrong. But was lying to make other people happy so very bad? I hoped it wasn’t. All I knew was that if I got caught, I would be in so much trouble.

  When Mama came in early to wake Soraya, I rolled over and moaned, pulling my knees up to my chest. I was boiling in all my clothes, and my hair was lank with sprinkled water from the drink bottle.

  ‘Oh, Az,’ clucked Mama, sitting on the edge of my bed. ‘You don’t look well at all. Maybe I should stay home and look after you?’

  ‘Mmmmm,’ I groaned. I didn’t want that. ‘My head hurts and my tummy hurts.’

  ‘Poor darling,’ she said, stroking my head. ‘Anything I can get you?’

  ‘Mmmmm. Panadol?’ I said in a scratchy voice.

  She stood up. ‘Of course. I’ll make some chai too.’ She looked at Soraya, still asleep, and shook her gently by the shoulder. ‘Come on, sleepy, time to get up.’

  Soraya struggled up, her hair tumbling over her pink teddy
bear pyjamas. ‘I’m tired,’ she grumbled. ‘It’s cold.’

  Mama hugged her. ‘Come, here’s your dressing-gown. The heater’s on out there. Go warm up while I get your breakfast.’

  Soraya shuffled out after Mama, sleep-dazed. I knew she’d lie in front of the heater and doze off again. Mama returned a few minutes later with tea, a glass of water and two white pills.

  ‘Take these and we’ll see how you are in half an hour. No school for you today. Besides, you don’t need any more learning, you’re clever enough.’

  She would say that. If only she knew. I wriggled up to swallow the pills.

  ‘Poor meri jaan,’ said Mama, smoothing my hair. ‘You’ve got a fever.’

  I swallowed the pills and handed her the glass. Then I slipped back under the covers.

  ‘You sleep now,’ she said as she kissed my cheek.

  After she closed the bedroom door, I peeled off the two jumpers and the trackpants I was wearing under the covers, and stuffed them down the side of my bed. Then I kicked off two of the blankets. I itched, like I had heat rash already.

  When Mama came back to dress Soraya, I pretended to be asleep. She put her hand on my forehead. I stirred and opened my eyes.

  ‘How you feeling now?’ she asked.

  ‘Bit better.’

  ‘Think you need the doctor?’

  I shook my head slowly. ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘Maybe if I’m still like this tonight.’

  Mama sighed. ‘Think you’ll be okay at home by yourself? We’ll all be out for a long day. I’ve got shopping later, with Uncle.’

  I nodded sleepily. ‘I just want to rest. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well, if you get worse or need help, just ring the shop, okay?’

  ‘Okay, Mama.’ This was going well.

  ‘Maybe I should have Uncle come and get you anyway, so we can keep an eye on you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. That would completely spoil everything. ‘I won’t be able to sleep at the shop.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘Ring if you need us, or change your mind. And let me know if you feel well enough for shopping.’

  As if. I rolled away to face the wall and squeezed my eyes shut.

  It was ages until Mama, Baba and Soraya finally left. Soraya couldn’t find one of her socks. Or her school hat. Mama took forever to pack Soraya’s lunchbox. Baba spent a long time shaving, running the water on and off, and tapping his razor on the edge of the sink.

  Under the covers, I kicked off my woollen socks. I prickled with sweat. I hoped I wouldn’t stink like a chemistry experiment by the time I got to school.

  At last the front door clicked shut. I listened to their footsteps receding down the stairs. To be certain they had really gone, I counted in my head the order of the periodic table. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium. By krypton (thirty-six) I thought it was safe, and pushed the covers off the bed. I stripped off three T-shirts and a pair of woollen tights, and was just pulling on my school blouse when I heard the key in the front door.

  Damn! I jumped back into bed, pulling in as many of the extra clothes as I could, and dragged up the covers. I closed my eyes as the bedroom door cracked open.

  ‘Azra?’ Mama said. ‘Here’s more Panadol, if you need them later. I forgot they were in my bag.’ She put a packet on the blue stool next to my bed. ‘There’s water in the glass. Make sure you drink plenty of water. You can have two more pills at lunchtime if you need them.’

  I opened my eyes very slowly, and smiled pathetically. ‘Thanks, Mama.’

  ‘And you’ll ring the shop if you feel worse?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Plenty of rest, okay?’ she said, as she stooped to kiss my forehead. ‘Oh, you’re cooler already. The medicine’s working. Maybe you’ll even be good for shopping tonight!’

  I groaned and shook my head. And prayed she wouldn’t notice my school blouse poking out from under the covers.

  Baba’s voice echoed up the stairwell. ‘Nadira! We’re late!’

  She patted my leg and closed the door. I counted from krypton to uranium, right past the end of the naturally occurring elements.

  It seemed safe at last. I shoved my extra clothes into the drawers under the window, pulled on my school uniform, and plaited my hair into a single braid.

  With my bag in one hand and a banana in the other, I slammed the front door, and ran.

  VIII

  Capillary action

  the drawing up of a liquid inside a small-bore tube when adhesive forces are greater than cohesive forces

  At ten to three, I walked with Bassima over to the science labs, my stomach tight with dread. All day I’d expected to be called out of class and busted for being at school without permission. It was hard to concentrate. Maybe I should’ve left a note at home, saying I’d felt better and gone to school. But then I’d be in trouble for not meeting them at the market. No easy solutions for me today. At home or at school. Chemical or practical.

  ‘Do you think they’re here yet?’ asked Bassima, pulling strands of hair out from the edge of her hijab. ‘Are these earrings too big?’

  I shrugged. ‘Depends.’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘On the experiment.’

  ‘Seriously? That’s your official opinion? I wonder who we’ll get to work with. I soooo hope I get some Tom-time. Hardly seen him since the mall. Have you got a crush on that Indian geek already?’

  ‘Me? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve hardly spoken to him.’

  ‘Since when does that matter? The best crushes are ones when they don’t even know you exist. Don’t you know anything?’

  I groaned. She was doing my head in.

  ‘Besides, I reckon you’d look cute together. India and Pakistan are practically the same.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Try telling my family that!’

  I knew she wouldn’t care about the three wars between those two countries. My family never said anything nice about India, unless it was about a recipe. And mentioning India to Uncle was like putting a chunk of sodium into water and waiting for the sparks.

  As we entered the corridor, Mrs Kaminski stuck her frizzy head out the lab door. ‘Hurry along, girls, they’re already here.’ She flapped her hand at us.

  The boys stood by the windows with a teacher. Vanessa was perched on a stool at the front.

  ‘Boys,’ said Mrs Kaminski, ‘here’s our star science squad. Vanessa, Azra and Bassima. And, girls, please welcome Mr Jefferson, head science teacher at Mount Lewis Boys, and their best boffins, Pratik, Bradley and Tom.’

  The guys nodded and kind of waved, except for Tom, who grinned straight at Bassima. Her face lit up. She probably thought her mascara was working.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Kaminski, holding up two beakers with papers inside. ‘Let’s get started. Your names are in here, to give three random pairs. You’ll stay in those pairs for the afternoon, to practise working together. Mr Jefferson—could you, please?’

  Mr Jefferson was short and solid, with a shiny bald patch. A bit like a cartoon atom from a Know Your Elements handbook. He wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers as he stepped up to the demonstration table.

  ‘Mustn’t turn the litmus!’ he joked.

  Mrs Kaminski had written our names on recently used litmus papers—pinkly acid for the girls, pale blue alkali for the boys. They could only fade to white.

  ‘Cute idea, Mrs K,’ said Bassima.

  Mr Jefferson pulled out a slip from each beaker. ‘First team, Vanessa and Tom,’ he said.

  Mrs Kaminski wrote their names on the board.

  ‘Second team, Bassima and Bradley.’

  Bassima caught my eye, and then looked over to Tom, who winced.

  ‘Last but not least: Azra and Pratik.’

  No one said anything, but Bassima gave me a meaningful look.

  Mrs Kaminski continued, ‘Now, everyone come get an envelope for challenge one, the lab test. Each pair goes away for a ten-minute discussion, then returns to
this lab for the experiment.

  ‘Decide first up who’ll take the notes, it’s part of the exercise. You have until four o’clock to finish. Any questions?’

  Bradley put up his hand. ‘Do we have to spend ten minutes discussing, or can we start as soon as we like?’

  Bassima rolled her eyes—Bradley wanted to take charge already. He’d learn. It was like an old cartoon, those two together. Bradley with his thick glasses, all determination. Bassima towering over him, all attitude.

  Mrs Kaminski looked to Mr Jefferson. ‘Well?’

  Mr Jefferson propped his chin on his thumb. ‘Hmmm. Best take the full ten minutes, so you can think it through properly. We’ll ring a bell when the time’s up. Besides, we need to finish setting up in here,’ he said.

  ‘Off you go,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘Bradley and Bassima, stay here, please, at the back of the lab. Pratik and Azra to the science staffroom. Vanessa and Tom, lab three. Ten minutes. Your time starts now!’

  I led Pratik down the corridor, our shoes squeaking on the lino.

  It was awkward, being sent off alone with a boy. I knew it was only for ten minutes, to plan a science procedure, but it still felt weird. I don’t think the teachers realised; I guess they thought it was normal. Anyway, we had a task to do, and Pratik was kind of shy too.

  In the staffroom, we sat on low green vinyl chairs across from each other, a table between us.

  ‘Shall I open it?’ asked Pratik.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. He tore at the envelope with his long fingers, and read the paper to himself, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Phew,’ he breathed out slowly. ‘Never done this before. But I’ve seen it on YouTube. Here.’ He handed me the page.

  We had to make ice-cream with liquid nitrogen. Not so bad.

  ‘They’re probably just hungry,’ said Pratik. ‘Bet this was Mr Jefferson’s idea. Afternoon tea. Maybe we should’ve done this in the food tech rooms.’

  I smiled.

  ‘Okay then,’ he said, standing up. ‘What do we need?’ He looked at me like I knew.