‘Ummm. Safety goggles, gloves, metal bowls, something to stir with,’ I said.
‘Excellent. I’ll write that down.’ He turned over the page and started to write. ‘Damn, my pen’s not working.’
I pulled out my pencil case. It was covered in a print of blue police call boxes: TARDIS.
‘Cool,’ said Pratik. ‘We can use one of those to go back in time to redo the experiment if we fail.’
‘A pen?’ I asked.
‘No, that’s a sonic screwdriver, surely, if it comes out of the TARDIS. Should still do the trick.’
I laughed. ‘Sure.’ Perhaps Bassima was right. Maybe I did like him a bit. But I hoped we didn’t need to go back in a time machine to get the experiment right.
Back in the lab, Bassima and Bradley were already in their safety goggles and gloves. Three sturdy Dewar vessels of liquid nitrogen sat on the floor next to the benches.
‘Don’t think I can lift that!’ said Pratik in my ear. I grinned. We would both need to, but I knew they looked heavier than they were.
Bradley sloshed milk into a steel bowl.
‘Careful!’ said Bassima. ‘That’s way too much!’
‘No it’s not,’ said Bradley. ‘I checked.’
Pratik looked sideways at me. In a low voice, he said, ‘Two litres okay?’
I nodded, and measured out the sugar and vanilla. White fog ran along the benches and flowed over the floor, cooling our feet.
‘I told you not to stir it yet!’ said Bassima. ‘Look what you’ve done!’
As we all turned, a white cloud of froth rose out of their bowl and bubbled over the bench.
‘All over my shoes, you idiot,’ said Bassima. ‘Why? Why? Why?’
‘I didn’t want it to go icy,’ said Bradley. ‘You were letting it set.’
‘Keep pouring,’ I whispered to Pratik. ‘I’ll stir.’
Vanessa looked worried. Tom lifted the Dewar vessel and trickled the liquid nitrogen into the milk. Fog rose to our knees in a gothic mist.
I stirred. And stopped. Pratik poured a little more liquid nitrogen. I stirred again. And stopped.
‘Looks good,’ said Pratik, leaning close to my ear. ‘We done?’
‘Think so.’
Mr Jefferson tapped a spoon against a bowl.
‘All finished? Mrs Kaminski and I will now inspect your results.’
They went first to Tom and Vanessa. ‘Not bad. Too many ice flakes, though. Can you tell us why?’
Tom answered. ‘Too much liquid nitrogen?’
Bassima and Bradley had abandoned their ice-cream, and were mopping up the benches with paper towels.
‘Any theories about what happened there?’ Mrs Kaminski asked.
‘Not following my instructions,’ said Bassima, pouting.
‘Scientific explanation?’ said Mr Jefferson.
‘Too fast a phase change?’ offered Tom.
‘Exactly,’ said Mr Jefferson. ‘And like Goldilocks, Pratik and Azra have the porridge just right. Well done.’
Pratik clapped his safety gloves together. ‘Cool! Can we eat it?’
Mrs Kaminski shook her head. ‘Not in a lab.’
‘Devo,’ he said, his eyes mock-downcast. Then he perked up. ‘What’s next? Making chocolate?’
‘Cleaning up,’ said Mr Jefferson. ‘Then two questions to answer. I’ll write them on the board while you pack up.’
As we rinsed out the bowls and wiped down the benches, Mr Jefferson wrote on the board:
1. Estimate the number of atoms that make up the thickness of a piece of aluminium foil.
2. Which of the following four compounds corresponds to the infra-red spectra images shown?
Then he drew four molecule diagrams under the second question.
He turned to face us. ‘Come get a set of the IR spectra print-outs, and a piece of foil. Back to your original team workspaces to work them out. Then return to the lab at five-thirty, to go through your answers. Any questions?’
Pratik put up his hand. ‘Can we have easier questions?’
Bassima added, ‘Can we change partners?’
‘Off you go,’ said Mrs Kaminski, shooing us out. ‘See you in an hour.’
Back in the lab at five-thirty, we were all giggling like we’d been sipping helium. Which we hadn’t. Though there was an idea.
Mrs Kaminski and Mr Jefferson huddled over the papers at the front for a few minutes, while we sat on the benches, swinging our legs.
‘How’re the shoes?’ Tom asked Bassima. ‘Soggy?’
‘Wasn’t my fault!’ said Bradley. ‘She wouldn’t do it the right way.’
‘Dude,’ said Bassima. ‘As if.’
Vanessa nudged me. ‘Those molecules—have you ever seen them before?’
I tilted my head. ‘Kind of? Don’t know if I got it right, but.’
‘You always get it right, Azra,’ she said.
‘Not true,’ I said. I could feel Pratik watching, listening. My neck felt hot.
Mr Jefferson tapped an empty test-tube rack on the edge of the desk.
‘It’s now my privilege and solemn duty to announce the winners of today’s practice. But first I would like to note the highlights, which included volcanic ice-cream, methane that apparently turns into gold, and the largest aluminium molecule known to man. Or woman.’
Pratik caught my eye. I didn’t think any of those mistakes were ours. I lifted my shoulders in a tiny shrug.
‘Without further ado, I announce the winners of today’s challenge—Pratik and Azra.’
Tom called out, ‘Nooooooo. We woz robbed!’ Vanessa pushed her glasses up her nose and sniffed. Bassima crossed her arms and turned away from Bradley.
‘Excuse me,’ said Mr Jefferson. ‘I think congratulations are in order.’ He stepped towards Pratik and me.
‘Well done, both of you.’ He shook Pratik’s hand, and then he reached out and shook mine firmly, which was awkward, but unavoidable. I knew it was only that his kind of politeness was different from mine.
‘Well done!’ he said. ‘I look forward to watching you all in action on Sunday!’
Mrs Kaminski coughed. I looked over to her, and then down at the bench. It was even harder now that I realised what I’d be missing out on.
‘Unfortunately, Azra can’t join us,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘The rest of the team will need to step up.’
‘Really?’ Mr Jefferson said, disappointed. ‘I am sorry. Shame.’
The mood in the room suddenly dropped. No one said anything. A car horn beeped.
‘Oh, that’ll be my mum,’ said Vanessa. ‘Anyone need a lift Bankstown-way?’
‘That’d be great,’ said Tom, picking up his bag.
Bassima looked alarmed. Vanessa was getting way more of Tom than she was.
‘Me too, Ness, if that’s okay?’ asked Bassima. My jaw almost dropped. Ness? Like they were friends?
‘Sure,’ said Vanessa, looking surprised. ‘Let’s go. Hey, well done, Az,’ she said, turning towards the door, her bag over one shoulder.
‘Thanks.’ She didn’t have to be that nice. Bassima certainly wasn’t. She hadn’t bothered to congratulate me, she was too annoyed with Bradley. Or too fixated on Tom.
‘Right,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘I’ll lock up. Thanks, everyone. A very promising start.’
Mr Jefferson ushered Pratik and Bradley towards the corridor. ‘Thanks, Irene,’ he said, shaking Mrs Kaminski’s hand.
‘My pleasure, Doug,’ she said. ‘See you Sunday!’
Pratik looked at me. ‘See ya, Az,’ he said. ‘Thanks for that. And sorry ’bout Sunday.’
I batted the air with my hand. ‘Yeah, sucks. Next time,’ I said. ‘See ya.’
He turned and followed Bradley out the door. Then he was gone. Pratik was so different from my brother. For him, it was normal for me to be smart, it wasn’t freakish or wrong. And he made lame Doctor Who jokes. He didn’t care about being cool. I liked that.
Mrs Kaminski banged a plastic bo
x onto the bench, jolting me out of my head. ‘Azra, could you carry out this box of books? I’ve got marking tonight. Just what I need!’
I pulled on my backpack and picked up the tray. Year Nine science projects, the design your own experiment ones. I guessed she’d be looking at a lot of bean sprout photos and mushroom growth charts.
In the car park, Mrs Kaminski unlocked her small red car. There was a booster seat in the back, with a sprinkling of crumbs all over it. I put the books on the floor and sat in the front.
In the quiet dark, all I could think about was what might be waiting at home.
Mrs Kaminski put the key into the ignition and started the engine. Suddenly her mobile phone rang, somewhere near my feet. She switched off the engine and fumbled around in her handbag, pulling out a notebook, a pair of sunglasses and a box of tampons.
‘Sorry, Azra, I need to get this,’ she said, prodding her phone to answer it.
We sat side by side as the inside light in the car faded out. I hoped she’d be quick. It was late already. Was anyone home yet?
‘So, what’s up now?’ She sounded annoyed.
‘Okay then, if I do that, who’ll pick up the girls? You said you could swap nights before. Well, why not?
‘When did you find that out? It’s a bit inconvenient.’
I reached into my backpack and retrieved my phone. No messages. Yet.
‘I need to drop off a student at Wiley Park. I told you. We had a competition practice.’
My stomach tightened. How long was she going to talk? I’d drive the car myself if I could. She tapped her fingers on the dashboard.
‘Drop them at my mother’s then. Forget it. Whatever. I’ve got to go.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said to me, putting her phone into her bag. ‘My ex is hard work.’
She sighed as she started the car again. The headlights hit the entry wall of the science block, illuminating the faded mural of a forest painted by Year Twelve students a few years ago. We backed out of the empty car park and drove through the school gates. On our way. I breathed out slowly. There was still a chance I would get away with this.
We drove to the end of the dark street, and stopped at the traffic lights. The indicator clicked and flashed, strobing us in orange light. It was strange being in Mrs K’s car. I couldn’t imagine my mother driving like this. Or being so interested in science and wanting to teach it to strangers. But then, my mother was nothing like Mrs Kaminski.
‘An excellent effort this afternoon, you know,’ said Mrs Kaminski. ‘It wasn’t easy. You and Pratik did really well.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It was fun.’
‘Glad you enjoyed it. Are you thinking about what you’ll do after school?’ she asked. ‘Which university? What kind of course?’
I paused. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Not after talking to Baba. ‘Kind of. Science; with chem, of course. But I’m not sure where. Or what there is to choose.’
‘Uh-huh. And is your family supportive?’
I thought of Rashid and his supermarket job, and Mama’s sudden enthusiasm for improving my domestic skills, and then of Baba, who used to really care about me doing well at school. But since he returned from Pakistan, he hadn’t seemed so interested. He used to always ask over dinner what I was learning about, but he hadn’t done that once since he came back from his last trip.
‘Hard to say,’ I said. ‘Kind of. But my dad said it’s expensive.’
‘Oh, not necessarily. Has anyone in your family been to university? Your parents? Or older brothers or sisters?’
‘My dad has. He’s a civil engineer, but his degree’s from Pakistan and he can’t get a proper job here. He helps in my uncle’s shop for now.’
Mentioning Uncle reminded me of the shopping trip. I stiffened. Were they already home?
‘If it’s about the money, you could get a scholarship. Plenty of people do. Now, where do I turn off? Here, by the video shop?’
‘Yeah, then third on the left. Marshall Avenue.’
The headlights curved over the road as the car straightened into my street. Then I saw the lights on in our top-floor flat. My heart tightened.
‘Just here, Mrs K, this is fine.’
She pulled in next to the kerb, behind Rashid’s car.
‘Okay then. See you tomorrow!’ She gave a cheery wave as I took out my bag. ‘Bet your family will be thrilled to hear how well you did today!’
I almost snorted. ‘Ah, yes. Thanks, Mrs K. Appreciate the lift.’
‘No problem. Anytime!’
I tried to close the car door softly but it didn’t catch, so I had to slam it. Then Mrs Kaminski pulled out and beeped her horn. Noooo! Anything but that. I wished I could undo the noise. I didn’t need to draw attention to myself.
The dog next door barked, loud, like a machine gun in an action movie. I cringed. Then the curtains in our living room window moved. Damn! Someone was watching.
I stepped quietly up the stairs, every footstep leaving behind a bit more of the day’s happiness. One electron at a time.
When a possum scampered along the railing, I was too wired to hold in a scream. Then light spilled out of our doorway.
‘Hello, little sister,’ said Rashid, his face hidden in shadow. ‘Where d’you think you’ve been?’
Our brief truce was evidently over and things were back to how they were before. I regretted all that pointless cooking. And resented that he knew I was hiding something, and wanted to catch me out. I hung back, trying to see who else was inside. The clock on the wall read six-fifteen. My heart fluttered. Perhaps they weren’t back yet.
‘I’ve been at school,’ I said. ‘Like I told you.’
I went to push past. He blocked me. ‘Not so fast. Have you been out with a boy?’
‘No!’ I said, pushing up on his arm, and falling over it into the hallway. ‘No! I’ve been at school, like I said.’
He slammed the door behind us. There was no one in the living room. And empty spaces in the shoe rack. I breathed out. Phew.
‘But I just saw a boy bring you home. In an old Daihatsu!’
‘That wasn’t a boy!’ I shouted. ‘That was my science teacher.’
He threw up his hands. ‘Driving a shitbox like that?’
Rashid interpreted cars like they were star signs. That the make and age of their car explained everything you needed to know about someone.
‘I don’t know. But that’s her car. Why would I make that up?’
Rashid shook his head. Like the world was mad. His eyes narrowed. ‘But were there boys at the school then? At your special event?’
I paused. It was a trap. ‘Apart from the teachers, you mean?’
‘Yes,’ he said, stepping towards me, ‘apart from the teachers. How many? How many boys?’
He smelled my hesitation like a shark scenting blood.
‘You stink of smoke,’ I said, kicking off my shoes. ‘Mama won’t like it.’
A key turned in the lock. Mama and Soraya tumbled into the room with armfuls of shopping.
‘Salam, salam,’ said Mama. ‘Azra! Why’re you in your uniform? Have you been to school? Are you better?’
She stepped in close to feel my forehead. ‘A bit warm, but you’re still flushed. What’s going on?’
Rashid looked at me with fake concern and crossed his arms.
‘Ah, I felt better after lunch, so I put on my uniform. But then I wasn’t quite well enough to go.’ I didn’t look at Rashid. ‘Only just got up again,’ I lied.
‘Shame. We could’ve used you for the shopping. I see you even packed your schoolbag!’
Behind her, the tall frame of Uncle Zarar bumped in a wheelie bag of groceries.
‘Thanks, Zarar,’ Mama said. ‘Look, this one’s so keen to study, she tries to go to school even when she’s sick!’
Uncle dropped a large bag of basmati rice onto the bench. He smoothed his moustache and nodded to me, his eyes scanning the room like a falcon’s. What was he looking
for?
‘Keen student, eh, Azra? Don’t make yourself sick over it. More to life than studying,’ he said. ‘Plenty of other things to look forward to for a girl like you, eh, Nadira?’
Mama gave a nervous laugh as she pulled zucchinis out of the bag and put them into the fridge. She didn’t look at me; I was pretty sure that was on purpose.
My skin prickled. I could tell this wasn’t a new conversation for them. They must have already been discussing my future. And agreeing that my studying wasn’t such a top priority anymore. How long would it be before things became Layla-style serious?
But then we hadn’t even had anyone over for a ‘visit’, so I guessed marriage arrangements would be a while away. Nothing to get too stressed about yet.
‘Shall I unpack the bags?’ I offered, hoping that changing the subject might alter the future.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Rashid turn to look at me, surprised I might be off the hook already. Uncaught and unpunished.
‘No, no, you’re not well,’ said Mama.
‘Oh, I think she’s up to it,’ said Rashid. ‘She looks pretty well to me.’
Mama frowned at him. ‘Try being a bit kinder to your sister,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go down to Uncle’s car and bring up the rest of the bags?’
‘Do I have to?’ he asked.
Uncle tossed him the car keys. ‘As your mother said. Everything in the boot.’
Rashid slipped on his canvas shoes and slunk out the door. I didn’t look at him. He could still drop me right in it.
‘Can I fix you some chai, Uncle? I’m well enough for that.’
‘Yes please,’ he said, draping his long legs across the divan.
As the kettle boiled, Rashid lugged up two armfuls of shopping. He dropped them on the kitchen bench and stepped close as I lined up the cups.
‘You owe me,’ he muttered close to my ear. ‘I’m onto you.’
IX
Catalyst
a substance that speeds up a chemical reacttion, but is not used up by the reaction
In my dream, the phone was ringing. It was Vanessa; she wanted me to come with her to the mosque.
‘We can walk there,’ she said, ‘it isn’t far.’
Promising Azra Page 6