The Good Daughter

by Amra Pajalic

  ‘Thank you,’ I said meekly.

  ‘But you will have to start learning at the same pace as the other students,’ he said.

  I nodded without answering. What a crock. First I was forced to participate in this whole makeover experiment and now I was being persecuted by having to be Ms Islam overnight. I so had to find a way to get out of this.

  On Monday morning Brian rode to school. ‘Here you go.’ He wheeled the bike over to me.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As much as Jesse and I would love to walk you home every night, it’s not going to happen. Voilà.’ He waved at the bike and smiled at me. ‘With this you’ll be an independent woman again.’

  ‘But I can’t pay you.’ I rubbed the handlebars in wonder. With this means of escape I would never be at the Twins’ mercy again.

  ‘It was hanging around Jesse’s house.’

  I snatched my hands off it. ‘It’s Jesse’s bike?’

  ‘I think it was his sister’s.’ He pointed at the V-shaped bike body. Jesse joined us. Brian grabbed Jesse into a bear hug. ‘Where were you?’

  Jesse punched him on the arm. ‘We were supposed to swap riding the bike to school.’

  Brian grinned cheekily. ‘I like the fast life.’

  Jesse turned to me. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked with a shy smile.

  ‘I love it.’ I stopped short. Taking a present from Brian was okay, but being beholden to Jesse, I didn’t know if I could do that. I wasn’t even sure if he liked me. I mean, he was always avoiding me. It seemed like a weird game. My hands sweated as I tried to find the words to tell him I couldn’t take it. He’d either spit the dummy or cry. ‘I—I—’ I glanced at Brian, pleading.

  Brian took pity on me. ‘She doesn’t know if she can take it for free.’

  ‘And I have no money to pay for it,’ I added.

  ‘How about a trade?’ Jesse asked.

  ‘Okay.’ What would Jesse want from me?

  ‘Bring in your CDs so I can load them onto my computer.’

  ‘That can’t be the trade for a bike.’

  ‘That’s your fee for borrowing it for a year.’

  ‘Really?’

  Jesse shrugged. ‘It was rusting in the backyard since my sister bought a car.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Before he could react I kissed him on the cheek.

  He blushed. ‘It was nothing.’ He put his hand through his hair. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Brian asked.

  ‘Gotta do something,’ Jesse mumbled.

  ‘He was fixing it before and after school yesterday,’ Brian said.

  I felt guilty: I’d made it obvious I wanted to be alone with Brian, so Jesse was avoiding spending time with us.

  ‘I’m not looking forward to tonight,’ Brian moaned, as we walked to the bike-shed.

  ‘What have you got on?’ I bent and locked my new bike with the padlock Jesse had attached.

  ‘Are you high?’

  ‘No.’ My hands were covered in grease.

  ‘You really don’t remember?’

  I found an old hanky in my backpack and wiped my hands. ‘Keep it up and I’ll turn you into a grease-monkey.’ I jumped at him with my dirty hands outstretched.

  He held his arms up in surrender. ‘It’s parent–teacher night.’

  ‘Oh,’ I groaned.

  ‘How speaketh you of such matters as if they meaneth nothing?’ He dropped dramatically to one knee, his hand to his forehead and pretend-swirled an invisible cape around himself. ‘How now, why speaketh thee as if thy school affairs are not life and death?’ I walked off and he ran after me. ‘My parents will hear about my lack of “progress”.’ He made air quotations. ‘And I’ll be stuffed.’

  ‘My Mum never comes.’ I forced a smile at the sight of Brian’s face. ‘She’s never on my back about homework.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ he said.

  ‘What can I say?’ I laughed. ‘I’m blessed.’

  We split up in front of the gym. My words replayed themselves in my head. ‘I’m blessed. I’m blessed.’ It sounded like a slow-motion effect on television. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like no one cared.

  Mum hadn’t come to my parent–teacher interviews since Grade 6 when all my teachers praised me. Since then she only looked through my end of semester reports to see if I was in trouble. Her motto was: if you’re not doing badly, why should I care?

  Whereas other parents born overseas went on about the sacrifices they made so their kids could finish school, Mum was so mellow about the whole thing, she wouldn’t even notice if I didn’t go to school.

  All day everyone bitched and moaned about parent–teacher night. We were supposed to organise interview times in fifteen-minute slots. Adnan and Brian skipped their usual soccer game and, since Dina and Gemma had congregated to watch them, we all had lunch on the oval instead.

  ‘I only get them to meet my favourite teachers and ignore the rest,’ Dina said as we ate. Her parents were typical: they expected her to do well, but didn’t know enough about the school system to take a real interest.

  ‘My Mum gets a copy of my timetable at the beginning of the semester and checks off that she’s met with everyone,’ Brian said. ‘I think I’m failing Geography.’

  ‘I think I’m failing Maths, History and Phys Ed,’ Gemma interrupted.

  ‘How do you fail Phys Ed?’ I asked.

  ‘I dunno,’ Gemma said.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked Jesse.

  ‘My sister’s coming tonight,’ Jesse said.

  ‘What about your mum and dad?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘My Dad’s dead and Mum isn’t feeling well.’

  Adnan shook his head dismissively.

  Gemma caught him. ‘You have nothing to worry about, Einstein,’ she scoffed. Adnan had featured in the school newspaper as the high-achiever in his year level.

  ‘Capitalism breeds pride in mediocrity,’ Adnan spat out.

  All eyes rested on me. There was only one thing to say. ‘What’s up your arse?’ I burst out.

  He stared at us like we were scum. ‘You have every opportunity to be what you want, to achieve anything you want, and all you do is brag about how to avoid hard work.’ He stood. ‘In Yugoslavia anyone would be ashamed to fail a class, let alone repeat a year; yet here it’s cool.’

  Everyone bowed their heads at the force of his scorn. ‘Who the fuck died and made you king?’ I challenged. He pivoted on his heel and left. ‘Arsehole,’ I called after him.

  ‘It’s not his fault,’ Dina said.

  ‘Just because you like him doesn’t mean you have to make excuses for him,’ I said.

  ‘It can’t be easy. His mum and sister are the breadwinners in the family since his dad can’t work,’ Dina insisted heatedly. ‘His whole family depends on him to achieve something with his life.’

  ‘He’s still an arsehole.’ I sort of agreed with Dina that it must be difficult for him, being the great hope of his family. They all gave up their dreams and pinned their wasted ambition on Adnan. Still, that was no excuse for him to bust everyone’s balls. We finished lunch in silence.

  Brian invited Adnan and me to his house after school until the interviews began. Jesse and I got my bike while Adnan and Brian waited at the front. ‘Give me the key,’ Jesse said.

  I handed it to him and he unlocked the padlock which I’d stupidly locked near the bike-chain. ‘Sorry,’ I said. His hands were covered with grease.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He pulled out tissues and wiped his hands.

  ‘You’ve got to be the only guy in the world who carries tissues.’

  ‘It’s what all gay guys do.’

  My eyes bugged out of my head.

  ‘Got you,’ he smiled.

  I laughed despite myself.

  Brian and Adnan walked ahead, leaving Jesse and me to follow. ‘Here.’ Jesse took the bike from me and wheeled it beside him with one hand.

  ‘I can do that.’
<
br />   ‘But I can do it better.’ Jesse smiled. ‘I’m reading a great book at the moment.’ He reached into his backpack with the other hand. The front cover was black with a line of red hearts to the title that read, The Messenger. ‘It’s an amazing book. Everyone’s raving about it. I’ve read other books by Markus Zusak, but this is the best.’

  I turned it over and read the blurb about a guy whose normal life is turned upside down when he receives mysterious missions. ‘It sounds great.’ I handed it back to him. ‘I’ll have to chase it up at the library.’

  ‘Keep it,’ Jesse said. ‘I’ve already read it twice.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I put it in my backpack.

  Some boys from our Phys Ed class walked past. ‘Hey Jesse, you want to play dodgeball?’ They all laughed.

  Jesse blushed. I avoided looking at him. We walked along in awkward silence. ‘Why don’t you tell them off?’ I asked, angry at him, and angry at them.

  ‘Why?’ Jesse said. ‘So they can have a go at me again? Anyway, they’ll get their own.’

  ‘When you kill them?’ I remembered his hit list.

  ‘I’ve already killed them,’ Jesse said with a sly smile.

  Shit, why did I always get involved with the crazies?

  ‘Here, look—’ He reached into his backpack again and handed me a magazine, Voiceworks.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I said.

  He took it back from me and turned to the title page. I read the item above his index finger. ‘Massacre, by Jesse James.’ I flipped to page twenty-two and read the first line. ‘You wrote a short story?’

  Jesse nodded shyly. ‘Yeah, and I found this magazine that only publishes writers under twenty-five.’

  I stopped walking and read while Jesse hopped on the bike and wheeled round and round.

  The short story was a string of vignettes, scenes from the perspective of a high school student. In the first vignette he stood in a pool of blood with dead students around him, then the story shifted through different points of view and instants in time to show how he came to that moment. It was a quick read. There was a lump in my throat when I got to the end. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jesse put the magazine back in his bag.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ I asked.

  He shrugged, looking away.

  ‘If people knew about this they’d leave you alone. You’re so talented.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Have you had other things published?’

  Jesse nodded.

  ‘Where?’ I hit him in the arm. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I’ve entered a few short story competitions in the teenage category,’ Jesse said. ‘The council runs an annual competition and I won last year. There’s also the library competition.’

  ‘How many have you won?’

  ‘I got first and second prize in two competitions.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were a writer,’ I exclaimed. I thought I knew Jesse. I’d written him off as a loser, but all this time he was doing these amazing things. ‘Can I read your other stories?’

  Jesse nodded.

  ‘Cool,’ I said. We walked on. ‘I write a bit too. I’ve only submitted them to Ms Partridge though!’ I laughed quickly. ‘But I’ve sometimes thought about doing more.’

  ‘You can,’ Jesse said. ‘My sister got me a membership at the Victorian Writers’ Centre. They send out a newsletter every month with a listing of short story competitions and places to submit. You can read my back issues.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. He was being so nice. Shamefully, I remembered every nasty thought I’d had about him.

  ‘If you want,’ Jesse cleared his throat, ‘I can read your stories and tell you what I think.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Really?’

  ‘And maybe you can read my stories before I submit them, too. We can be critique partners.’

  ‘You want my feedback?’ I asked. ‘But you’re a much better writer. You’ve been published and everything.’

  ‘My sister used to proofread for me, but now she’s busy with uni.’

  ‘I’d love to!’ I said. This day, that had begun so crappy, was becoming awesome.

  ‘Come on!’ Brian yelled back to us.

  ‘Which is your house?’ I asked Jesse.

  He nodded at the houses on the left.

  ‘Jesse!’ A young woman called from in front of the house across the street.

  Jesse handed me the bike. ‘I’ll bring that stuff we talked about to school.’ He hesitated.

  The girl saw my bike. She had Jesse’s blue eyes and curly, blond hair, but she was tall and lithe while Jesse was not much taller than me and wore loose clothes to hide his pudginess.

  ‘You must be Sabiha,’ she said as she approached. I nodded. ‘I’m Sarah, Jesse’s sister.’ She rested her arm on Jesse’s shoulder. ‘He’s told us about you.’

  Jesse’s cheeks reddened. ‘Let’s go, Sarah.’ He steered her towards the house. ‘We have to leave soon.’

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ She turned back to me.

  Just then I heard my name and saw Brian and Adnan, waiting for me at the end of the street.

  ‘She has to go,’ Jesse said.

  ‘Another time.’ Sarah made it sound like a date.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Jesse,’ I said.

  I ran to catch up to Brian and Adnan, wondering what Jesse had told his sister about me, and why. Brian unlocked the door. Adnan and I automatically bent to remove our shoes. Brian grabbed Adnan’s elbow and pulled him up. ‘Keep them on.’

  It felt weird wearing shoes in the house.

  ‘Want a drink?’ Brian asked. We sat on stools at the kitchen counter. ‘I’m having a sandwich.’ He got a bottle of Coke from the fridge and poured us a glass, then pulled out a loaf of bread and some cheese from the pantry. ‘Any takers?’

  We nodded. I cut thick slabs of tasty cheese and put it on my buttered bread. ‘There’s tuna and tomato, too,’ Brian said.

  ‘I want to taste the cheese.’ I bit into the sandwich. It tasted like heaven. Mum only bought cheap cheese that looked like cream smeared on a plastic wrapper.

  ‘How come you’re circumcised?’ Adnan asked Brian.

  I nearly choked on my cheese.

  dicksgusting

  ‘How the hell would you know that?’ I demanded when I got my breath back.

  ‘I saw his cock at the urinal,’ Adnan said.

  ‘Well, what sort of a question is that?’ I returned my sandwich to the plate.

  ‘It’s a guy question.’ Adnan was irritated now.

  ‘Is it?’ I asked Brian.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m circumcised because I’m Catholic.’

  Adnan frowned. ‘But Catholics don’t circumcise.’

  ‘The Irish Catholics I know do. What about you?’

  ‘All Muslims circumcise.’ Adnan took a sip of Coke. ‘Is it popular in Australia?’

  ‘All my brothers and Dad are,’ Brian said. He topped up our glasses.

  ‘What’s it with you and circumcision?’ I asked. There was only so much talking about dicks that I wanted to do.

  He gestured in frustration. ‘Back in Yugo-Land only Bosnian-Muslims circumcised their boys and we were treated as backward by the Serbs, Croats and the Commies.’

  I pushed my sandwich away. ‘I can’t eat any more.’

  ‘It’s much more popular in America than in Australia,’ Brian said.

  ‘Bullshit!’ Adnan exclaimed.

  ‘Who cares?’ I shouted, desperate to change the topic. This was the one time in my life I wished I knew something about soccer or footy or whatever boys talked about.

  ‘You should,’ Adnan said. ‘I can’t believe how badly Auntie Bahra has neglected your sex education. I’ll show you. Where’s your computer?’ he asked Brian.

  ‘Don’t have one,’ Brian said.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘My brother has a magazine,’ Bri
an offered.

  ‘Go get it.’

  Brian came back and flung the magazine on the counter in front of Adnan. The pages flopped open, showing a man and woman in a flagrant sexual position. I turned away, my cheeks burning.

  Adnan flipped the pages. ‘Look here.’ He thrust the magazine at me.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘You need to see what an uncircumcised cock looks like.’

  I couldn’t resist. The man wore jeans and a shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned all the way, showing his hairy, muscled chest; and his cock hung out of his unbuttoned jeans. The uncircumcised cock looked like it was covered in a sausage skin and the tip had become untied.

  ‘Here’s the circumcised one.’ Adnan pointed.

  In front of a guy dressed as a mechanic was a woman on her knees, her hand holding a helmet-headed cock as she aimed it for her mouth.

  ‘I don’t get it.’ I peered at the page. ‘How does that...’ I pointed at the uncircumcised cock, ‘become that?’

  ‘You pull the foreskin taut over the head,’ Adnan held his hands out over an imaginary cock, ‘and then snip it.’ He made a scissors gesture with his fingers. ‘The skin retracts and it’s tied under the head.’ He did a tying motion around his imaginary cock. ‘And there you are, all done.’

  ‘So, it looks different,’ I said. ‘What’s the big deal?’

  He clutched his head like he was in pain. ‘Didn’t your mum teach you anything?’

  ‘You should write a book.’ I rolled my eyes.

  He paused. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ That was the trouble with sarcasm. People could put their own spin on it. ‘The problem with this,’ Adnan tapped the uncircumcised cock, ‘is that the foreskin needs to be lifted and washed inside to keep it clean. When the guy has sex he has to roll back the foreskin to reveal the glans.’

  I shrugged. ‘I still don’t get it.’

  ‘Try having sex with this.’ He flipped between the pages. ‘And then try with this and you’ll see which is the superior product.’

  I arched my eyebrow. ‘You seem to be speaking from personal experience.’

  He stuck his middle finger in the air.

  ‘How come Muslims get circumcised?’ Brian asked.

  ‘It’s part of our religion,’ Adnan said. ‘One of the Pillars of Islam.’