by Rawah Arja
Huss, Ibby, PJ and I looked at each other before rising to our feet.
‘I want to start off by saying that I’m proud to see this program partnered with the NRL in schools now. I’m even more excited that Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed have asked me to help mentor you boys throughout the competition.’
He pulled out a bundle of tickets from his pocket. ‘I have VIP tickets for you to see the Bulldogs take on Cronulla Sharks at Belmore Sports Ground in two weeks’ time.’
It was like someone had given us a million dollars. Having Hazem El Masri, the first Lebanese Muslim player to win a grand final with our home team, not only mentoring us but also giving us tickets to see the Bulldogs was like something out of our dreams. Ibby couldn’t contain his excitement and burst into happy tears, falling over people to run up onstage and almost tackling Hazem to the ground in a bear hug.
Now everyone wanted to be part of the comp. Some of the other Year Ten boys begged Mr Ahmed to put them in the team, even as reserves.
‘Wooden spoon, ay?’ I said to them.
Miss K found me amongst the boys and smiled. ‘You see? There are people high up who care about you, not just the private school kids.’
‘I know, Miss. But it’s different to see it, and not just hear about it.’
Amidst all the cheering, Huss wasn’t fazed. ‘I like Hazem, but it’s not that big of a deal.’
‘You should be really excited,’ I said. ‘He can help you with your goal kicking.’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, but how much of a difference can he actually make? We’re not going to win any games anyway.’
I didn’t want Huss to ruin the moment so I walked out of the hall, only to see PJ standing alone beside the toilets. He of all people should have been cheering the hardest – he was the biggest Doggies fan.
‘Okay, bro, what’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘And don’t say nothing, because we can all see that’s not true. We can’t help you if you don’t communicate with us.’
He took a deep breath. ‘It’s my mum, man. She wants me to put some money in her account so she has something when she gets out in a couple of months.’
‘I’ve got money if you need. Dad and Mum would help you out in a second.’
‘It’s not that, bro. She’s not clean. She’ll use any money I give her on drugs and wind up back in jail, or worse.’
‘So don’t put anything in her account.’
‘You don’t get it, Tariq. If I don’t put money in her account, she’ll do something dumb for cash and get caught, which means she’ll just have to do more time. I’m screwed either way.’
I didn’t know what else to say.
‘And what’s your reason for not telling me?’ Mr Ahmed had walked up behind us, and heard everything. He jerked his head at me, and I stepped away. Mr Ahmed would know what to say. Most schools would’ve called the police if they found a woman, barefoot and barely dressed, hassling the students for money like PJ’s mum had done a few years ago. Not Mr Ahmed. He got her into a rehab program and arranged for a community nurse to follow up with her until she disappeared and relapsed.
We never talk about that time out of respect for PJ. He’s never wanted to talk about it. But now, I thought, maybe we should have tried harder. Maybe bottling it up all these years hadn’t done him any good. Maybe his friends should have been better friends.
I walked into the girls’ school library to find Mariam and Jamila sitting together. They were showing each other something on their phones and laughing.
My stomach dropped.
‘Welcome, Tariq,’ Mrs Pepper said, her long white hair now in a choppy bob. ‘We’re mixing it up today and doing a bit of a sharing lesson. Roam freely and get to know other groups and what they’re working on.’
I sat and tried to listen to a group telling me about their project, but my eyes kept straying to Jamila and Mariam, who were talking like they were best friends.
‘Pay attention.’ Miss K flicked the back of my head. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’ I rolled my head back to see her smiling, eyebrows raised. ‘That is what mutual support looks like,’ she said. ‘Maybe see what’s going on between them before you start sulking. Use your words.’
I turned back towards her. ‘I’m not sulking.’
‘Sure, sure.’
I gave up and walked over to sit opposite the girls. ‘Am I interrupting something here? A feminist meeting?’
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘I told you,’ Jamila said.
‘I know. That’s so bad,’ Mariam replied.
‘What? What did you tell her? What’s so bad?’ I demanded.
Mariam crossed her arms and leaned back. ‘Did you think we were talking about you? Could your head get any bigger?’
I felt the room spin. ‘You’re the one who said you wanted to start fresh with me and chase me around!’
She rolled her eyes and Jamila smirked. ‘“Start fresh” doesn’t mean I want to chase you around, you idiot.’
‘What does it mean, then?’
‘It means I am not wasting any more time bothering about you. Clean slate. That’s what it means. Though now I’m thinking it’s more than you deserve.’
Jamila waved her hand. ‘You have bigger and better things to conquer.’
Mariam nodded with excitement. ‘Like my makeup tutorials on Instagram. JouJou’s famous makeup artist cousin in Dubai followed me and I’m freaking out!’
‘I knew you were going to come over here and assume we were talking about you,’ Jamila grinned.
I pretended to be impressed. ‘Wow. You should have your own show as a relationship expert.’
‘And you can be my first guest,’ she replied calmly. ‘An example of how self-centred boys can be.’
Mariam picked up her things before winking at me. ‘Relax, Tariq. You’re still hot, babe.’ She headed off to Anwar without a backward glance.
Jamila brought out her laptop. ‘So, did you do any work on our slam?’
I was still trying to process what had just happened. ‘Have I done something to you that I don’t know about?’
She shook her head, still typing. ‘No, why?’
‘Um, Mariam? What did you say to her?’
‘About you? Seriously nothing, Tariq. We were just scrolling through Instagram and she began talking about how she wanted to be a makeup artist.’ She looked up then. ‘Believe it or not, we didn’t even think about you until you started staring at us like a stalker.’
‘It’s weird,’ I said, looking at Mariam. ‘All you did was look at her makeup on Insta?’
‘Don’t do that,’ she said, tying her hair up in a knot. ‘Don’t degrade her and her ambitions like being a makeup artist is beneath you.’
Miss K walked over before I could dig myself any deeper. ‘We okay here?’ she asked. ‘Tariq, are you contributing to the slam?’
‘Yeah, Miss,’ I said. She moved away, thankfully without another lecture about taking things seriously.
It was quiet now. Jamila typed on her laptop and I sat there with a blank piece of paper in front of me. I had been looking forward to seeing her but I didn’t know how to speak anymore. She had me thinking about every word a thousand times before it left my mouth.
‘How’s Amira?’ she asked. ‘Or should I call her Bob?’
‘She’s good.’
‘Have you tried gloves for the monkey bars mission?’ she asked.
I shook my head and continued to scribble on the paper.
I heard her laugh to herself. ‘One bit of criticism and you shut down. So fragile.’
‘Criticism? You talk like you know me but you don’t.’
‘I know that you can’t handle that Mariam, who you thought was just obsessed with you, actually has a whole life and goals that don’t involve you at all,’ she said. ‘Did you think she was always –’
‘It’s not Mariam,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s you. I haven’t done shit to you, but you’re so uptight.
It’s like you’re Miss Perfect and nothing is good enough for you.’
She slammed her laptop shut. ‘Uptight? That’s how you interpret self-respect? You’re having a hissy fit because I don’t bat my lashes at you or fall head over heels after a couple of words from you. Grow up!’ She packed up her things and left. The whole group watched her go in silence, then turned to stare at me. I turned back to my sheet of paper, which was now covered in angry black scribbles.
Well done, Tariq.
Chapter 20
We finished Thursday’s training session early, which I was extremely thankful for. Not only did I have to adjust to taking orders from Aaron but Matt also pulled me aside to ask if I had given any more thought to Riley’s bullying. All I could think was, Huss was right. It wasn’t our problem. Riley needed to tell his own people.
PJ was still quiet and worked one-on-one with Mr Ahmed, tackling the blue pads. From the way he was taking it out on each of the pads, I think he was working through some serious rage.
Mr Archie told the Shire boys about the VIP tickets for Saturday’s game.
‘You will not only get front-row seats, but you’ll also meet the players after the game,’ he said. ‘They know about the competition and wanted to chat with you all. And I mean the Sharks players, too.’
‘Like we wanna meet them?’ Ibby scoffed. ‘Doggies for life, bro!’
‘I’m not telling you to change teams,’ Mr Archie said, exasperated. ‘It’s just a meet and greet. And I want best behaviour from all of you.’
‘Dad and I always went to Bulldogs games together,’ Aaron said to us. ‘He was probably their biggest supporter.’
‘Yeah, alright, man,’ Huss muttered under his breath. ‘Like we believe that your dead dad went for the Dogs.’
As soon as the words left Huss’s mouth, all hell broke loose. Aaron charged at him and if Mr Ahmed hadn’t held him back, a brawl would have broken out. The veins in Aaron’s forehead nearly burst out from his brain.
‘Don’t talk about my dad!’ he shouted. ‘Let me go!’
Mr Ahmed wrapped his arms tightly around Aaron until his chest began to slowly heave in and out. We all stood back and watched him try to catch his breath.
‘Breathe, lad, breathe,’ Mr Archie said. ‘And Huss, see me when we get back to school.’ He looked at all of us and shook his head. ‘I don’t know how many times Mr Ahmed and I have to remind you about respect and about controlling your anger.’
Ibby raised his hand. ‘So are Jews also Angry Arabs like what the Sheikh said?’ he asked Mr Archie.
I watched Aaron sit on the silver seat and try to calm himself down. His face was red and his eyes still narrow as he stared at Huss. Huss, who was acting like he’d done nothing wrong.
There was no point in being at training if this was how every session was going to go down.
Even though Mr Archie was changing the look of the school, we were still miles behind most. The science lab was by far the worst room in the school. It was on the ground floor, under the music room, which made all the equipment vibrate. There was no aircon and it always smelled like there was a gas leak. Sunlight filled every part of the room, which not only made the stools too hot to sit on and turned the whole lab into an oven, but also reflected off the whiteboard, blinding everybody.
Our science teacher Mr Sullivan was always ‘sick’ the day Year Ten had class, so we had an endless roster of casual teachers limping their way through the textbook each week. This week’s casual was Mr Fizaan. He had scruffy black hair and looked like he hadn’t showered in months. He wore a silver ring on each finger and a black shirt with some old band called AC/DC on it.
‘He looks like a shaytaan, bro,’ Ibby said, taking out a mini-fan from his bag.
While Mr Fizaan set up, I called a Wolf Pack meeting. I needed to let them know that being captain was back on the table.
‘So, you’re serious now about the comp?’ Huss asked, unimpressed. ‘Archie’s giving me another shot and I want to prove that I’m good enough to be captain. It’ll help our school, too.’
‘What? You being captain?’ he said dryly.
‘Nah. Just trying to make the most of this comp so our school doesn’t look that bad. Archie and Ahmed are expecting a lot from us.’
‘Those arseholes grilled me and called Big Haji about the fight with the Yahooda at training. They were going to rip my head off,’ he said. ‘And Big Haji wanted to smash me, too. I swear they’re too much. Like, we have our own shit too. Not just this dumb comp.’
I remembered the conversation he had with Feda about his dad, and wondered if Mr Ahmed or Mr Archie knew about it. ‘What shit?’ I asked. ‘You can tell us if there’s something going on.’
He shook his head and wouldn’t look at me. ‘Nothin’, man. Just this whole footy thing and Aaron being a khara and our school. I want the school to stay open but these suits have already made up their mind. What’s the point in trying?’
‘I wanna be captain,’ I said bluntly. ‘I don’t know about you boys, but I’m going to try. Huss, you should too.’
PJ said nothing, only put on his headphones and leaned his head against the window.
‘It’s his mum, ay?’ Ibby asked. ‘We need to cheer him up. I wish I got him the chicken I made yesterday. He loves that one with the yellow rice.’ He then took out a box of M&M’s and put them in front of PJ, hoping it would perk him up.
It didn’t.
Mr Ahmed walked into the lab. ‘Boys, remember your contracts. And Tariq, as BBL, I’m counting on you to make sure the room isn’t set on fire. Mr Archie told me to personally deliver that message.’ He left his number on Mr Fazaan’s desk. ‘Call me if there are any problems.’
Mr Fazaan took his time placing a bunch of test tubes, beakers, some droppers and safety goggles on his desk. He washed his hands and put on blue gloves.
‘Haram, he actually thinks he’s going to get through his lesson,’ Ibby said.
In the row in front of me, a boy named Benji was stretching back a slingshot he’d pulled out of his bag.
‘Okay, boys,’ Mr Fazaan said holding up a test tube filled with green liquid. ‘Today we’re going –’
BANG! The test tube shattered, spilling the liquid all over his clothes.
I kicked the back of Benji’s stool. ‘Pack it away now.’
Ibby kicked his stool again for good measure. ‘Wallah, if we get into trouble from Archie, I’m going to shove that slingshot you-know-where.’
‘It’s okay, boys,’ Mr Fazaan said. ‘No need to panic. Not sure what happened there.’
‘Do it again,’ one of the boys whispered. ‘Aim for the next tube.’
‘Do it again, and I will break your legs,’ I countered.
The heat in these rooms always made the boys do stupid things. When Benji stashed his slingshot away, someone else started blasting rap music through their iPhone dock while Mr Fazaan, still determined to teach, yelled over the noise. Others ran in and out of the room, then a couple of boys started a wrestling match. It was like watching headless chickens running around. When Mr Fazaan stood up to try and break up the fight, two boys covered his stool in glue.
Ibby looked at me, frustrated. ‘Don’t they get that Archie’s going to kill them?’
I stood up and shut some of the boys out. ‘Khalas! Stop being gronks. Didn’t Ahmed and Archie just tell us that our school is in deep shit?’
‘Relax, bro,’ one boy shouted. ‘We’re just having fun.’
PJ stood up and threw his bag on the floor. His body towered above us like a giant till everyone shut up and sat back in their seats. I’ve seen PJ lose his temper twice, and both times the other boys ended up in hospital with broken bones. Now that the class was quiet, Mr Fazaan sat back on his stool just as a loud siren rang throughout the whole school.
‘FIRE!’ the boys shouted.
Everyone jumped out of their seats and ran out of the room even though we all knew it was a practice drill. Mr Fazaan pani
cked as he realised he was glued down. Huss and I tried to help him, but when it was obvious that the glue was stuck to his pants, PJ had to carry him out with the stool still attached to his butt.
PJ plopped the casual teacher onto the oval, where Mr Archie and the rest of the school were assembled.
‘Sir, they glued him to the stool so we had no choice but to bring him like this,’ I explained.
‘You alright, Derek?’ Mr Archie asked, trying not to laugh.
Mr Fazaan took a few deep breaths. ‘I was in the army for twenty years and never have I dealt with such animals!’
Mr Archie helped him hobble to sick bay, leaving us to Mr Ahmed.
‘Tariq, you’re the BBL. Tell me, who did this?’ Mr Ahmed asked.
‘Sir, you know we’re not snitches.’ Mr Ahmed wasn’t impressed with that answer, so we were called into the principal’s office. Honestly, they should have just put a bed in there for me and be done with it.
Mr Archie shook his head and leaned back in his chair. ‘You sure it wasn’t any of you? Because you know if I find out it was, you’re all off the footy team.’
‘I swear to God, sir,’ Ibby said. ‘Tariq even tried to stop them by locking the door.’
Mr Archie sighed. ‘You tried, I guess. That’s more than I could have hoped for.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose as Mr Ahmed told us that our school had been tagged in a ‘concerned citizens’ Facebook page with more mobile footage of some of the school fights.
Where were these videos coming from? Not only were we dealing with outsiders trying to shut us down, it was now clear that someone on the inside wanted us finished, too.
Ibby stood up and started to pace, trying to calm himself. ‘Wallah, when I find out who’s leaking these videos, I’m going to smash them.’
‘Alright, you’re free to leave. Except for you, PJ,’ Mr Archie said. ‘Hang back a minute.’
We sat outside and waited for PJ. He finally walked out, hunched over with bloodshot, teary eyes and Mr Ahmed’s arm around him.
‘Lads, take PJ to the library and stay there for the rest of the afternoon,’ Mr Archie said. ‘It’s under construction, but you can sit near the computer rooms.’