Boy vs. Girl (17 page)

But his heart was still pounding and he could still hear Skrooz's voice as he hissed:
“You're gonna regret this, mate. Just you wait and see…”

On the way to school the next morning, he tossed his new mobile phone, the gift from Skrooz, into a roadside bin. And he kept walking.

Farhana was running late. That morning Faraz had been the one struggling to wake her up. She had eaten like a zombie and had gone back to sleep afterwards. She had woken up with a splitting headache, even groggier than she had been before. Her limbs felt like lead as she washed and dressed, knowing that she was already late for school.

She brushed her hair and tied it up in a hair elastic.

She smiled when she thought about her brother and how good it had felt to be talking again, but her smile faded as her eyes flickered up towards the white scarf. She hesitated. Would she wear it today? Could she be bothered? What if she didn't wear it? She'd be a laughing stock, that's for sure. It was bad enough to ruin your image by starting
to cover up, it was worse to stop wearing it because you couldn't handle the pressure.

She was glad Faraz had dealt with Skrooz, but she realised with a sigh that it didn't make much difference to her and her issues.

She took a deep breath and pulled the scarf off the side of the mirror. She avoided looking at herself as she pinned it under her chin.
That girl in the mirror isn't me,
she thought sourly.
I don't look like that inside….

She picked up her bag and left the room without looking back.

* * *

The day dragged for Farhana. Shazia tried to get her to talk but gave up when she realised that Farhana was determined to be depressed. Even Robina avoided antagonising her, preferring to play to her adoring fans instead.

They were all talking about Eid, which was now in one week's time: what they were going to wear, where they were going to go, what presents they were hoping for.

Farhana ignored them all, losing herself in
her dark and dreary thoughts.

I feel like Ramadan is already over for me…

* * *

At Middleton Comprehensive, Faraz was on top of the world. All day long, since dropping his phone in the bin, he had been buoyed by a sense of freedom, of exhilaration, of endless possibilities.

He had scored decent marks in his maths test, he had totally understood what the Science teacher was talking about for once and he had managed to make his noon prayer on time.

As he finished praying, he noticed that one of the other boys was still in the room. He turned to him and saw that he was one of the boys he had seen going to the
tarawih
prayers, at the beginning of Ramadan.

“
Asalaamu alaikum
,” he said, surprised at his own boldness.

“
Wa alaikum salaam
, bro,” the boy smiled. His moustache was just starting to come through and he had bright, intelligent eyes. “Haven't seen you much around here lately… you been busy?”

“Yeah,” Faraz blushed, thinking about Skrooz.
“I have been a bit busy. But all that's over now – I think I'll be here a lot more.”

“You're the one who did that Arabic calligraphy that's up in the art room, right?”

“Yeah, that's right,” Faraz replied. “How do you know about that?”

“Mr McCarthy was raving about it – he wouldn't stop going on about you!”

Faraz smiled. “That's nothing! Have you heard of Ahmed Ali, the Muslim graffiti artist?”

“Is he the one who did that mural down the town centre? Yeah, my sister is a huge fan – I think one of her friends told her about it so she dragged me down there. It was pretty cool… could you do that, d'you think?”

Faraz thought for a moment then said, “I could give it a try… I would love to do something that massive…”

The two boys fell silent, lost in their private thoughts, comfortable in the unexpected camaraderie. Then they both heard the bell go and the boy said, “Listen, bro, I have to go… see you around
insha Allah
.”

“Yeah, man, see you around…” They shook hands and the boy picked up his bag and walked
to the door.

“Hey, man, what's your name?”

“Sameer,” said the boy with a smile. “And you're Faraz, right?”

Faraz grinned and nodded.

“See you around, bro, stay cool…”

And he was gone.

Mr McCarthy gave Faraz permission to stay after school to work on his coursework. Once again, Faraz was in the zone. His brain buzzed with a thousand and one images as he applied paint to canvas, slapping, smearing and teasing the surface until he achieved the effect he was looking for. Mr McCarthy sat at the back of the class, catching up on paperwork, listening to opera on his portable cassette player. Now and again, he came over to where Faraz was working to observe his progress. He would turn away, smiling. He was glad Faraz was back. He hoped it was for good this time.

For Faraz, the outside world ceased to exist as he worked away, stopping only to pray the mid-afternoon prayer. When at last he stood back to get a better view of his painting, he was pleased with what he saw. It was shaping up beautifully.
A couple more sessions like this and he would be ready to hand it in.

“Ok, Sir, I think I'm done for today,” he called over to his teacher.

Mr McCarthy looked up, blinking through his thick glasses. “It's looking great, Faraz, really amazing… so much energy and feeling. I can't wait to see the finished product.”

“Neither can I,” replied Faraz as he packed away his pencils. “See you tomorrow, Sir.”

“Yes, Faraz,” replied his teacher, “see you tomorrow.”

Faraz left Mr McCarthy still gazing at his picture, his long, delicate fingers resting on his chin.

How did he ever end up in a dump like this?
he thought to himself.

By the time Faraz left the school gates, the sun was dipping. He hummed to himself as he crossed the car park towards the bus stop, reciting phrases of
Qur'an
as he bounced across the tarmac.

Alhamdulillah
, he couldn't remember having a better day, a day where everything had been so easy! Judging by the late afternoon sunlight, it would soon be time to break his fast. He would
try to get home in time to break with his mum and Farhana.

Farhana!
He jammed his hand into his pocket to get his phone. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to speak to her, to ask her how her day went, where she was. But his pocket was empty. He groaned when he remembered that he had thrown away his phone that morning. He would have to wait until he got home.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts about Farhana and his great day that he didn't notice Maj and the three lads he had with him, standing at the end of the street, waiting, waiting.

* * *

Farhana decided to go to the library on her way home. Not her local library but the big library in town, the one with the coffee shop downstairs and the mall next door.

“You sure you don't want me to come with you?” Shazia was reluctant to let her go on her own.

“No thanks, Shaz, I'll be fine,” Farhana replied. “Besides, it's better you don't. You know your
dad doesn't like you going down the town centre…”

“Yeah, I know, but still…”

“No, it's not worth it, Shazia, I'm just going to pop into the library and read for a bit, maybe window shop and stuff. I just need to clear my head.”

“Ok, then, Farhana, you just call me if you need anything, OK?”

The two girls hugged each other, then turned towards opposite ends of the street to take their buses.

Farhana looked out of the window as the bus trundled along. She saw a poster for the latest copy of Asian Girl magazine on the side of a bus stop: two tall, slim, long-haired beauties, dressed in the latest Asian fashion. With their blue contacts, pale make-up and teased hairstyles, they looked just like white girls, hardly Asian at all. Outside the bus window, on billboards, bus stops, magazine covers and shop windows, a hundred images of beautiful women, glamorous women, impossibly perfect women, flew past. It was as it they were mocking her: ‘Don't you wish you looked like this?'

And yet, just a few short weeks ago, she had been compared to those models, those singers, those movie stars. And now? She was out of the running, her
hijab
a big white banner announcing to the world that she had opted out of the competition.

A part of her missed that competition, a competition she had won when Malik fell for her.

But what was it worth at the end of the day? Hadn't she seen through the shallowness of all that and made a conscious decision to wear
hijab
, to be a better Muslim?

Hadn't she come to her senses about Malik?

Her thoughts consumed her as she got off the bus and walked towards the library. She was so lost in thought that she was halfway to the library when she looked up and saw a tall Asian lad with a floppy mop of hair and a caramel complexion, and a girl in school uniform with highlights in her hair. And her heart stopped beating.

It was Malik and Robina.

* * *

“Oi! Fraz!” Maj's voice rang out from the end of the suddenly deserted street. He and the other lads had started walking towards Faraz, slowly, their hands behind their backs. Walking beside each other, they filled the street and cut him off from the bus stop.

Faraz's heart began to thump and the blood rushed to his head, roaring in his ears. These lads were big, very big. A quick glance confirmed his worst fears: they were all armed. He could see the shapes of bats, and he caught the glimmer of a knife.

“We've got some unfinished business, you and me.” Maj's voice was thick with menace. “Skrooz isn't here to save you, Pretty Boy. And now you're going to see what happens when you mess with the big boys.”

Faraz took one look at him, caught the rage shining in his eyes, the ugly scar on his face, turned and ran for his life.

“After him, lads!” roared Maj and, like one body, they sprang after Faraz.

The chase was on.

* * *

Farhana stopped in her tracks and let out a tiny, stifled cry. So Robina had been telling the truth after all. When her heart began to beat again, it pounded in her chest, painfully, her mouth dry.

She stepped behind a pillar, out of sight. All those times of missing Malik, of wanting to hear his voice, of wishing they were back together came flooding back, bringing tears to her eyes.

You're an idiot, Farhana, just like Robina said.

But her curiosity got the better of her and she willed herself to look out from behind the pillar. From there, she could see that something was up. Malik's body language was all wrong. For a start, he wasn't smiling. One of his hands gripped his school bag and the other stabbed the air around Robina's shoulder.

Farhana just could not resist. Silently, keeping her head down, she wove her way through the crowd of shoppers until she was behind the pillar closest to them. From there, she could hear Malik's voice clearly. But it certainly was not the voice she was used to, the one that made her think of melted chocolate. This voice was hard, cold. This was a Malik she didn't know.

“So what did you call me here for, Robina?”
he was saying. “Why did you say you were with Farhana?” Then he looked at her suspiciously. He knew why she had played that trick on him. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he growled. “I'm just not interested, OK? I wish you'd drop it cos you're starting to get on my nerves! It's bad enough you ringing up all my mates, but tricking me into meeting you? That's just pathetic! I'm not into you, get it?”

Farhana saw Robina's cheeks flare up and recognised the stubborn set of her chin.

“Malik, who are you trying to fool? I've seen the way you look at me. Besides,” she arched her eyebrow, “do you know how many guys would kill for a piece of me?”

“Yeah, well not this guy.” And he turned to leave.

But Robina wasn't finished. She called out after him, her voice taunting, “Is that because you're still pining for Farhana? Cos she broke your heart?”

Malik stopped and turned back towards Robina who shook her head, smiling. “Poor Malik… you picked the wrong girl to fall for, eh? The ice maiden herself… you should have seen her face when I told her about you and Amber at that party….”

Malik's face twisted. “Me and
who
?”

“Well, it seemed like a good enough story: you and a model hooking up at a party, a party she wasn't allowed to go to…”

“Are you talking about Imti's party, the one where you tried to…”

“Well, I couldn't tell her that, could I?”

The enormity of Robina's words began to dawn on Malik and his face clouded with anger. He grabbed Robina by the arm and said, through gritted teeth, “What d'you tell her that for? Huh? So that she'd finish with me?”

But Robina glared at him, her eyes flashing. “Oh, get real, Malik! She could never give you what you want! You don't need Farhana….”

“Well I definitely don't need a lying tramp like you!” He spat the words out and let go of her arm, pushing her aside as he charged past.

He was so angry that, when he looked up to see where he was going, he did not recognise the girl in the
hijab
staring at him. But there was no mistaking the green eyes and skin the colour of a latte, with a hint of mocha, even when surrounded by the unfamiliar white scarf that now hid her hair and neck from view.

As he said the name, he could hardly believe it was her.

“Farhana?”

* * *

The soles of Faraz's trainers slapped the pavement as he ran and, behind him, six other pairs of trainers slammed the ground as the lads thundered after him, hurling abuse.

Dark clouds were gathering in the late afternoon sky. If he could get into the alleyways and the industrial park near the railway line before the street lights came on, he might just make it. So he kept running, dodging past an old lady with her wheelie bag and a couple of school kids. They stared after him and the other guys, open-mouthed, their hands full of sweets.