You're Not Proper (7 page)

‘How was it dear?' Mum asked as I got into the car. ‘Great.'

‘Didn't you want to stay longer and have fun?' Mum said. ‘I was happy to sit and read the newspaper, done that for years.'

‘Yes, Mum,' I said, as Mum reversed the car out of the car park. ‘I bet there were lots of Guy Fawkes?' Mum said.

‘Just one,' I said.

‘That's good then, you were unique.' ‘No, there was one other.'

‘Who was that?' ‘Shamshad,' I said coldly.

Mum looked away from me and went quiet. Just as well. I didn't want to talk to her, besides even if I did, she was now locked behind her silence. I was happy to think about what a mess my life was. What was it with Shamshad? She just never let up putting me down. She could be so bad and have so many friends and I was alone, always just being nice. I was good at home, I was good at school and I thought I was good with my gang but look at me. A laughing stock at school, and at home I never knew what I said that was so bad that
it
was always lurking in some dark corner.

Sitting next to Mum, I watched the world outside the car flash by like a bad dream. I saw myself at school the next day, at the final, Shamshad's friends cheering for her. She was bigger than me, but clumsy. She always got a better time than me, but then she had everything I didn't.

‘Well, Kiran,' I said to myself inside my head, ‘stop being like yourself for once; give her a piece of her own game.'

Unlike me, Shamshad had to win and be the best at everything. I didn't care if I didn't win, I don't even know how I made it to the finals, but she always had to be first. A sly smile came across my face as I saw myself running next to her. She'd be really, really focused. I was going to make sure she didn't win. I would wind her up just by being close to her. And then, just as the race started I'd fall and trip her, and watch her roll on the floor. Perfect I thought. And then I thought, no, they would just start the race again, it was only 100 metres. Maybe I could go up to her and say some things that would really upset her, it was easy for me, I just had to open my mouth in her company.

As Mum pulled into our street, I had another idea. Why not beat her fair and square? Well, that is, after winding her up at the beginning.

When we got home, Mum said to Dad, in an icy sort of a way, ‘It's Kiran's 100 metre final tomorrow.'

‘OK,' Dad said from the living room. ‘You don't have to come, Dad, its fine.' ‘OK,' he replied.

I flicked off a shoe; it landed in the middle of the hallway. I flicked the other; it went past the first and hit the kitchen door. Mum, who was halfway up the stairs, glared down at me. I glared back at her. No, I'm not going to pick it up, and I don't care what you think. Besides, you're in one of your moods, where you're just going to lock yourself away anyway.

Mum turned around without saying anything and went up into her bedroom.

As Mum slammed her bedroom door shut, Dad called out, ‘Kiran, dear, can you get us a can from the fridge?'

‘No,' I shouted back to Dad.

‘Good girl, make sure you get one of the cold ones from the back,' Dad said.

‘Dad!' I hissed under my breath, thinking, ‘What planet are you on?' I was half way up the stairs when I felt really guilty. Dad was just a big softy who didn't know what time of day it was, unless it was a match time. I stopped, turned round and was about to go and get him his beer when I felt a sudden surge of anger. No, he can get it himself, I thought, and went upstairs.

Laila and Aisha turned up at the Halloween party as witches. Aisha, with her ridiculously long wobbly nose and rubbery chin, looked a sight. And Leila was wearing a long black burka, all torn into strips that dangled about her.

I didn't see the other Guy Fawkes at first, it was Laila who did. She nudged me in the side and teased, ‘Shamshad, look what Jake's turned up as.' ‘He's too small and skinny,' I said.

The witches made some sort of spooky noise.

Laila flicked her broomstick at me, reciting some things by way of a spell. The broom bit of her broomstick was just a bit of cardboard cut-out that had been hurriedly painted and sellotaped to a stick. It broke off and poked her in the eye. She yelped. We laughed. I laughed all the more at the way she was dressed in her stupid, little witch outfit. The only thing witchy about it was the black cloak; she could easily have passed for a fairy, with a bit of red paint on her face.

At first, when Laila pointed Guy Fawkes out to me, I was dead chuffed; at least I wasn't the only one. But when this Guy said in Karen's voice, ‘Hey Guy, great minds think alike, eh,' I just flipped and prodded her as hard as I could. If it hadn't been for the stupid, red-headed, hairy monster of a clown behind her, she would have fallen flat on her backside.

I was about to go up to her and give her a piece of my mind when Laila tugged my arm and said, ‘Let up, girl, not worth it.'

As always, she was right. Me and my anger, we were never so bad until Karen came onto the scene. I took a deep breath, went up to Karen and said in her ears ‘You pathetic copycat.'

If she didn't have her mask on, I would have been able to see her dirty little face for what it was, a no good, dirty little half-breed face.

When she got her balance back, she turned her back on me and walked off into the party.

After Karen left, Laila said, ‘You know she's in the 100 metre finals.' ‘No,' I lied. Of course I knew. Everyone knew, and ever since she had got into the same final as me, I had been running twice a day, just to make sure I beat her.

‘There's your chance to get one on her in front of the whole school,' Aisha Sadiq said, holding her stick in one hand and the broom head in the other.

‘She always wants to be the best,' one of the witches next to Laila said.

‘Yeh, Laila, why don't you put another spell on her,' I said. ‘What, with a broken broom?' She replied.

The others laughed and I joined in. I was scouring the party, trying to see where Karen had disappeared to. Though I didn't see Karen leaving, one of me witches said Guy Fawkes ran out of the hall. Then she said, with broomstick between her legs, her bum wiggling about, ‘Like it was bonfire night.' It was such a laugh.

I got to school well early for the races, tied my hair up tightly in a thin, white cloth, got into my black leggings and a black and golden top, put on my trainers and warmed up in the changing rooms. I was still warming up when Laila and my gang came in. We did a few high fives and I went out into the fields. As I was walking out of the main entrance, I saw such a pathetic sight: Karen and her Dad, Lucky, coming towards me. They were late. Karen walked fast. Her Dad was panting behind her. He stopped a short distance away from the gate. Karen came straight towards me, bumped into me and said, ‘Get out of my way, you fat cow.'

I was stunned. Before I could say anything else, she was gone. My gang looked at me in disbelief.

‘That's it,' I said, clenching my fist. I turned around and was about go for Karen when the bald-headed Mr Armstrong, our P.E. teacher, came out. He was wearing his normal blue sports suit with white stripes. He had a stopwatch dangling in front of his chest.

‘Come on girls, why are you hanging about here?' he said, walking past.

He stopped, did a little jog on the spot, cracked his neck adding, ‘And you need to get warmed up, Shamshad.'

‘Yes, sir,' I said, still reeling from what Karen had just said.

‘And good luck,' he said walking away, moving his shoulders up and down.

Karen's Dad followed Mr Armstrong to the parents and teachers section of the playing fields.

Laila held my hand and said, ‘Come on.'

Walking to the fields, I chewed my teeth and promised myself that I would get Karen for what she had just done.

Everyone who was in the final had a parent or two at school. Walking away from my friends, how I wished mine would come to something at school, just once. I shook my head, trying to chase this silly thought away. Dad would never come, he never had the time and Mum didn't even know where my school was.

Karen came out and ran to her Dad, gave him a hug and came towards us in the line-up. She smiled at the other kids in the final and walked straight up to me and said, ‘Your leggings are sticking up your big, fat arse.' She looked me straight in the eye, nodded to my chest and added, ‘And you should have worn something looser, you show-off.'

Blood rushed to my ears. ‘Oh Allah, stop me from flattening her right here,' I thought. I looked round to see if anyone else had heard what she said. No one else was close by. Laila waved at me. I turned around and Karen was in her place at the starting line, next to me, swinging her arms about.

‘Wait till this is over,' I hissed at her. She looked at me and tapped her behind.

‘Finalists, get ready,' Mr Armstrong's voice boomed out of the loudspeakers.

The kids let out a roar. I took a deep breath and tried to forget Karen. Then the starting gun went off. Just as we started, the gun went off again. A false start. A teacher went up to Karen and gave her a warning.

After a few moments, Mr Armstrong's voice boomed out again, ‘Finalists ready.'

Go on Karen, I thought, do it again.

Just then, the gun went and we were off. Karen was away so fast, but I quickly caught up with her. We were all neck and neck at first. I remembered Mr Armstrong's words, ‘Hold yourself together for the first 20 metres and then let go.' I was blind to the others in the race. I could see Karen giving it all she had. She was a little in front of me. And then I blotted her out of my mind. I blotted everything out of my mind. I was going to win this. Twenty metres went by in a flash. Karen was a bit further ahead of me by then, but I gave it all I had and caught up with her. As I went past I saw her in the corner of my eyes, panting madly. I pushed on and on. She kept catching up. I heard someone cheering me on. I pushed myself even harder. Karen was a hair's breadth behind. I saw the finishing line. Mr Armstrong was there, slightly bent forward, holding the stopwatch in his hand. There were two other teachers with stopwatches. I ran and ran and ran as fast as I could and crossed the line. I raised my hands to the Almighty for granting me my wish.

I looked for Karen. She was on her back, on the track, not far from me. I waved at Laila. My gang were jumping up and down with joy. Mr Armstrong wrote something down on his scorecard and conferred with the other teachers, nodded, pulled a cordless microphone out of his pocket and tapped on it saying, ‘What an absolutely amazing race that was.' He paused, waved his hand towards the kids and added, ‘Don't you all agree?'

A deafening cheer went up.

‘And I am pleased to announce,' Mr Armstrong continued when the noise went down, ‘In the third place, Jonathan West at 12.35, in the second, Susanne Williams.' He paused again.

‘You piece of trash,' I cursed Karen. ‘Didn't make it, did you?'

She turned away from me. Mr Armstrong continued, ‘Shamshad Khan, 11.29, what an absolutely amazing result. One of the best ever,' the head who was standing close by Mr Armstrong tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to her and the two of them looked through a piece of paper. Mr Armstrong's face lit up and he continued, ‘I've just been told, that this is our new school record for the girls 100 metres.' A deafening roar went up. He waited for the noise to go down and said, ‘And Kiran Malik, 11.29, congratulations to the joint winners.'

Surely I've misheard, I thought, it can't be. I looked up into the sky. A big, rolling white cloud was merging into a collapsing face. Just then, I became enraged. I didn't care that everyone was watching. I clenched my fist and went for Karen.

I was flat on my back looking up at a big, white twisting and turning cloud, sinking into a sad face. From the corner of my eye, I saw Shamshad come towards me, grunting. I got up quickly and went towards Mr Armstrong. Dad was already there. He was out of breath. He hugged me and said, ‘Well done, Kiran, you came second. Well done.' Mr Armstrong heard Dad and said, ‘No, Mr Malik, She didn't.'

‘Well done anyway, Kiran,' Dad said.

‘She came first, along with Shamshad Khan,' Mr Armstrong said going back towards the starting line, where the next race was lining up.

Dad went silent.

I looked around to see where Shamshad was. I didn't want to meet her in the changing rooms. She was on the other side of the track, surrounded by her cronies.

‘I don't feel well Dad, can I go home now, please?' I said. He looked right through me.

‘Dad!' I said, ‘I don't feel well, I want to go home.' He nodded.

‘Can you please come with me to reception, and tell them.' He nodded.

I looked around once again at Shamshad. She was staring at me. She said something to her mates and walked away from them. I knew she was coming for me.

‘Dad, please hurry up,' I said, walking back to school.

He quickened his pace. I ran past reception, bolted to the changing rooms, grabbed my clothes and rushed back. Shamshad was already in the hallway. Dad was talking to the receptionist.

As I went past Shamshad, she hissed, ‘Just wait and see.'

Dad had snapped out of wherever he'd gone and said, walking out of the reception, ‘It doesn't matter. I'm still proud of you.'

I didn't reply. I was stung by the word ‘still'.
Still,
I thought, you mean because I came joint first or because I came joint first with Shamshad.

Getting into the car, Dad said, ‘And on Saturday, me and you are going out to celebrate, just the two of us.'

I threw my stuff on the back seat and sat in the back of the car. ‘D and D,' Dad chuckled. ‘Daughter and Dad.'

‘Oh, yeh,' I thought to myself, ‘D and D, that's a new one. As if you'll remember this on a match day.'