Kicked Out, page 10
She nodded at Sami and pointed behind him. The lunch queue had moved on ahead of us, and there was a massive gap. We all pushed our trays along the counter to where the staff stood.
“I’ll have a tuna melt panini to go, thanks,” Mrs. Webster said to a dinner lady, then looked at us. “Do you have the tickets ready?”
“Yeah, we printed them at break,” said Mark. “We just need to cut them all ’cause we printed four per page.” Mark’s mum had dropped off some gold paper just before break for his “emergency art project he’d forgotten about,” but the printing hadn’t worked out as well as we’d thought.
“Okay, I’ll ask the form tutors to put a notice out about the tickets in form time tomorrow. And we could sell them in the playground after school next Tuesday so everyone isn’t holding on to them for too long and risk them getting lost or crushed in their bags. What do you think? That gives everyone the weekend to ask their parents or guardians for the money and whatnot.”
“That sounds awesome, Miss!” said Sami.
“Okay, great. I’ll let you get your lunch. Pop into the sports office after you’re done and we’ll discuss timing and everything in more detail, okay?” She reached over the counter, and the dinner lady handed her a paper bag, which, judging by the fishy smell, must’ve been her tuna panini, and she strolled off.
A buzz of excitement went right through me as I moved my tray towards the cashier. We were so close to doing something amazing. We were on fire. I wasn’t going to let anything get in my head now. Not Mustafa. Not my so-called dad.
Sami and Aadam came round in the evening, and we all sat around the kitchen table cutting the tickets into neat rectangles. Elijah’s idea of printing gold tickets hadn’t worked out, because the ink didn’t set on the paper properly and got smudgy. So we’d stuck to good old yellow school paper. Sami felt bad that Mark’s mum had come to school especially to drop it off for his “special project,” but I didn’t—he shouldn’t have had to lie about it in the first place.
“Ahmed, you need to get closer to the border so it’s a proper rectangle. Can you do that one again?” Sami said to my brother. We’d included him since he was moping around anyway, and we could do with the help.
“Have you spoken to your lawyer again?” I asked Aadam as I tried to get as close to the black border as I could. “Is he sending off the appeal form?”
Aadam sighed. “Yeah. Sami’s dad and my friends at unaccompanied minor center helped pay the deposit, so I had my meeting with my lawyer, but I need to get the paperwork in on time.”
“Dad says he’s pretty sure Aadam will get ‘leave to remain’ in the next application because this time it will be done properly and we’ll have proof he’s a kid and not an adult,” said Sami, setting his scissors down and having a drink of apple juice.
“Oh, that’s good,” I said.
“What sort of paperwork do you need?” asked Ahmed. A good question; I’d let him have it.
“I need to show them proof I am sixteen. So my mum is trying to get my old head teacher to help. I lost all my official certificates in Lebanon—I think the men who forced me to work for them threw everything away, because the certificates were in my bag one day and then they weren’t there the next.” Aadam picked his scissors up again.
“How come you were in Lebanon?” I asked. “I thought you lived in Syria.”
“I did. I went to Lebanon first after leaving Syria, but I was attacked by a bunch of men and they forced me to work for them and beat me up. They treat Syrians so badly because millions of us ended up there and the Lebanese ran out of money, and so they blame us. That’s why I escaped and went to Turkey.” Aadam smiled at Sami. “That’s where I met Sami and his family.”
“Oh, right.” I didn’t know what to say. He’d been through so much. Man, I hoped we’d make the four-thousand-pounds target so he could get his refugee status and just live life without having to worry about this sort of stuff again.
Sami picked up a new sheet to cut. “The lawyer thinks he’s got a good chance of winning the fresh claim because he can use the photos my dad has of Syria to prove Aadam can’t go back there since it’s not safe. And Aadam’s mum has sent photos of what happened to his house and the conditions she’s living in.”
“I lost all of that with my phone, so my first application was not very strong,” said Aadam, concentrating on snipping around a corner. Then he chuckled. “It’s funny, they say to me, ‘You came illegally.’ But to claim asylum I had to come here illegally because there was no way for me to apply from Syria!”
“It’s a stupid system. Makes no sense.” Sami put his scissors down and looked at me. “Plus the Home Office said Aadam was twenty-five! Did I tell you that?”
“No way!” I said. “They actually said you were twenty-five?!”
“Yeah.” Aadam took a sip of juice. “They said one of my friends from Afghanistan was thirty!”
“Yup. They just made Aadam’s age up!” said Sami. “That’s why he was on the streets and no one would help him when we found each other again that night when we went to get a burger. Remember?” He looked at me.
“I forgot about that!” Aadam smiled at me. “Akhi, you were there with Sami and me from the start!” He nudged my elbow. “I knew you were a top guy as soon as you said salaam to me even though I was unwashed and in filthy clothes. You treated me like a human, when most people just avoided me.”
I smiled back, thinking of that night me and Sami had gone to get a chicken burger and Sami had spotted Aadam in the queue. Sami thought he’d never see him again after they’d been separated in Turkey. He didn’t even know if Aadam had made the boat journey. I’d left them to it, but it looked emotional.
“And then we’d all ended up in a homeless shelter with Mum, Dad, and Sara.” Sami sighed. “Man, I’m glad those days are over.” He shook his head and picked his scissors up again.
Ahmed squirmed in his seat. I suppose it was a lot for him to hear. I think this was the first time any of us had talked about Sami’s and Aadam’s journeys like this. It kind of showed how we’d become such good friends.
“Are we going to help your mum too?” Ahmed asked Aadam.
Aadam looked down as if he was blinking away tears. “I have been working to send her money, but now this legal-fees situation has come up, she won’t let me send any more. I have begged her to leave Syria and come here, but she won’t leave our house. Even though it is now a shell. She says we will have nothing to our family name if she leaves.”
“Can we do anything to help?” I asked.
“My dad has organized an operation for her leg,” said Sami. “Once that’s done we’re gonna try again to see if we can persuade her to leave.”
I couldn’t imagine how hard that must be for Aadam to deal with on top of everything else.
“If it wasn’t for Sami and his family, I wouldn’t have anybody here.” Aadam smiled gently at Sami and had a faraway look in his eyes.
“Do you want to go back when it’s safe?” asked Ahmed, snipping off the extra paper around his already-cut ticket.
“More than anything in the world,” said Aadam. He dropped his scissors on the table.
“What do you miss the most?” Wow, Ahmed was interviewing my boy hard.
Aadam smiled. “Oh, I miss hearing Fairouz first thing in the morning . . . She’s a famous Arab singer that so many Syrians wake up to. I miss my mum’s food and booza—that’s a stretchy, chewy Syrian ice cream. So much!” His blue eyes sparkled, then his smile dropped. “It’s a year since I left and I thought the war would’ve been over by now and we’d all have gone back, but . . . it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.” He shrugged. “It’s hard because we didn’t just lose family and friends, or our homes, we lost our whole lives . . . who we were.”
Sami nodded hard as he cut around a ticket.
“Must be hard to start again from scratch,” I said.
“I hope no one else ever has to do this after us.” Aadam picked up his scissors again and started cutting. I guess he was done talking.
My phone buzzed. “Mark’s video-calling,” I said, showing the boys my screen. “Oi oi, Mark!” I said.
It looked like he was out walking. “What you lot doing?” he said.
“Cutting out the tickets. Where are you?” I asked.
“In my garden. Where else? I’m bored. Got nothin’ to do.”
“What about Grace?” Sami asked.
“What about her? She’s busy, just like you lot are. Everyone’s got a life but me.”
“Just come round, man!” I said, showing him Sami, Aadam, Ahmed, and the pile of cut tickets. “Could do with your help.”
“I wish I could,” Mark said, stopping in front of a humongous tree trunk. “But Callum and Mum are home all evening and apparently we’re going out for a ‘special meal’ later.” It was obvious from his face he wasn’t happy about it. “Stupid Callum. Thinks he’s my dad.”
“I’m sorry, mate,” I said. It was weird what we were both going through. There was Mark, struggling because this crudhead wanted to be his dad. And then there was me, struggling because my real dad had turned up and still didn’t want to be my dad.
“Right, I can’t wait until I see you guys so I’m just gonna tell you now—I’ve got some amazing news!” Mark suddenly sounded chirpy. A bit too chirpy. Maybe he’d noticed my face had changed. I sat up, trying to look brighter and happier too. “So, I got one of my balls back over the hedge earlier and David said we could have a prize for the best penalty scored!”
“Seriously? Like, he’ll judge them?”
“Yeah, and he said he’ll do a behind-the-scenes stadium tour with the winner, including changing rooms . . . AND we can go too ’cause he wants to keep his promise from the day we stopped his car from being keyed!” Mark grinned.
“Oh boy, behind the scenes and CHANGING ROOMS TOO! I hope I win!” I said.
I turned the phone to show Mark Sami’s and Aadam’s excited faces. If they were dogs they’d have been panting.
“I hope I win!” said Sami.
“Yeah, but you’re all going anyway, so you don’t even have to try,” said Ahmed with the most serious face.
We all burst out laughing.
Chapter 20
It was Thursday afternoon, and we were picking up Ahmed from his school football club. Mum had forced me to go with her. Well, she convinced me that if I helped her carry the ten kilograms of rice at the supermarket, my muscles would grow. And to be honest, I didn’t need more convincing. I wanted bigger arms.
It was weird to go back and look out at my old primary school. Everything seemed so small now, when it had felt huge when I was there.
Ahmed pulled the car door open and scrambled into the back.
“What are you doing here?” he said, gawping at me. “Last week you said you were never ever going to come and drop me off or pick me up from football ever again.” He tutted, and clicked his seat belt into place.
I turned from the passenger seat and looked at him. “That was ’cause you took five hundred hours getting changed and then expected me to carry your kit bag like I was your manservant.”
Mum turned the car engine on and glanced at both of us. “Oh, don’t start fighting, you two. Ahmed, I asked Ali to come because I want him to help me with the rice. And you should’ve thanked him for stepping in last week for me and picking you up when no one else could.”
I smirked at Ahmed, and he rolled his eyes and folded his arms before looking out the window.
We entered the supermarket car park, and Mum drove into a spot and pulled up her handbrake. The sky was overcast with clouds, but it was bright, as if the sun was going to burst through at any moment. Just as we all unclicked our seat belts, a car reversed into the spot in front of ours. It was a beat-up maroon car that looked an awful lot like . . . I shrank into my seat. It was Dad . . . with Mustafa.
They’d come to the supermarket at the same time as us.
Mum glanced up as she grabbed her handbag from my footwell, did a double take, and looked away again quickly. She clearly didn’t want to make eye contact.
“Just hold on, Ahmed.” She put her arm on his knee through the gap in the front seats to stop him from getting out. “Stay in the car.”
I wasn’t sure if Ahmed had clicked why.
Dad slammed his car door shut. He had his back to us, and I hoped he wouldn’t go into the back to get a bag out or anything. He followed Mustafa, who had already made his way past a few rows of cars.
I put my head back on my seat and clenched my jaw, watching them both swan off to do their special shopping together. Dad and son.
“Okay, boys, we need to talk,” said Mum, turning to face us both. She looked at me and nodded towards Ahmed as if to say to me, “This talk is for him.” She then turned to Ahmed. “I know it’s been a while since you saw your dad anywhere. But that might change, as he has moved back into the area.”
“Has he?!” Ahmed sounded excited.
“Yes, Ahmed. I think it was just over a week ago. So you might see him.” She looked at me. “Because obviously we’re going to be shopping in the same places and be in the same neighborhood—you’re going to bump into him. And so, I want you to promise me that if you do see him, just talk to him with respect. Remember, he’s your dad.”
“No, he’s not. You did everything all by yourself,” I said.
“Ali, yes, he is. He’s your dad . . . And he made a choice. But that does not mean that you will show up our family or show up the way that I raised you by being disrespectful to him. Do you understand?”
I looked down at my lap, tempted to pull my phone out to show Mum I wasn’t interested in this conversation.
“I want to see him. What does he look like now? Do you think he’ll want to see us?” said Ahmed, and I swallowed back the feeling of despair rising inside me. My poor baby brother. How could Dad have just forgotten about him?
“You know what he looks like, Ahmed. You’ve seen his photos and he was at that wedding a few years ago.”
“I don’t remember.” His voice broke.
If I could’ve cried right then, I would have. I gulped back the forming tears and pulled out my phone. I couldn’t deal with this. I had to focus on something else.
Mum stroked my cheek before reaching for Ahmed. “Oh, my baby, come here.” She tried to hug Ahmed through the gap between our front seats.
“Look, he might want to meet up now he’s closer. He did see Samira. He might be taking it slowly. Let’s just give it some time, okay?”
Huh? He met up with Samira? And she didn’t tell us . . . or take us?
My nostrils flared. Maybe he just didn’t need us boys. Samira and Mustafa were enough.
“Okay, let’s go and get that shop,” she said. I could feel her watching me as I scrolled through my playlist. She took a deep breath and pushed her door open.
Ahmed jumped out and slammed his door shut.
“Come on!” Mum ducked her head in.
“I don’t want to go,” I said.
“Ali, I need help with the rice because of my back. You know that. Come on.”
“No. I don’t want to go in there. You can get a supermarket assistant to help you put the rice in the trolley. And then when you get to the car, I’ll put it in for you, and I’ll take it into the house. You don’t need me in the supermarket.”
Mum sighed and dropped her hands by her side. “Okay, no problem. Stay here on your phone or whatever. Just don’t walk off anywhere. I won’t be long; I’m just getting rice and a couple of other things. I don’t want to have to look for you once I get back to the car.”
“I won’t move.” I shrugged, shrinking into my seat.
Mum shut her door and walked off with Ahmed, avoiding passing by Dad’s car.
I sat facing his old banger. Right in front of me.
I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. If he came back before Mum, he might see me. But if he was doing a big shop, we might be gone before he’d even paid.
I decided I’d keep looking up to check. I glanced at my window—it was open enough for me to hear them coming. And if I did, I’d duck.
Chapter 21
I heard some voices heading towards the car and slid right down my seat, into the footwell. The voices got closer, and my heart started racing.
What if Dad recognized Mum’s car and was coming to check it out? He was going to catch me hiding here. How would that look?!
The voices were now next to the car, and it sounded like two people. The car boot clicked and whooshed up, and I breathed out. It was Mum and Ahmed.
I sat back in my seat before they found me scrunched up like a hibernating hedgehog.
Mum pulled her door open and chucked her bag in between our seats. “Can’t believe they ran out of rice!” She slid into her seat and pulled her door closed. “This is what happens when Aldi has a sale. Us Asians love a bargain!”
“It’s your lucky day,” Ahmed said to me, handing me a Kit Kat and unwrapping his Kinder egg. “You don’t have to carry any heavy bags.”
I wasn’t in the mood to eat, so I put the chocolate in the glove box and watched Mum fumble around with her key while keeping her eyes fixed ahead of her. It looked like she was rushing to get it into the ignition. “I take it you didn’t see—”
“No,” Mum replied before I could finish.
I suddenly felt lighter. “Can we leave quickly, please?”
“That’s the plan!” Mum reversed out of the parking spot and drove fast towards the exit. I looked down at my phone to make sure I didn’t spot Dad or Mustafa by accident.
