Boy vs. Girl Page 2

  “Alice,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my niece, Farhana… Farhana, this is Alice.”

  Farhana tried to smile and sound normal. “Hi…”

  “Hi,” said Alice in a soft voice that didn’t seem to match her appearance. “So you’re the special niece I’ve heard so much about!”

  Farhana looked questioningly over at Auntie Najma who grinned. “You know I’m always showing off to everyone about my bright, beautiful, wonderful niece, masha Allah!”

  Farhana smiled, embarrassed. “Well,” she said at last, “it was nice meeting you…” She didn’t know what else to say. But it was clear that Auntie Najma and Alice did not have a shortage of things to say to each other. They spoke animatedly for about twenty minutes, bursting out laughing several times. Then, Auntie Najma took out some papers and gave them to Alice, who smiled gratefully.

  “Thanks so much, Najma,” Farhana heard her say. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” was Auntie Najma’s response. “We’ll see that justice is served, insha Allah.”

  Alice smiled then, showing two gaps where her teeth were missing. “Yeah, insha Allah…”

  The two women embraced briefly, then Auntie Najma flew back to Farhana.

  “Is that lady Muslim?” Farhana wanted to know.

  “No,” smiled Auntie Najma, “she picked up insha Allah from me. But you never know….”

  * * *

  Soon they were all sitting in a booth on retro red leather benches, studying a menu made up entirely of milkshakes.

  “Hmmm,” murmured Auntie Najma, “I still haven’t tried every flavour. But I think it’s banana peanut butter for me. What will you two have?”

  The twins stared at the menu, overwhelmed by the choice.

  Auntie Najma smiled at them. “Take your time, it’s OK…” She pulled a brocade-covered book out of her Moroccan leather bag.

  “What’s that, Auntie Naj?” asked Farhana, peering over at it.

  “It’s my journal,” answered her aunt, flipping the pages. “Ramadan is in a few days’ time, isn’t it? So, I’m using my journal to prepare for Ramadan, to make sure I have a list of things that I want to achieve, stuff I want to improve on, things I want to do.…”

  Farhana raised her eyebrows. Auntie Naj still had stuff to improve on? “Like what?”

  “Ummm,” Auntie Najma’s eyes scanned the page. “Like finish reading the Qur’an, pray the night prayer, give some of my clothes to charity, take my favourite niece and nephew to iftar at a new restaurant that’s opened up… that kind of thing.” She looked up at them and grinned. “So, how do you prepare for Ramadan?”

  Faraz and Farhana looked at each other and then at their aunt, puzzled.

  “What do you mean, Auntie?” asked Faraz. “What’s to prepare? OK, I’m ready to go hungry, if that’s what you mean…”

  “Unlike last year, y’mean?” Farhana couldn’t resist having a dig at her brother’s pathetic show of fasting the year before.

  Faraz gave her a dirty look. “Yeah, unlike last year! And don’t start with me! I know about you and Shazia down the chip shop!”

  Farhana blushed. “That was different!” she protested hotly. “Shazia wasn’t praying at the time! And anyway, I … I…”

  Faraz burst out laughing. “Save it for the judge, mate! You were just as rubbish as me, admit it!”

  Farhana giggled sheepishly.

  “Well, none of that this year you two, all right?” Their aunt looked at them sternly, only the slightest hint of a smile about her lips.

  Then the waiter was there to take their order. Farhana thought she would be adventurous and try the Blackberry Cheesecake Shake. Faraz decided to play it safe with a strawberry vanilla blend.

  “It’s those strawberry protein shakes, Faraz!” joked Farhana. “They’ve ruined your taste buds for life!”

  The twins laughed. It had been a while since they had been out together: just the two of them and Auntie Naj.

  “OK, let’s take a few steps back here,” said Auntie Najma. “I want you to tell me about Ramadan. What it’s all about, what it’s for.”

  The twins looked at each other and rolled their eyes – what was this, madressah? Then they shrugged their shoulders and rattled off everything they knew about Ramadan, the month of mercy: no food or drink from sunrise to sunset, one of the pillars of Islam, devils chained up, time to do good deeds, forgiveness for the one who fasts the whole month.

  “OK, good, so you know the basics,” said Auntie Najma. “I expect you’re well pleased with yourselves! But what does Ramadan mean to you? What do you want to get out of it?”

  The two fell silent. They weren’t used to being asked about their own views on religious matters. As a young Muslim, you did what you were supposed to do, what your parents told you, no questions.

  “Auntie,” said Faraz at last, “Ramzan is just something that you do: everyone does. It’s about family and food, big iftars and going mosque on Eid. It’s just the norm.”

  “But what I mean is, what do you want to achieve by the end of Ramadan? What do you hope to gain?”

  They were silent for a moment. Farhana spoke up first.

  “I guess I’d like to prove to myself that I can actually fast the whole month… I’ve never done the whole month before.”

  Faraz nodded in agreement. “I suppose it’s a challenge, really. Cos it’s hard, innit? The question is: can you handle it?”

  “And it’s not just the fasting, is it?” added Farhana. “It’s the other stuff, the stuff you know you shouldn’t be doing in the first place… messing about.”

  “Trying to better yourself, as a person, as a Muslim.”

  “Trying to live up to your ideals…”

  Auntie Najma smiled at them both. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! We have to remember how fortunate we are to see another Ramadan. It’s like we’ve been given another chance to repent, to better ourselves, to get some serious blessings from Allah. We’ve got a chance to make this month really special… I can’t wait!” She fished around in her bag. “Look, here’s a book I’ve been reading, just to remind myself, y’know?”

  She showed them the book: Ramadan in the Qur’an and Sunnah.

  Farhana’s eyes lit up, as they always did when she saw a book she hadn’t read.

  “D’you think I could borrow that, Auntie?”

  “Of course – but only if you let Faraz have a read too…”

  “You’d better let me have it first, Auntie, or I’ll never get a look-in once it disappears into Farhana’s room!”

  They all laughed and Auntie Najma handed him the book. Then the milkshakes came and there was no time for talk. None of them remembered that they hadn’t even eaten lunch!

  * * *

  Faraz looked down again at the line in the book that lay open on his lap:

  ‘Fasting has been prescribed for you so that you may attain righteousness…’

  Could he possibly attain that? Reach that point of awareness? Stay out of the madness? He wanted to try, wanted to so badly. He would make a go of it this year, he really would.

  But a little voice in the back of his mind whispered treacherous thoughts: What about Skrooz? And the lads? What will they think?

  He pushed that thought aside. In this place, at this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to attain righteousness, to feel at peace with himself.

  He took a deep breath.

  He would do it, insha Allah, he would. He just had to stay focused.

  * * *

  That night, Farhana stayed up after everyone else had gone to bed. She sat up in bed, her duvet pulled up over her knees, an open book on her lap, writing by lamplight. She was making a list.

  All evening, she had been thinking about what her aunt had said and, all evening, she had asked herself questions: what do you want? Where are you going? How can you improve?

  Now she had written the answers on a page in the open book. As she wrote them, they became real somehow, concrete, as if they took life from the page they now covered.

  Pray on time

  Read more Qur’an

  Stop gossiping

  Give away some stuff

  Help the needy

  Study hard

  Get coursework done ahead of schedule

  Pray the night prayer

  Her eyes flickered upwards to the white hijab once again. Her hand hesitated as she formulated the sentence in her head:

  Start wearing hijab.

  Could she really do it?

  She knew one thing for sure: if she put it on, she wanted to do it properly, for good, not taking it off again after a few weeks, or after Eid. She didn’t want to be a hypocrite. But was she ready to be a ‘hijabi’? In the fullest sense of the word? After all, hijab wasn’t just about covering your hair. It was about a state of mind: modesty, awareness of God, awareness of your actions, being accountable, being a walking symbol of Islam.

  After many discussions with Auntie Najma, and debates with her mum and her mate Shazia, who wore the hijab, albeit reluctantly, she now believed that the hijab was a religious obligation, an act of worship that would be rewarded.

  That wasn’t the issue.

  The issue was whether or not she could live up to its expectations – and whether she could deal with the negative reactions she was sure to encounter at school.

  ‘And I did not create mankind or the jinn except to worship Me.’

  If that was her reason for living, what was stopping her from taking this step?

  Why should I care what the girls at school think? she thought. Or my teachers? After school, they go back to their lives, to their kids. They’re not living their lives thinking about me.

 
Farhana turned the various discussions over in her mind again and again, arguing with herself. One person’s name kept coming up again and again – Malik – but she consciously pushed it aside. She was not about to let his ideas or opinions influence her, not now.

  By the time she turned out the light, she was mentally exhausted but pleased with the outcome of her internal dialogue.

  I’m going to try. If this is the right thing, Allah will make it easy for me. I’ll just have to trust Him on this one.

  Then, just before turning out the light, she scribbled one last thing:

  GOM

  Get over Malik.

  * * *

  Across the hallway, in his room, Faraz was praying Isha, the last prayer of the day. It was the prayer he prayed most frequently as it could be offered just before bed, no waking early in the morning, no missing lunch.

  O Allah, Ramzan is on its way.

  Got to get meself sorted.

  No more wasting time.

  No more messing about.

  Just me and You.

  One on one.

  It’s not easy being me, being Faraz. At school they think I’m a loser, thick. But that’s not what Skrooz says. ‘Fraz the Wrecker’. That’s his name for me. He says I’ve got it in me to be someone, to prove meself.

  But not this month. Not yet. This month, I want to be a good Muslim, a good boy, a nice Pakistani boy who goes mosque, prays on time, stays out of trouble.

  Yeah, I figure I can be good for one month. Insha Allah.

  It should be easy to put Skrooz off for a few weeks, just until after Eid. He didn’t want that side of his life messing with his Ramadan – this month was sacred.

  Chapter 3

  A taste of trouble

  On Monday morning, brother and sister walked together to the bus stop. When they were younger, they had been inseparable, often not needing to speak when together. It was as if they knew instinctively what the other was thinking and feeling. But times had changed. The move to high school and adolescence had put an end to that effortless understanding. Now when they were silent, it was just as likely that they were both lost in their own thoughts, totally unaware of each other’s secrets.

  But hanging out with Auntie Naj had started to bring them closer again. They had slowly begun to open up.

  Farhana spoke first. “You looking forward to Ramadan, then?”

  Faraz nodded. “I reckon I’m gonna make a go of it this year, sis.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Farhana answered. “That conversation we had with Auntie Najma over the weekend really got me thinking about Ramzan, and what it really means…”

  “You mean like it not being just about going hungry? About it being a chance to make a change for the better?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Farhana smiled at her brother. She had seen his face, so similar to hers, light up as her aunt had described the blessings of Ramadan. ‘The month of mercy’ she had called it, when all your sins could be forgiven, when Allah Himself would reward your sacrifice.

  “I could do with turning over a new leaf in some areas, you know,” she said meaningfully.

  “So, what about Malik, then?” Faraz only had sketchy details about Farhana’s involvement with Malik but he knew enough.…

  “Don’t go there, Faraz,” mumbled his sister, looking away. “There’s nothing there now…” Then she turned back to him. “What about you? What about Skrooz and the lads?”

  “I reckon I can keep them off my back…”

  “Yeah, I think that’s best. I don’t know about you hanging with lads like that anyway. Plus this is not the year to be messing about, not with exams around the corner.” She said that even though she knew that exams were the furthest thing from Faraz’s mind. They just weren’t on his radar.

  “Exams? Ah, yeah, that’s right… no problem.”

  Farhana looked at him, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “You’d ace them if you studied, Faraz, you know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we all know that you got the brains between us!” Faraz had heard that comment too many times from family members. It still stung.

  “That’s absolute rubbish, Faraz, and you know it!” Farhana snapped. “You just need to try harder, that’s all…”

  “All right, all right! No lectures today, yeah? You made your point!” He ducked as Farhana swung her schoolbag at his head.

  “You two at it again, are you?” They both swung round to see Farhana’s friend, Shazia, standing behind them, an amused look on her face.

  “Hey, Shazia!” Farhana hugged her friend. “Asalaamu alaikum, you’re late.”

  “Wa alaikum salaam,” Shazia replied briefly. “Yeah, didn’t get much sleep last night – was helping Mum with some stuff.”

  Faraz stood awkwardly to the side, trying not to stare at Shazia, Imam Shakir’s daughter, his sister’s best friend since forever, the girl of his dreams. But he was aware of her presence, of the smell of her hair, neatly tucked under a white hijab.

  He had to greet her properly though, to be polite. “Asalaamu alaikum, Shazia,” he mumbled, sweat springing up under his collar.

  “Wa alaikum salaam, Faraz,” Shazia answered, glancing at him.

  Then they all heard a great roar, a revving and squeal of tyres, a great rush of horsepower far too loud and powerful for their quiet road. They turned to look.

  A black BMW, low and shiny, was speeding down their narrow street. Loud hip- hop blared out of the windows and the bass made the pavement throb.

  Farhana and Shazia both winced at the swear words that bounced off windows decorated with the word bismillah, in the name of Allah. The car sped towards them, tearing up the tarmac until it came to a screeching halt in front of them.

  What a motor! thought Faraz, admiring the car’s sleek lines and impressive alloy wheels, almost in spite of himself. He had never had the usual lads’ interests – but this car, its raw power and energy, stirred something inside him.

  Then the tinted window on the passenger side slid down and an Asian boy with a spiky Mohawk and silver knuckle dusters on his fingers leaned out.

  “Fraz!” he called. “What’s goin’ on, bruv?”

  Shazia looked over at Farhana. Faraz knew these guys?

  The driver’s door opened and another Asian guy stepped out of the car. He was a monster, this one. A huge hunk of towering flesh and muscle, scarred and tattooed, squeezed into tight jeans and a hoody. Thick silver chains adorned his chest, diamond rings on his sausage-like fingers. His dark hair was cut so short that the skin of his scalp shone through.

  Immediately, Farhana knew who it was. It was Skrooz.

  “Hey, bruv,” he called over to Faraz, who hurried towards him and pumped his hand. Skrooz drew him close in an embrace, his great arm across Faraz’s back, his cigarette smouldering between his fat fingers, his eyes on Farhana.

  Farhana felt her skin crawl as his eyes raked up and down her body, his lips twisted in a half smile. He winked at her and she turned away, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  Then he turned to Faraz.

  “Where you been, blud?” he asked. “You want a lift to school? I’m droppin’ my little brother off…”

  “Y-you mean that?” Faraz’s eyes were wide.

  “Yeah, why not?” He opened the back door and Faraz practically leapt in, hardly looking back. He ran his hand over the leather seats as they vibrated to the music beneath his fingers. Cool.

  Skrooz turned to Farhana and Shazia.

  “So, you ladies want a lift too?” He smiled again before taking another drag of his cigarette.

  “Er, no, that’s OK,” stuttered Farhana. “Our bus is here. Thanks.” And with that, she pulled Shazia towards the waiting bus.

  They heard the car start up again and, with the squeal of burning rubber, it lurched into the road and roared away.

  Neither girl spoke.

  Then Shazia turned to Farhana and said, “Your brother’s heading for trouble, he is.”

  Chapter 4

  An invitation

  Farhana loved her school. Her parents had decided to send her to the local girls’ school, rather than the mixed comprehensive Faraz went to – and Farhana couldn’t have been happier. Of course, her parents’ motives had been almost solely to keep her ‘out of trouble’, ie away from boys but, as it happened, Middleton School was actually an excellent school and the mixture of challenges and incentives really suited Farhana. It was left for Faraz to deal with the gangs and exhausted teachers at his inner city comprehensive.