At this point I have to put Sita, Snake-Queen of Speed and the Truly Massive G-Force on hold, because there’s something else you need to know.
It’s what my dad calls a fly in the ointment – the ointment being your life, and the fly being something that utterly ruins it. And the fly in my particular ointment that summer was Our Lady of the Sorrows.
My mum and dad, you see, had always had a bee in their bonnet about me going to a private school when I left Primary. They said a private school, with just girls, would be ‘much more conducive to study’ than the local comprehensive and, after surfing the Net and examining every league table under the sun, they’d hit on Our Lady as the best school in the area. So off we went, my mum and my dad and me, to see it. (Nani stayed at home to look after Bilal and make sure he didn’t eat the furniture.)
When I first walked into Our Lady of the Sorrows, I must admit I liked the atmosphere. OK, there were statues everywhere, but they had lovely faces, so I knew I’d get used to them. And it was really quiet and calm – not like our school at all.
But it was when we were in the Head’s office that the bee in Mum and Dad’s bonnet began to turn into a horrible buzzy fly in my ointment. It began to turn, in fact, the very moment I set eyes on Sister Mary Ignatius.
It wasn’t that Sister Mary Ignatius was huge and scary-looking. Not a bit of it. She was shorter than me, and her face reminded me of Nani’s stuffed canary with a little hooked beak, and a neat grey veil in place of yellow feathers. But there was something about her eyes and the determined way she said, We’ll make a first-rate scholar out of Yosser if it’s the last thing we do… that made a horrible stomach-curdling feeling of dread wash over me.
Sister Mary Ignatius’s eyes were black and sparkly, and the lenses in her glasses were so strong they made her eyes look absolutely enormous.
That was a bit scary, but not nearly as scary as her voice. It was very quiet indeed, but it had that edge to it that let you know she’d get her own way no matter what. And when she listed all the school rules (of which there were about ten million) she kept turning to me and giving me that ultrasonic stare as though she thought I’d be breaking every one of them as soon as I crossed the threshold.
Finally, at rule number nine million nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine (School uniform must be worn at all times) she leaned over her desk, glared at me with her huge eyes, and sniffed.
“Positively no jeans,” she said, aiming the sniff in the general direction of my legs. I was about to point out that actually they weren’t jeans, they were combats, but one look at Sister Mary Ignatius’s eyes and I decided an in-depth discussion of fashion was not appropriate. I just bit my lip and shook my head, as though I’d never really liked combats anyway.
But I was truly miserable. I’d seen some girls as we came in, all identically dressed in bright green jumpers. Some had jaunty tartan skirts and neat black stockings, and others had jaunty tartan trousers, and at the time I’d thought they looked quite cool. Now it was beginning to dawn on me that I could be one of those girls, and that Sister Mary Ignatius and her teachers could be making a first-rate scholar out of me for the next six years …
And in that moment I realised I didn’t want to be at Our Lady of the Sorrows at all.
Not without Kylie.
I looked pleadingly at Mum, but she and Dad were shaking Sister Mary Ignatius’s hand, and they were all smiling happily.
“Good day to you, Mr Farooq,” Sister Mary was saying in a business-like voice, “and we look forward to seeing Yosser in the very near future, for her entrance exam …”
That did it. I didn’t think I could feel worse, but I instantly did.
Entrance exam. The words were like a great bell booming out my fate, as Kylie put it when I told her later. And as usual, Kylie was spot-on.
I’ve always been terrified of exams, you see. Even Ms Albright’s regular Friday Mental Maths and Spelling combo used make me feel sick. The thought of sitting an exam in Our Lady of the Sorrows’ big hall was more than I could stand.
As soon as we were outside, I told Mum and Dad I didn’t want to go, but I could see there was absolutely no point. They were hooked. They thought Our Lady of the Sorrows was perfect and Sister Mary Ignatius was wonderful.
“I could see the way she was looking at you, Yosser,” Mum said, her eyes moist with happiness. “She was looking right in at your Hidden Potential…”
“… and planning how to unleash it,” added Dad, smacking his lips as though my Hidden Potential was a tasty meal. “Our Lady of the Sorrows will be the making of you, Yosser. You mark my words.”
I clambered miserably into the car, took out my mobile, and texted Kylie to tell her what had happened. Then I sat in silence all the way home, thinking about my fate, and even Kylie texting back a smily-face didn’t cheer me up.
