“OK, guys, are you happy to be here?”
“Yeah!” they shouted shyly.
“I said, Are You Happy To Be Here?”
“YEAH!” they hollered, Mr Bird the loudest, which made everybody laugh.
The instructor moved his sunglasses up onto his head, rolled his eyes and pretended to be deafened, which got a better sort of laugh.
“Right, guys.” They all looked at each other. This was better than being called “boys and girls” or “children”.
“Guys, my name is Mr Holden, but you can call me . . . Mr Holden.” There were shrieks of laughter, especially from the girls.
“Nah, we’re not at school now, so you can call me Dom.” More secret smiles. No, they were not at school. This was a thousand trillion times better.
Mr Holden – Dom – was standing in front of an old mansion and the children were all in a straight line, with their rucksacks, cases and sleeping bags at their feet.
Dom jumped up onto a wall to show how fit he was and then started explaining.
“So, this is CBC – Challenge by Choice – Wales. There are some tough challenges here and we know you’re really going to enjoy them. You can challenge yourself by going high, or fast, or simply by passing the hill walk challenge. It’s your choice. . . Get it? Challenge by Choice.”
They all nodded. They got it.
“I’m doing it all,” nudged Charles.
“Me too,” said Wasim who had left Mr Bird and managed to get back with his mates.
“Is it dangerous, Mr . . . Dom?”
They all giggled. Trust Donna!
Dom put on a grim face. “That’s a good question, sweetheart.”
Donna beamed.
“Everything is dangerous here. Everything is safe here. It depends on whether you follow the rules. Rules are here for your safety so. . .”
And then Dom droned on about wearing helmets for all activities, tying long hair back, having asthma sprays with you at all times, being silent if an instructor whistled, staying in safety areas, not running between activities and not having food in the dorms.
“Rules are essential. If you break ’em . . . you’re out. No questions!”
They quite agreed and they all exchanged nods, except for Dionne, who looked at the ground and smiled, because he knew that everyone was looking at him.
“So, you guys, it’s time to unpack, get some tucker – that means food, guys!”
They all cheered.
“Evening activities – tomorrow, disco.” They all screamed.
“I hope you’ve all brought your best dresses . . . boys.”
They all screamed again, this time with laughter.
“And tonight, an adventure game . . . IN THE WOODS.”
Another massive cheer, arms gripped in excitement, and then they were off to the dorms.
They charged up the stairs and Wasim got there third. That was OK. He was still in with Ellis and Charles, but he also got the last top bunk in the bedroom, or ‘dorm’ as they called them at CBC.
“Top one, Waz. Get it?”
Charles had got one too, and Wasim did get it, but laughing wasn’t something he could trust his tummy to do. The dorms were in another part of the huge house, and Wasim looked at the shiny wooden walls and remembered that really rich people had once lived here. But the rich people had probably had bulging bellies, not empty ones like Wasim’s. And now Wasim’s stomach hurt, really hurt. It was taking his breath away and making his legs feel tingly, like they were not his.
But at least he was in the right dorm. There would be laughs, but not too much trouble. Not like next door. Even though Dionne was with Wing Ho and Joshua, who were supposed to be good influences, there was no way Dionne could get through the night without getting in trouble.
There would have been a race downstairs to the dining room, but Mr Abbot was standing on the landing, so the brakes had to go on. Wasim wasn’t in a rush anyway.
In fact, he was dreading dinner. His stomach was crying out for food, and when he saw the chips and pizza and the little orange juice containers he almost gave in.
“Wasim will fast next year,” Dad had announced. The elders at the mosque had nodded. He wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t ready to do one of the five most important things that a Muslim could do to show his faith.
They said it was because of the school journey. It would be too dangerous to try so many activities with no energy, especially at this time of year, when the sun was out for so long. Of course, if he were older, then there would be no question, but Wasim was not quite ready. He could fast next year. Faizhan had smirked again.
Wasim remembered that smirk and sat with the rest of his school at the long table stretching all the way down the old Victorian hall.
The noise was deafening. There must have been five other school parties there and they didn’t seem to have had the behaviour and manners warnings that Mr Abbot was shouting to remind Wasim’s class of.
The children had to take it in turns to collect a tray and go up to the smiling servers at the hatch. Wasim waited.
“OK, Charles, Wasim, Ellis, Sadie and Donna, up you go. No pushing, and don’t forget knives and forks.”
Charles and Ellis were up and off as if it were the Olympic final, but Wasim took his time and even let Donna and Sadie in front of him, while his mind and stomach raced.
And it was a race, a race against his parched throat, and the smells that meant he could almost taste the sizzling pizza and home fried chips being piled onto plates, until even Charles had to tell them to stop.
It was a race to ignore the creasing pain shooting across his stomach, and to resist getting the drink that would stop his tongue feeling as if it had swollen up into a monster-sized slug.
It could be easy. All he had to do was put out his tray, say “thanks” and then tuck in. The pain would all be gone and he’d be ready to win this adventure game that Dom had been going on about. Mmmm. . . Easy.
“Pizza, young man?”
The server was young and friendly, and Wasim felt the hungry, tickly weakness in his arms as they started to move his tray towards the pizza. He tried to think of show-off Faizhan and then he remembered the grown-ups.
“Not ready yet! Maybe next year. Not ready!”
How many times did he hear that?
Move to library books?
“Oh, Wasim’s not quite ready!”
Move to the deep end?
“Oh, he’s not quite ready.”
Play for the school team?
Hardest shot in the school, but not quite ready!
“Got to go to the toilets, soz!”
And Wasim pushed his way back through “Oys” and “ Watchits” and out of the canteen door, trying to think of anything but the empty plate he had left next to the hatch.
His stomach was in agony waiting behind the locked toilet door, wondering what kind of children had scratched all of the names and jokes and who-loved-who into the wall. He stayed sitting on the closed seat until a charge past the door and a crash in the cubicle next to his told him that meal time was over.
It was agony. Ramadan was agony, but “not quite ready”? Wasim Ahmed threw back the door and headed back to the noise and the clatter of trays.
He was ready!