25

Detention

Mr Y nosed over.

‘Jaz Watson! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he spluttered. ‘You can’t sell things on school property. This is a school, not a street market! Pack it all up immediately, and then go straight to the head. Both of you.’

I didn’t even bother to protest.

‘We can’t sell it!’ I explained to Nadima as I started putting the bags back into the boxes.

‘Why?’ she asked.

I shrugged.

‘Is trouble?’ she asked anxiously, helping me to pack up.

‘No. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry,’ I said.

But I could tell by her expression she didn’t believe me. She looked worried. Actually, she looked frightened.

We stood in front of Mrs C’s desk. Nadima was scared stiff. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Jaz Watson, you again!’ said Mrs C, glaring at me over her glasses.

‘But it’s not my fault!’ I protested. ‘I didn’t know we weren’t allowed to sell Turkish Delight.’

‘You’re not allowed to sell anything on school property.’ Mrs C sighed.

‘Well, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you hand us a list of all the rules when we get here. And anyhow, I bet the rules don’t actually say we can’t sell things.’

Mrs C raised her eyebrows. Looking back, I should have read the warning signs.

‘They don’t actually say you’re not allowed to murder your maths teacher either – but everyone knows you’re not.’

‘But that’s because murder is against the law, but selling stuff isn’t!’ I exclaimed.

‘That’s not the point, Jaz, and you know it. If you want to sell Turkish Delight, why not do it for Charity Challenge Week?’

(Because, I thought, that isn’t going to make any money for us, is it? But I didn’t say that, obviously.)

I shot Nadima a quick look. She was close to tears. But Mrs C hadn’t finished. She paused before she dropped the bombshell.

I’m giving you both an after-school detention.’

‘That’s not fair! You can’t punish us for doing something we didn’t even know was wrong!’ I cried.

‘I have to. I can’t let this go. It will signal to other children that they can sell things in school too. I have to set an example.’

Then she turned to Nadima and spoke slowly and clearly. ‘You have to stay here, after school, today. Do you understand?’

Nadima’s face crumpled and she burst into tears.

I begged Mrs C to let Nadima off. ‘It wasn’t her fault! It was all my idea,’ I told her.

‘You got Nadima into trouble and you’ll both have to face the consequences.’

‘That is so unfair!’ I shouted, and stormed out of her office. Nadima followed me and then, as soon as we’d got away from Mrs C’s office she started shouting at me! First in Kurdish and then in English. Well, bits of English.

‘This bad. You bad. You bad friend. You get me trouble.’

‘It’s only a detention, Nadima!’ I said.

‘Is trouble! Trouble is bad. If I bad, maybe they send us back! Back to Syria.’

‘They won’t, Nad!’ I cried. ‘Nobody’s going to send you back to Syria! They can’t. Not just because you got a detention!’ Honestly?! She was being ridiculous!

‘YOU NOT KNOW. YOU NOT KNOW!’ she yelled. ‘Maybe we not safe now. And is your fault!’

She let rip a string of Kurdish words. I had no idea what they meant, but it was pretty clear what she meant. Then she turned on her heel and walked off.