It’s lunchtime. Kim’s sitting on a bench by the basketball court with Steven and I’m sure they’re playing Mozart in the air. I can almost recognize the fingering by now.
Steven’s saying to Kim as I come over, “You’ll only have to play the first bit.”
Kim says, “I always mess up at the fourth bar.”
“Try not to think about it.” Steven’s straightening his tie. He has a pink plastic lunch box on his knee and a thermos flask, like the fishermen on the beach. I could comb my hair in the reflection from his shoes.
“Hi, Ali,” says Kim, smiling up at me. “Come and join us.” But I’ve already spotted Samir shooting baskets on his own as usual. I want to tell him about the police visit and also that I’ll be late getting to the hut tonight because I’ve got a thirty-minute detention for being late.
Then Lindy calls out from across the playground, “Hey, Two Percent, how’s your cousin?”
The smile freezes on Kim’s face and Samir lets the basketball roll away into the gutter, his face going dark with anger. I feel my fists clench.
Steven’s voice rings out sort of deep and strong like when he blasts down his trumpet.
“His name’s Samir, thank you very much.” He sounds like one of the teachers.
But Lindy just flicks her hair back and walks over, squaring up to Steven who’s still sitting on the bench.
“I don’t think . . .” Kim starts up, but Steven just puts his hand on her shoulder and Kim stops abruptly.
“Who asked you?” says Lindy.
At least Terrence was permanently excluded last year, or we’d probably have his entire gang on us by now, like a pack of wolves. What if Lindy’s already told Terrence about Mohammed and what if he finds out that Steven’s mouthing off to her? There was an incident in a London school last week when a teenage gang broke in through the security gates, grabbed a fifteen-year-old boy in the detention hall and stabbed him in the back four times. He’d looked at the gang leader the wrong way in the street. Would Terrence do that if he thought we were being mean to his sister?
I want to warn Trumpet Steven to stick to Mozart, it’s safer, but before I get the chance he’s off again.
“People should be called by their proper names, don’t you think?”
He sounds like the Prime Minister.
“No I don’t, you muppet,” Lindy sneers back. “Anyway, it’s only a joke.”
“Can you see anyone laughing?” There’s a pause. No one says anything.
Then Steven says, “What do you mean ‘Two Percent’?”
Lindy gives her meanest smile and says, “Ask them about Two Percent.” Then she walks off.
“So what did she mean?” asks Steven coolly, opening his lunch box, which I’d rather die than be seen with.
“Nothing,” says Kim quickly, looking around at me and Samir.
But Steven isn’t in our form so he won’t know about the lesson with Spicer last week.
“Our form teacher told us that only 2.7 percent of refugees ever get to Britain,” I say, and Steven looks at me with interest, “so Lindy calls Samir ‘Two Percent.’ ”
Steven takes a bite of his sandwich, tuna and cucumber on whole wheat—I’ve got a bag of crisps, no time to pack anything else—and then he says in his most thoughtful voice, “That’s very offensive.”
“Exactly,” says Kim, “and Ali stands up to her when Lindy says that.”
I go a bit red, I didn’t really want Samir to know that but Samir is grinning at me and then he pulls a roll-up from behind his ear. He’s never going to spark up out here!
Before I can say anything he says, “Got a light?”
Steven digs in his pocket and says, “Sure,” and pulls out a disposable lighter.
Even Kim’s mouth has dropped open.
But then Steven goes into the most awful coughing fit I’ve ever seen. I’m certain he’s going to expire on the bench with his pink lunch box spilling everywhere. We stand around helplessly. I wonder if we should turn him upside down and thump him on the back but gradually he slows to a stop. “Chest infection,” he splutters, and wipes his mouth on a handkerchief he takes out of his pocket. I catch sight of his initials, STG, embroidered on one corner. I don’t think his mother’s a punk.
“Steven, you don’t smoke, do you?” Kim asks in a shocked voice. She hasn’t blinked for about five minutes and her eyes are as big as Frisbees.
Steven’s still coming up for air but after a minute he says, “No, I found the lighter in the music room. I thought it might come in useful.”
Samir is halfway down the roll-up by now but he has the good sense to blow the smoke away from Steven. I’m looking around nervously for a teacher, of course, as I’m Number One Nerd of Year 10. Kim seems to be too bewildered to be worried, which is totally not like her.
Then Steven says, “I’m supposed to be on antibiotics, but I hate them, they make me sick, so I haven’t started yet,” and he pulls a box of pills out of his pocket.
We all yell out at the same time, “Antibiotics!”
We’re thinking of Mohammed of course and what the druggist and Lindy said about infection.
Me and Kim do a high five and Samir grinds his cigarette end out on the tarmac.
Steven is staring around at us, his eyes still watery from the coughing fit. “You’ve lost me,” he says.
Then Samir crouches down until he is at eye level with Steven and says, “How much for the pills?”