“You’re joking,” says Steven. It’s the first time I’ve seen him looking off balance.
Samir looks up at me and those eyes are pleading again but there’s nothing I can do. I mean, by now Steven has probably decided that Samir is some foreign drug dealer and I’m his postman or whatever, dropping pills around to users.
Kim starts to blink furiously and Steven says, “Something in your eye?” and he reaches out to her but she brushes his hand away.
“Just give him the pills, Steven. We’re hiding an illegal immigrant and he’s very sick.”
I can’t believe she said that! Neither can Samir. He throws himself to his feet, his ice man image in total meltdown, and starts shouting in Arabic. At least I recognize the language by now. He’s roaring away, waving his arms about, pacing back and forward. His Arsenal scarf is swinging off his neck and he’s scuffing his sneakers on the ground, tearing the hole in the toe into a great huge gash.
Charlie Parks and his football crowd arrive on the court and start jeering, “Hey, Two Percent’s lost it!” One of them yells out, “Shut it, you Paki!”
Now half our class, the Jayne family and Lindy too, are gathered around the mesh fence, screaming with laughter, winding the boys up even more.
Before I can do anything Samir rushes Charlie, taking him completely by surprise, and punches him in the mouth. I can’t help letting out a cheer and I hear Steven behind me call out, “Serves him right.”
Samir’s put up with enough rubbish this week and probably for months, maybe even years. Everyone thinks they can take a pop at him and his family just because they’re refugees or Arabs or because they think Samir and his family are from Pakistan, which is stupid anyway, even if he was.
Mr. Spicer says there’s no such word as “Paki,” it’s a made-up racist word.
“People from Pakistan are called Pakistani,” he says, glaring around the class, and it makes me think he must know what Samir is called around the school. It would be nice if he actually did something about it.
Charlie is taller than Samir and he’s quite stocky. He staggers back, blood pouring from his top lip, and then he throws himself at Samir and they roll on the ground, kicking and punching.
The football crowd circle them yelling, “Mash him, Charlie.” I start to push my way through but three teachers suddenly appear, grab Samir and Charlie and haul them apart, dragging them off into school.
I call out, “It wasn’t Samir’s fault, sir,” but they just ignore me.
Lindy yells through the fence, “They’ll exclude him now,” and the Jayne family shriek and clutch each other.
The football crowd go over to the fence and join in, looking over their shoulders at us and saying things really loudly like, “Taliban had it coming” and “he needed a good kicking,” as if Samir had just stood there letting Charlie beat him up.
But I’m really, really scared for him now. Naazim will be called to the school over the fight, and will they get into trouble because they’re not English and what if they make Samir tell about Mohammed?
And then an even worse thought comes into my mind. What if Trumpet Steven goes to the police and tells them we are hiding an illegal immigrant? I mean, look at him, with his knotted tie and his briefcase and his posh mum in her designer suits. She’s definitely the type to sneak to the police. Maybe she’s waiting for Steven in the car park right now and they’ll go off together and Mohammed will be behind bars in about one hour and ten minutes.
I turn around to look at Steven and Kim and I feel quite numb. Steven is packing his lunch away into his leather briefcase and brushing crumbs off his blazer as if nothing’s happened, and Kim’s busy sorting through her music bag, her hair covering her face like a mask. Doesn’t she care? Maybe they’ve already agreed behind my back to go to the police or their mums? And I’m back to square one, as Grandpa used to say, wondering if I made a mistake telling Kim about Mohammed.
I feel so upset, I must have let out some sort of sob because Kim rushes up, throws her arms around me and gives me a big hug on tiptoe. “It’s okay, Ali, don’t worry. I’ve explained everything. He can help. Steven’s cool.”
“Is he?” I say suspiciously, and I push Kim away. Kim stares up at me, her eyes hurt and confused, and I feel as if I’ve sprinted off on the wrong foot.
Steven is clipping his briefcase shut and then he says, “Is there a problem?”
“How do I know I can trust you?” I say, and I can feel Kim tensing beside me.
But they have to understand how deadly serious this is and what’s at stake here.
“Samir will be in massive trouble if you blab to your mum or the police,” I say. “And Mohammed could get deported!” Steven straightens up, pulling at his tie, his briefcase tucked under his arm.
Then he says in this ultra serious voice, “What if I meet Mohammed after school today, okay?”