‘I know I’m grounded, but can I have a friend back next Friday? Pari’s asked her mum and she says it’s fine.’

Mum and Dad do one of their totally obvious non-verbal conferring looks over the dinner table.

After thinking about it for what seems like ages, Mum nods.

‘As long as you’re at home, I suppose it’s OK . . . a new friend, is it?’ Dad asks.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good!’ Mum beams.

I wonder if they thought I was incapable of making new friends.

‘How’s Kez getting on with all her bat mitzvah preparations?’ Mum asks.

I wish they would stop asking me about Kez all the time. It just makes me feel guilty and confused about everything all over again. We don’t even text much any more.

‘Fine.’

‘Oh, she’s doing all that, is she?’ Dad asks.

‘Why do you say it like that, Dad?’

‘No reason . . . just didn’t know Luke and Hannah were practising, that’s all!’ Dad shrugs.

‘Practising what?’ I ask.

‘I just meant I didn’t think they were religious.’ Dad shrugs and picks up his phone.

‘You don’t have to be really religious to have a bat mitzvah. It can be like cultural too . . . being part of what other people do in your community. Kez says it’s like a way of saying you’re not a kid any more.’

Dad’s tapping out a text message.

‘Like a way of saying you’re not a kid any more!’ I repeat a bit louder.

‘Sam!’ Mum glares at Dad because she hates people being on mobiles at the table. Dad looks from Mum to me, as if he’s trying to catch up with what’s going on.

‘Ah well, good for Kez, if that’s what she wants.’

‘Maybe I’ll have a bat mitzvah,’ I say.

‘You can’t! Not unless your mum’s willing to convert!’ Dad jokes.

‘From what to what?’ Mum laughs, batting Dad over the head with a tea towel. Dad grabs Mum around the waist. They’re actually having a sort of play fight! Gross!

I leave them to it and go up to my perch and listen to them messing around. Some families would be pleased if their child said they wanted to get religious.

I wedge the chair against the door, pull the Banner Bag towards me, get out Nana’s painted banner and unroll it over Mira’s carpet just so I can see it again. I wish I could put it on my wall, but then I would have some explaining to do. Mum and Dad might even think Nana’s banner should be for Mira. The Protest Book yes, but this banner . . . I know Simon really meant me to have it.

I open Dad’s laptop and type in ‘Tibetan vigil’. I look through a few articles and find a photo of Simon and Hope standing outside the Chinese Embassy. Hope’s so beautiful and tall. She isn’t stooped forward in this picture. I flit around a bit, typing in the campaigns that Nana Josie and Simon were a part of, but then decide I should go through the list one thing at a time, because once you start reading about this stuff it gets really complicated. It’s like Mrs Latif says . . . even if you start out by thinking this or that is right or wrong, and you know what side you’re on, the more you read about it, the harder it gets to be certain. Though I think there are some things that just are right or wrong, whichever way you look at them. Like not letting a girl be educated, and shooting her just because she stands up for herself. That’s wrong whatever way you look at it.

The last words written in Nana Josie’s Protest Book look like they were written after everything else. They’re in pencil . . . like she just thought of something and wrote this . . . and the writing is really shaky.

I’ll never forget my first march or painting my first banner.

I google marches in London. . . there’s another one tomorrow. It’s a Women’s March. I feel like I’ve been going around with my eyes closed. I didn’t know about any of this . . . It says here that the last one was for people all over the world marching for Women’s Rights. I flit around from site to site, looking up different protests.

I find a clip of Martin Luther King’s speech. It’s so strange to think that Nana was standing in Washington listening to him when he gave it. What he says and the way he says it make you wonder how anyone could ever be racist again. His dream did come true, but maybe that’s the point of all the things Nana and Simon did. I think it’s what Malala’s saying too. People have to keep dreaming, otherwise they forget. I don’t care if I’m grounded. I’ve got to find a way of going on that march tomorrow. I look down at Nana’s beautiful banner. I’m going on that march with my nana!

I tie some bamboo sticks to the ends of the sheet and secure them with the little elastic ties at the top. It’s too big for one person to hold, but I’m taking it anyway.

I unwedge the chair when I hear Mum and Dad come up to say goodnight.

‘Night, Laila!’

‘Night!’

‘At least she’s starting to spend a bit of time in her new room now,’ I hear Mum say as they walk up the stairs.

I tuck Dad’s laptop under my perch in case I want to look up anything else and settle down with the Malala book. I think I’ll finish it tonight. I’ve never read half a book in a night before. Mira’s always been the one that reads for hours. She said it would happen to me one day too, but I never believed her.

I don’t know what time I actually fell asleep, but it must have been around 4 a.m., because the last thing I remember is hearing a bird singing. I thought it was weird that it was singing through the dark . . . but maybe it was almost morning when I wrote this in my reading record:

Themes: A girl can change an unfair world. Adults should listen to children. Adults should protect children. All children should have access to education. Children can see what bad things adults do. Children can change the world.

Comments: This is the best book I have ever read. One day I would like to meet Malala Yousafzai.

My favourite quotes: ‘One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.’ ‘When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.’