‘Don’t forget those books today, Laila, or I’ll take them to the book bank. I can’t have them cluttering up the place any more. I wanted them out of here before Janu came,’ Mum says.

She reminds me every day, and every day I forget. Maybe it’s because each time I look at the pile that I’ve dragged back into Mira’s room, I can’t help replaying the scene where Pari ran out on me – and even though she said she wanted them, just the thought of it takes me back to what I said.

‘Laila, I have to go into work now! If you don’t hurry you’ll get another late!’ Mum calls up the stairs.

I grab a bagful of the newest-looking books from the pile. I don’t care if they’re heavy.

When school’s over, Pari, Stella and me get on with our music homework. It’s easier when there’s just the three of us. We can take our pick of the keyboards and percussion instruments and the best thing is that we can actually hear what we’re doing.

‘It turns out I actually do like school,’ Stella jokes, ‘. . . when no one else is in it!’

‘Hello! We’re here!’ I wave at her.

‘Yes, but just the three of us. You know what I mean.’

‘You really do get stressed with the noise, don’t you?’ Pari says.

Stella nods.

‘Me too!’

‘Can you imagine what it would be like if once in a while everyone took off their headphones and listened to the same happy, peaceful music . . . just for one journey,’ I say.

‘Actually, yes, let’s do that . . . it feels a bit grim if the whole composition stays with everyone all in their own heads. Anyway, I like fantasy!’ Pari laughs.

I wish Pari and Stella could have been on the underground the day of the Women’s March, even though it was so noisy. It was a peaceful noise. That carriage was one of the friendliest places I’ve ever been with total strangers.

We work on what Pari calls ‘our happy ending’. It only feels like we’ve been here for about half an hour when Mr Rivera comes in.

‘A-star for dedication! What’s this composition of yours called?’ he asks.

‘I thought you were supposed to guess, sir,’ Stella says. ‘Anyway, we’re still working on the end. We’ve got to sample all different kinds of music for the beginning too; we want to get the feeling like you’re moving from what’s playing on one person’s headphones to the next. Like everyone’s trapped in their own head.’

‘Intriguing! Let’s see what you’ve got so far.’ Sir listens like he’s actually really interested and not just doing his job.

‘You three should definitely work in a group again. This is great. I’ll be giving a commendation to each of you, and one for your tutor group too. But I’m afraid I’m shutting up shop now – it’s not officially a practice night.’

Usually after we’ve rehearsed the piece, Stella and Pari head off for the tube together because they live quite close to each other, but today Stella has to go early ‘to help out at home’ and Pari needs to print something out in the library, so we go there together.

‘She’s like me,’ Pari says as we wave to Stella at the gate. ‘It’s not easy for her at home.’

I want to ask Pari why it’s not easy for her or Stella, but I don’t know if she tells me these things because she wants me to ask her or not. So I don’t ask anything and we just walk side by side into the library.

The Malala book’s on the Human Rights display shelf. I point it out to Pari as we head to the computers.

‘They’re good books, I know, but I can’t read that stuff. I need fiction.’

Sometimes Pari says things like that and I always expect her to follow up with something else, but she doesn’t. Maybe she’s hinting for me to give her some of Mira’s books.

I’m just plucking up the courage to take them out of my bag, but then I change my mind. Giving them to her in the library feels like making too much of a big thing out of it. How can it be so difficult to give away some old books to a friend without making them feel bad?

‘Sorry, girls. We’ve got a meeting in the library tonight,’ Mr Coulson, the librarian, explains. ‘I’m afraid you can’t work in here.’

‘But I need to use the printer! It won’t take me long,’ Pari says.

‘Sorry, Pari. You’ll have to come in early tomorrow,’ Mr Coulson tells her.

Pari looks at me. I know she won’t ask.

‘We could print it off at mine,’ I suggest.

She hesitates. ‘Is Janu going to be there?’

Maybe she’s a bit nervous about meeting him after everything I’ve told her about how different he is to anyone else I know.

‘I doubt it. I’ve hardly seen him. He goes off to work with Kez’s mum all day and he mostly doesn’t get back till late. We’ll have the place to ourselves!’

Pari calls her mum and has a long conversation in Arabic with just a few scattered words in English: ‘Homework’ and ‘Library’ . . . Listening to Pari talk makes me feel as if I know her even less than before. I think she’s arguing with her mum. Then I know for sure because Pari hangs up while her mum’s still talking. At least it’s not just me!

‘Sorry, I can’t come. Mum needs my help tonight. She hasn’t been feeling very well so she couldn’t get out to the market. I need to go home. I’ll have to come in early, that’s all.’

I wish I could picture Pari where she lives and I wish I could ask her more questions about her life. The way she talks sometimes makes me think that Pari has to help her mum as much as her mum helps Pari. I would so love to know what Pari’s room is like. I’d like to be able to picture her there. I walk her towards the tube, wondering if we’ll ever get to know each other any better. My shoulder aches so I keep transferring my bag from one side to the other.

‘Laila, I really want to invite you to where I live, but it’s nothing like your house! I don’t ask people back . . . usually,’ she says, as if that’s a good reason not to invite me.

‘I don’t care what it’s like.’

‘Actually . . . ever.’

‘What . . . ? You’ve never had anyone back after school . . . not even in primary?’

Pari shakes her head.

‘I’ve never really wanted anyone to . . . before now . . . but I do want to invite you . . . I already asked my mum. She wants your home number, so she can speak to your mum and arrange for you to come over in half-term.’

I feel so stupidly happy I could jump up and down and punch the air. I want to hug Pari, but I just smile and say, ‘Yeah, no problem.’

‘You don’t have to walk me all the way to the tube,’ she says ‘Your bag looks heavy! I’ll catch this bus.’ She sticks out her hand.

This is the perfect time.

‘Oh – I forgot I brought these . . . if you still want them!’

I take out the books right at the last minute and hand them to Pari as she steps through the closing doors. She sits down at a window seat and mimes, ‘Thank you!’

As I walk home a text pings into my phone.

You are my first ever best friend. P x