Chapter 23

It was weird, the more I was told not to wear a hijab, the more I wanted to. The school couldn’t tell me how to dress if they didn’t have a good reason, and “bad publicity” was probably the WORST. If the cloth wrapped around my head didn’t harm anyone, what was their problem? I wasn’t going to give in. Nope.

I stayed in the library after school to avoid bumping into Jayden and Sasha Williams, who were hanging around the front gates for some reason, and to finish my biology project in peace, away from Yusuf and his blaring gaming chats with his mates online.

After I’d finished, I stared at the doodles on my table and thought about Jo in hospital. Was she ever going to come to school again? How was she feeling? Sukhi said her mum had seen a post on Facebook raising money to convert Jo’s house for wheelchair use. Would she be using it forever? I grabbed my phone and forced myself to send the message I’d been writing and deleting to Jo for weeks. I thought it might be better if I wrote down what I’d tried to say in the videos I’d recorded, but I kept chickening out. Today, I went straight to my app and pressed send without rereading it. If I didn’t, I’d end up looking at it every day for the rest of my life. Once it had swooshed off, I slumped in my chair. There. I had done it. I had finally told her I was sorry about what had happened and hoped she was doing okay. I wasn’t sure if she’d reply, but in a way I didn’t need her to as long as she knew I was thinking about her.

When I finally left the library, the streets were quieter. The sky was covered in thick fluffy clouds and the traffic had calmed down, leaving just a few cars backed up at the pedestrian crossing. There was no one outside the front gates — everyone was probably home having their tea. Even so, I kept my head down and scurried through the streets.

As the pavement narrowed near the parade of shops on the main road, I stopped to let an old woman lugging a polka dot shopping trolley pass, making sure I gave her my biggest I’m-not-a-terrorist smile. Something caught my eye: three huge posters stuck to the green metal security shutter of a shop that had closed down months ago. They showed the same sketch as the WHITE ZONE poster Yusuf had brought home. The same boy with pale spiky hair and a mask over his face. But these posters had more text. I got closer and read:

STOP THE INVASION.

STOP ISLAM.

STOP REFUGEES.

BRING BACK OUR SAFE WHITE NEIGHBORHOODS.

Join us in taking back our country.

Saturday 9th July 12–4 p.m.

Lambert

Call Darren for more info: 07203 768349

This was on the same day as the summer fete in two weeks! Fury rose within me as I’d never felt it. I pulled out my phone to check my contacts list. I still had Darren’s number stored from the time I’d had to call him to pick us up from the cinema in Year Seven. I didn’t think to delete it, and now I was glad I hadn’t. I checked the number on the poster against the Darren in my phonebook — it was the same. Now he was spreading his lies and publicly calling for others to join him.

I wanted to release the swear words at the tip of my tongue and scream. If I could breathe fire I’d have scorched the posters right off the ­shutters. I would’ve burned the shutters down.

Instead, I looked around and imagined what anyone would think if they saw a hijabi shouting and swearing, and I stopped myself. I took a photo of the posters on my phone and stamped back up the main road. Toward Lisa’s house.

I’d taken the longer, busier route home from school, so I was only a few blocks from Lisa’s. Now I took the shortcut through the village green — ­basically a big field with some play equipment on it. My heavy brow wrinkled as squeals of laughter came from the little kids being pushed on the swings and going down the slide. What were they so cheerful for? Wait till they got to high school, I thought. Even the cooing pigeons in the trees annoyed me. A boy on a bike came from around the corner and sped toward me. I slowed to avoid his wheels as I passed the sweet-­smelling trees and bushes lining the edge of the green. A ­squirrel scrabbled up a tree trunk on my right, sending a flock of birds cawing into the sky.

My hand cooled instantly as I pulled the yellow metal gate open on the other side of the green. I ran through it toward Lisa’s house. I’d had enough of Darren and his racist ways. I had to confront him. Maybe I’d change his mind. Maybe he’d remember how we all used to play badminton in his hallway and realize he had nothing to worry about.

I turned into Lisa’s street and immediately spun on my heels and ran back around the corner, hiding behind a hedge bordering the house at the intersection. A group of guys stood on the pavement a few meters away — a few doors from Lisa’s house, leaning on a white van, smoking. My heart felt as if it’d stopped. I hadn’t been this close to Darren since that night at the concert. I’d gone out of my way to avoid him, even when I’d seen him shouting at the old lady. And today, like a numpty, I was heading right for him. I hadn’t thought things through. What was I going to say to him? I was wearing a hijab that he’d want to rip off the second he laid eyes on it. I wouldn’t be able to say a word. Just thinking about him made me want to shrink into a hole, how did I think I could actually STAND UP to him? If he was that scary when he was alone, what would he be like in front of his friends?

I slunk back into the tall prickly hedge to catch my breath. Slow down, I told myself, gripping my elbows. I could hear them talking, but my heartbeat was louder in my ears. Focus. Breathe. I took in a big gulp of air and crouched next to the hedge.

They laughed wildly. A small insect buzzed around me, I swatted it away and leaned into the hedge, edging closer around it into Lisa’s street. Two other guys were with Darren. I knew it was him when Darren spoke.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be mad!” he said. “I’m bringing a couple of baseball and cricket bats as well. They won’t know what’s hit ’em.”

“Once the crowd is powered up at the rally, we’ll sneak off and get as many people as ­possible,” said his mate. “The police will be distracted, and we’ll show these brownies that we’re serious about stopping the invasion!”

“Nine July!” screamed the other.

“Yeah!!” they all hollered together.

I put my sweaty fingers to my lips to hold back a yelp as I fell into the dry spiky hedge. Were they talking about the rally on Darren’s poster? Were they actually planning to beat up anyone who was brown or Muslim in the streets? I had to do something. Should I go the police? Ask Mum or Dad for advice? But what if Darren found out I’d told on him?

I had to think of something — and it had to be fast.