Mr. Thompson had taught us all about wars last year. It had been a special year for wars and Mrs. Sanders said it was our duty not to forget about them. We learned about red poppies and how they were the most important flower because they grew on soldiers’ graves and about how lots of countries had joined up to fight in World War I. The older grades did an assembly about it and we went on a special day trip to the Tower of London where the Queen keeps her crown, because that’s where millions of red poppies had been put in its gardens and stuck on its walls.
Mr. Thompson said we should never forget how many people have died in wars to save us, but I can’t remember long numbers, especially ones that keep going up all the time. But I’ll never forget that castle. Because of the poppies, it had looked like it was bleeding. And later on that day, a man who knew all about World War I gave us an extra-special lesson inside the castle. His name was Officer Denny. I remember him because his name rhymes with Uncle Lenny’s.
Everyone liked him because he was funny and knew everything there was to know about bombs and uniforms and a sad place called Flanders Fields. He picked me and Michael to try to hold up a bag that was the same size and weight as a real soldier’s backpack. But it was so big and heavy that we couldn’t even lift it off the ground!
Remembering Officer Denny’s backpack made me wonder if the new boy had to carry lots of heavy things in his bag when he was running away. Maybe that’s why it looked so old and dusty. He still didn’t have a new one—but that week he had started to wear the school uniform. He must have found the new shirt and sweater itchy because he kept pulling at the collar whenever he thought no one was looking.
That day the bus to school was late and got stuck in so much traffic that the driver let everyone get off early. We had to run half the way and by the time we got to the playground, the bell had started ringing. I was hot and sweaty and feeling icky when we got into class, so I didn’t realize that everyone was quieter than usual. But after a few minutes, I noticed that Parvinder and Dean—who were better at everything and sat at the front of the class—kept looking over their shoulders. At first, I thought they were looking at me because my face was still red, but then I heard Parvinder say, “Wonder who she is!”
I turned around and saw a grown-up sitting in Clarissa’s seat. And not just any old grown-up, but one who was talking to the new boy! And the new boy was talking back to her!
I poked Josie in the arm and said, “Look!”
Josie turned around and whispered, “Where’s Clarissa?”
We looked around the classroom and then saw that Clarissa was sitting at the end of our row at Felicity and Natasha’s table. She looked much happier.
“Hurry up and settle down please!” said Mrs. Khan as she picked up the attendance sheet. “Before we head to assembly, I want to introduce someone very special to you. But let’s make sure you’re all here first!”
After she had finished calling everyone’s names, Mrs. Khan said, “Now, class, I want you all to say good morning to Ms. Hemsi, our new class assistant.”
Ms. Hemsi stood up and smiled at everyone.
“Good moor-ning, Ms. Hemseeeeeeeee!” we all said. Half the class shouted it out, and the other half said it quietly—as if they weren’t sure Mrs. Khan had given them the right name to say. I shouted it out. I like shouting out new names. It makes them feel more real.
Ms. Hemsi smiled and said, “Good morning, everyone!”
“Ms. Hemsi will be helping Ahmet with his lessons from now on. If we’re very lucky, in a few weeks, she will be helping Ahmet do a presentation about his hometown and how he feels about being here in London.”
Everyone turned to stare at Ms. Hemsi as she nodded and smiled and then sat back down.
“She looks nice,” whispered Josie. “I like her scarf!”
I looked back over my shoulder because I liked the scarf Ms. Hemsi was wearing on her head too. It looked like a silver river and it had a diamond pin clipped to one of the sides that looked like a star. She had one of those smiles that never show any teeth, but I liked it. And her eyes looked like they’d been drawn around with thick black pencil, which made them look bigger and more interesting.
The new boy seemed to like her, too, and when she sat back down, she whispered something to him and patted him on the back, which made him nod. I felt happy for him. He had someone to talk to, and he didn’t have to sit next to Clarissa anymore. It’s much nicer to sit next to someone who isn’t always trying to get away from you all the time and has a diamond pin in her scarf.
All that day, the new boy did his lessons at the back of the class, and during breaks and at lunch he went to Seclusion as usual. But, maybe because Ms. Hemsi was with him, he didn’t look at the ground so much and seemed more interested in everything we were doing. I caught him staring at me and Josie twice before lunchtime and three whole times in the afternoon, and I was sure he wanted to be friends with us now.
At the end of the day, we waited just as we always did by the gates—but this time, all of us had something to give him. Josie had saved her chocolate pudding from her lunch box especially for him, and Michael and Tom had the bag of candy and the banana their mums and dads had told them to save. Today I had an apple to give him—because the cafeteria had run out of oranges. But it was okay, because Tom had given me a sticker of a whale to put on it, so it was still special.
As we were waiting, I crossed my fingers and secretly hoped that Ms. Hemsi would come out with the new boy, too, because she would be able to ask him some of my eleven questions, since she could speak to him easily.
The playground had started to empty by the time the new boy finally came out, holding both Ms. Hemsi’s and Mrs. Khan’s hands. As they made their way over to the woman in the red scarf, Michael whispered, “Come on!” I could tell he was excited because his eyes had gotten wider. Michael’s eyes always get wider when he can’t wait to do something.
We all ran over to the new boy and gave him our gifts.
“This is from me,” said Tom, holding out the large bag of candies like it was a trophy. “There are gummy cola bottles in there—and Gobstoppers and some M&M’s too!”
“And this is from me,” said Josie, holding out the chocolate pudding. “It’s my favorite!”
“Er…this is just a banana. But look!” said Michael, turning it over to show the new boy the row of stick men he had drawn on it.
“And this is from me,” I said, holding out the apple.
The new boy looked up, his arms full, and gave us each a happy nod. I could tell it wasn’t just an ordinary nod because even though his mouth wasn’t smiling, his lion eyes looked happy.
Ms. Hemsi bent down and said something in a foreign language into the new boy’s ear. He nodded and then, looking up at us, said very slowly, “Thank…you…friends.”
Josie, Michael, Tom, and I nodded and beamed, and then, all at once, started talking.
“Do you want to come play soccer with us tomorrow?” shouted Tom. “At recess?”
“I’ll get you another one of those puddings tomorrow if you like them!” exclaimed Josie.
“I’ll ask Mum to give me something better than a banana!” cried out Michael. “What about some mini muffins?”
“And I’m going to get something better than an apple tomorrow! What’s your favorite fruit?” I asked.
The new boy looked at us and then looked up at Ms. Hemsi and Mrs. Khan and then at the woman in the red scarf. They were all smiling and the woman in the red scarf ruffled his hair just like my mum had ruffled my hair the night before.
“Now, kids,” said Mrs. Khan, bending down so that her face was the same height as ours. “These are all wonderful gifts. And I know Ahmet is thankful for them. But he needs to learn just a little bit more English before he can answer your questions, okay?”
We all looked at each other, a
nd then at Mrs. Khan, and then nodded.
“But I do think that’s a very good idea of yours, Tom. Maybe Ahmet would like to play soccer with you tomorrow at break time!” Mrs. Khan looked over at Ms. Hemsi, who gave a nod. “Yes, that’s a very good idea.”
“Awesome!” said Tom, and he was so excited that he gave the new boy a thump on the arm. The new boy looked at Tom and then at his arm as if he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.
“And there’s no need to give him so many presents every day,” said the woman in the red scarf, laughing. “It’s so lovely, but we don’t want to rot Ahmet’s teeth, now, do we?”
We all shook our heads.
“If you still want to give him something at the end of the day, just choose one thing between you all and that’ll be more than enough. Okay?”
We all nodded, and then I cried out, “Ms. Hemsi!” I hadn’t meant to say it so loudly, but I was so excited at the thought of having one of my questions answered that I couldn’t help myself.
“Yes?” Ms. Hemsi smiled.
“Can I…er…Where is he from? Like, which country? And what language does he speak?” I asked, looking at the new boy.
Ms. Hemsi’s smile widened—even though she still didn’t show any of her teeth. “Ahmet is from a country called Syria, and he speaks a language called Kurdish.”
“Do you speak that AND English?” asked Josie, looking impressed.
“Yes,” said Ms. Hemsi. “I’m Syrian too.”
“Why doesn’t Ahmet speak any English?” asked Tom.
“Well…,” said Ms. Hemsi, “because in Syria nobody needs to speak English. Just like you don’t need to speak a Syrian language here in England.”
“Oh.” The answer made Tom frown, which meant he was asking himself lots of other questions in his head.
“Now, kids, off you go,” said Mrs. Khan, clapping her hands. “Ahmet needs to get going, and so do you. And, Tom—I notice you’re wearing your brother’s shoes by mistake again! Try to make it the last time, okay?”
“Yes, miss,” said Tom as he turned bright red.
We waved goodbye and headed to our bus stop. Just before we turned the corner, I looked over my shoulder and saw the new boy take a big bite of the apple I had given him. I felt even happier than I did when Ms. Hemsi had answered my questions! But a second later the feeling quickly disappeared, because that was when I saw Brendan the Bully.
He was standing in front of the boys’ bathroom just a few yards away, and his cheeks were pink and his eyes were narrow, and he was watching the new boy with a scowl on his face. Everyone knows that Brendan the Bully hates anyone who’s different from him, but it was the first time I had seen him look so angry and mean. He couldn’t do anything because Ms. Hemsi and Mrs. Khan and the lady in the red scarf were there, but as we headed to our bus stop and all the way home, I couldn’t help feeling worried. I think I knew right away that the scowl was a warning and that he was going to make things hard for the new boy and anyone who wanted to be friends with him.
And it turns out that I was right. Because at first break on the very next day, that’s exactly what he started doing.
When the bell rang for recess the next day, Mrs. Khan kept her promise and let the new boy out onto the playground for the very first time. Tom was put in charge of looking after him and we were all told that if he got scared or wanted to stop playing, then we were to find a teacher immediately or go and see Ms. Hemsi in the staff room. I didn’t know why the new boy would be scared of being on the playground, or why he wouldn’t want to play with us, but then I thought that maybe in his country, the bullies had been mean to him at school too. I’d never really thought about it before, but maybe there are bullies on everyone’s playground.
As Josie grabbed her soccer ball, Tom tried to explain to the new boy how to play the game properly.
“YOU! Like THIS!” said Tom loudly, pointing to the new boy, then his foot and then the ball. The new boy nodded.
“But NOT like THIS!” continued Tom, shaking his head before pointing to the ball and then his hand.
“This is stupid! He knows how to play soccer!” said Michael.
“Maybe they play it differently in his country. Remember when I got here and I only knew American football?” protested Tom, looking at me as if I knew the answer.
I shrugged. “I don’t know! We should have asked Ms. Hemsi!”
“Oh, come on!” cried Josie as we reached the playground. “Let’s just let him try to see if he knows it.”
By the time we had reached our usual corner of the playground, Josie and Tom had decided that the new boy would be on Josie and Michael’s team. Since she was the best at the game, it wouldn’t matter so much if the new boy couldn’t play. And because it was just Tom and me on my team, we had the first kick.
After less than a minute, Ahmet began to run and dribble and do lots of tricks that none of us could do yet. And within the first five minutes, he had scored two goals.
“Whoa!” said Tom. “He’s even better than Josie!” Suddenly catching Josie’s eye, he quickly added, “Or nearly as good, anyway!”
“Wooooohooooooo!” cried out Michael as the new boy flashed past me and Tom and struck another goal. “Wooooohoooooo!”
By now, a crowd was beginning to gather to watch the game, and I could hear lots of upper graders and lower graders talking and saying things like, “Look! The dangerous kid’s been allowed out!” and “Does this mean he doesn’t have a disease?” and “But the kidnappers will be able to see him from here!”
I had just heard Jennie tell everyone that she was sure she had heard Mrs. Sanders say the new boy was a professional athlete, when she suddenly cried out, “OOOOWWWWW!” and before we knew what was happening, Brendan the Bully and his mates Liam and Chris had pushed their way onto our make-believe field.
Josie looked at me and I looked at Tom, and Tom looked over at the new boy, who was standing next to Michael looking confused.
“We want to play,” said Brendan the Bully, a nasty smile on his face. He walked over to the new boy, who had the ball, and kicked it away so hard that it ended up on the other side of the playground. As Liam sprinted off with a laugh after the ball, the new boy took a step back.
“Go away, Brendan,” said Josie bravely. “This is our game and that’s MY ball!”
Brendan the Bully turned around to look at Josie, and she swallowed nervously. But just then his expression changed from mean to sad.
I turned around, too, and saw that Mr. Irons was walking toward us.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, his mustache twitching.
Mr. Irons is one of the upper-school teachers and is famous for being one of the strictest teachers in school and for never, ever smiling. He has a long face, a long nose, long lips, and a large brown bristly mustache that he carries a tiny comb for in the front pocket of his jacket. Everyone knows about the comb, because when he thinks no one is looking, he takes it out and combs his mustache with it in short, straight lines. And when he gets very angry, you can hear his nose whistling. If that happens, then you know you’re going to get at least one detention or be given a hundred lines to write.
He’s also the worst teacher you can have on recess duty because he hates noises—especially happy noises. Whenever he’s on the playground, he walks around telling everyone off for laughing too loudly or for making fun sounds. Last year he made a kindergartener who was playing tag cry by telling him that only pigs squeal, and since the boy was squealing, he must come from a large family of pigs and should spend the rest of recess inside. And another time, Mr. Irons gave everyone cheering for Handstand Hannah a hundred lines to write for being so loud—even though she was about to beat the world record for the Longest Handstand in History!
Whenever anyone sees Mr. Irons walking toward them, they always play
more quietly or move away. But we had been so happy that the new boy was playing with us that we had forgotten we were in a school where there were bully bullies and teacher bullies.
“Please, sir,” wailed Brendan the Bully. “She won’t let me play! I wanted to play, and she said I couldn’t!”
Mr. Irons tutted at Josie. “That’s not a very nice thing to do to your friend, is it?”
“He’s not my friend!” said Josie angrily. “And he didn’t ask! He came over and kicked our ball away!”
“Please, sir, that boy over there told me I couldn’t play too!” added Brendan the Bully, pointing at the new boy and smirking.
Mr. Irons looked over at the new boy and then beckoned for him to come over. The new boy looked around and then, realizing what he was being asked to do, walked over to where Mr. Irons was standing.
“Did you tell this boy he couldn’t play with you?” asked Mr. Irons, pointing to Brendan the Bully.
The new boy looked around again. Everyone else on the playground had stopped what they were doing and were listening to everything that was being said.
“Please, sir! Brendan’s lying,” I cried out, running up behind the new boy.
“Yeah!” added Michael.
“And he’s new,” I added. “And he doesn’t spea—”
“When I WANT your opinion, I’ll ask for it! But until then, DON’T interrupt me again!” shouted Mr. Irons. I felt my whole face go red and my tongue swell up in my mouth. I could see Brendan the Bully smirking again, but this time at me.
“Now, boy.” Mr. Irons turned to the new boy. “I’ll ask you again! Did you, or did you NOT, tell Brendan he couldn’t play with you?”
The new boy stood rooted to the spot and looked over at us.
“But, sir!” I burst out. “You don’t understand! He can’t spea—”
“RIGHT!” shouted Mr. Irons, his nose whistling dangerously. “That’s detention for you!” he cried out, pointing to me. “And you!” he added, pointing to the new boy. “And you!” he hissed out, pointing to Michael. “All three of you, come see me after school today. Until then, I’m confiscating this ball!”
The Boy at the Back of the Class Page 4
