Aquaplaning across slippery roads is hard enough without my phone going off like a mini rocket. Ping, ping, ping! When did I get so popular? Seeing Gilchrist at the gate, I hop off my bike and sombrely walk into school.
‘OMG! Have you seen the video?’ some random asks.
‘What video?’ I ask.
‘WhatsApp, mate. Some hoe giving uckers badders!’
I frown wondering what’s so exciting about that. Cyberspace is full of worse. In fact, if aliens exist, some day they’re going to intercept all the porn floating around out there, think human beings are a race of perverts, and blow up the planet. Shame.
Jade and Melanie are standing by the lockers huddled together in front of a phone.
‘Oh my God!’ Jade says, hamming it up. ‘That girl is never coming back from this.’
‘She’s going to contract at least three different kinds of STIs from that big brown monster!’ Melanie says excitedly, before pretending to vomit.
‘Shall we watch it again?’ Jade asks, her lower lids curving into crescents.
‘Yah!’ Melanie says, giggling. ‘Such a greedy slut.’
A sinking feeling starts in the pit of my stomach. I crawl into the dark space under the stairs and pull out my phone. Sure enough, I’ve been sent a video too entitled Dis White Thot. With growing trepidation, I press play. To the left of the screen is a girl with cascading red curls hanging over her face. To the right of the shot are the slim hips of an Asian guy, the v-cut of his abdominal muscles partially visible above unbuttoned jeans.
‘I don’t feel comfortable,’ says a nervous voice from under the curtain of hair; a voice I wish so badly I didn’t recognize.
The guy’s voice has been edited out. Of course it has. His hand cups the roundness of her cheek, parting her lips with his thumb. She stares up into his face, and I realize he must be saying something, because she’s nodding in response.
‘OK,’ she says, hooking her fingertips over the waistband of his black Calvin Kleins. ‘But don’t—’ Once again, the sound cuts out.
The rest of the video will haunt me for life. My chest shrinks with every second, each lung compressed to a small flesh brick, breathing no longer possible. Oinking, grunting, squealing pig sounds have been dubbed over the video. SLUT! and #ThotPatrol flash across the screen as a siren wails.
I don’t realize I’m crying till a tear splashes on to my screen. Then my hand starts shaking so hard, I drop my phone. She’s stronger than this! I tell myself desperately. She can handle anyone and anything! But even plastic explosives placed at a weak spot can bring a bridge tumbling down. Imran is sly, hiding the camera like a prankster so Kelly didn’t even notice it. And even though the whole school will know it’s him – you can’t actually tell.
How does a girl with off-the-scale smarts end up in a sex tape filmed by a dumbass like Imran? The tears leak faster now, cutting streams across my cheeks. I clamp a hand over my mouth, silencing a wail trying to escape, racking my brains for a way to save her from the tsunami of bullying that’s headed her way. Why couldn’t I have gone round her place the first time she’d texted me about her mystery boyfriend? I knew Imran would hurt her. Some bestie I am.
Unable to change the past, I focus on fixing the future. Could I contact WhatsApp and make them delete the video? Should I set off the fire alarm to cause a distraction? Is there a hack that can make everybody’s phones fry within a one-mile radius?
In the end, I do the only thing I think will work.
There is cheering and applause in the corridor. Wiping away snot and tears, I peer out from the shadows as on-trend caged heels patter up the corridor. The shoes are unfamiliar, but the walk is not. I’m too late, and straight away the roasting begins.
I want to leap out of my hidey-hole, machine-gunning disses, throwing punches, sending teeth scattering like rice at a wedding. Hopelessly outnumbered, sooner or later I’d fall and get my head kicked in. But I’d go down fighting for my best mate Kelly, cos that’s what friends are for. Except that’s only the Ilyas in my head. Real World Me is gripped by terror, ashamed that I’m afraid the dirt will stick to me too. I’m powerless to do anything but watch.
The Dark Ages are back at Stanley Park when public executions were a thing. Kids from all years have gathered round to yell abuse at Kelly. Phones and tablets are held up like mirrors, looping the embarrassing video so the moment can never end. Oinking and sex noises echo from multiple speakers. The air grows moist with the stink of hate and malice. This lot are baying for blood.
Kelly’s head whips left and right, stunned by the ferocious hostility of the crowd. The girls call her ‘slut’, the boys ask her ‘how much?’
‘Imran!’ Kelly snarls in angry desperation.
Surely now she realizes her mistake in trusting the scumbag with the face of a movie star?
Imran’s eyes are half-lidded and sly, a smile playing on his lips. The signs are all there. While I’m stuck playing musical statues, Imran is about to destroy Kelly.
‘Sorry, do I know you?’ he says, getting a generous round of laughs.
Someone pushes a phone in Kelly’s face, filming this new interaction. Kelly bats the phone away with a powerful backhand. It strikes the wall with a loud crack.
‘Oh yeah,’ Imran says, pointing at her, his eyes glittering demonically. ‘You’re the fatty from that video going round. Gyal, you is ratchet.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she says, her voice leaking strength like a bullet-riddled tyre. ‘You said you loved me. You said I could trust you.’
‘Are you high?’ He pulls up his collar, looking at his adoring fans instead of her. ‘Why would man get uckers badders offa you? No offence, but I got better options.’
‘Stop lying!’ she yells, frustration making her voice crack. ‘Everyone knows it’s you.’
‘You wish. I only date girls that respect themselves, innit? Oh yeah, and they gotta be pretty.’
The laughter becomes a mini earthquake; the vibrations restarting my engines. Storming towards Kelly, I shove the onlookers aside. I throw my arms around her, hiding her from the world. She looks at me, and I get scared. Her eyes are as wild as a hunted animal, the kind who’ll readily gnaw off a limb just to escape. She pushes me off so roughly, I nearly lose my feet. People howl with laughter. Kelly breaks into a run, heading straight for the exit.
Imran catches my eye and winks. It’s the spark that ignites my fury and finally loosens my tongue.
‘You’re a piece of shit, Imran,’ I say, in a voice that is so loud, I barely recognize it as my own.
‘You say something?’ he says, bristling. His cropped scalp appears to brush against the ceiling, his wide shoulders stretching the full width of the corridor.
I glance nervously at the crowd of hungry onlookers, then back over my shoulder as the exit door bangs shut. ‘Yeah,’ I say, turning back. ‘Clean your ears out, cos there’s more.’
The audience laps it up, telling Imran to end me.
‘Everyone knows that’s you on that video,’ I snarl.
‘And?’
‘Kelly loved you. God knows why, but she actually loved you. And this is how you treat her?’
‘Ain’t my fault Fatty got slutty.’
More gasps and hysterical laughter.
‘She ain’t no slut, fam. What she did, she did for love.’ I shake my head, exasperated by his attitude. ‘You got your dick out to hurt her. You secretly filmed a private moment without her permission. There’s only one thot here, and it’s you!’
‘Oooh. You gonna take that, Imran?’
‘You calling me thot, boy?’ Imran asks, rounding on me.
‘You’re worse!’ I bare my teeth, my nostrils stretching across my cheeks like they’re going to split, and I don’t even care.
‘What, you think just cos we hang together, you can shoot yo mouth off? You’re gonna get bodied, mate.’
‘You forget I cracked your head open and put you in hospital?’ I shriek, vib
rating with rage. ‘I’m a crazy-arse piece of shit with nothing to lose! Come at me, bro. I’ll kill us both.’
‘Ilyas got balls!’ someone shouts.
Everyone, including Imran, glances round to see who it was. I’m positive it was Daevon, though he’s looking over his shoulder too. It gives me a massive boost, so that when Imran turns back, I’m ready for anything.
Imran stares into my eyes and smells the crazy. I’m not a boy any more. I am a single-use, one-time-only mousetrap itching to be triggered. ‘You ain’t worth it.’ He spits on the floor and walks away.
People stare at me, unsure whether I deserve respect for standing up to Imran or to be cussed out for hating on the king of Stanley Park. In the end, I hear a mixture of both – the positive voices maybe just a bit louder. Maybe I’ve tapped into something, made them see that bullies don’t always win.
Then a can of Monster hits the right side of my head. Warm fizzy liquid spills down the back of my shirt, and the corridor fills with laughter.
‘Ilyas? Ilyas!’
I turn around and stare at Ms Mughal in surprise. ‘Sorry, miss. I was a million miles away.’
All around me people are clearing their stuff away, getting ready to go home for the weekend.
‘Are you OK?’ she says, motioning me over. ‘You’ve been dazed all lesson.’
I stand by her desk and shrug miserably.
‘Ready to win the Kablamo! Kon IV competition?’ She smiles at me, her eyes dancing with excitement.
‘No, miss,’ I say, looking down at my shoes, my mind constantly replaying those images of Kelly.
‘Oh no, you must. Even Idris was blown away by your fabulous idea!’
‘He called PakCore a rip-off,’ I remind her.
‘Only because he thought you could refine it.’ She looks at me, frustrated by my lacklustre attitude, then taps her computer. ‘Come on, show me PakCore again. He was just the sort of character I wanted to see as a kid. And anyway, Idris won’t be a judge on the day.’
Sighing, I drop my bag. She rubs her hands together as I double-click on the latest version of my comic. I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. It’s working. A faint, wavering glow is awakening in my heart.
‘I switched it up,’ I explain as the file loads. ‘PakCore is now Big Bad Waf.’
On cue, the comic explodes on to the screen. Ms Mughal’s hand covers her mouth. Shit! I think. Beavering away on the animation for weeks, losing track of the real world, I’d almost forgotten Big Bag Waf was based on my maths teacher. Man, I hope she’s down with me basing the character’s look on hers.
‘Is that Ms Mughal?’ Kara asks from over my shoulder, dialling my embarrassment up to eleven.
‘You didn’t make that!’ Ray says. ‘Did you?’ he adds, a little more doubtfully.
I gape at them, surprised that they haven’t already gone home.
‘No. Yes. I mean, I guess I was inspired by Ms Mughal … Is that OK, miss?’ I ask, blushing. ‘I mean, I won’t be entering the competition anyway, so no one ever needs to see this. I can delete it if you want?’
‘Are you serious? This is the most flattering thing anyone’s ever done for me,’ Ms Mughal says, relief washing over me. ‘A superhero – wow! Idris is going to be so jealous.’
‘What’s this comic about?’ Kara asks, her eyes flitting back and forth between the panels.
‘Er, I can show you. I made a motion comic … a sort of movie out of it …’
‘Grab the popcorn!’ Ray says, perching on his desk.
Kara joins him, ripping open a bag of Maoam. ‘Budge up!’
Ms Mughal dims the lights, then sits down on Kara’s other side. Kara offers the bag of sweets, but Ms Mughal politely shakes her head.
The presentation begins. I’ve ripped tracks from a whole bunch of movies and dubbed over them using my own voice. It sounds crap. But although I’m always my own worst critic, even I have to admit the animation is on point. The camera tracks and pans, following Big Bad Waf as she runs across roof tops, faster and faster, her jilbab billowing like a sail in a gust of wind. She leaps and swoops and dances from building to bridge to a radio tower. There’s a close-up of her hazel eyes as they flare like beacons, providing her with a magnified visual on a group of bad guys. They’ve hijacked a research facility and are packing some serious heat. Big Bad Waf’s eyes switch to infrared mode, quickly scanning a van parked suspiciously close by, only to discover it filled with explosives. She leaps off the tower, zip-lines along a telephone wire, then thrusts her arms wide. With a clap of thunder, her jilbab snaps open like a parachute, and she glides towards the action.
I glance nervously at my audience, but their expressions are hidden in darkness. My armpits start to leak like taps.
Waf unleashes holy hell on the bad guys, eventually saving the day. I’m not prepared for the rapturous applause that follows. Not one bit.
‘Did you come up with that story yourself?’ asks a silhouette in the doorway. He snaps the lights on, and I freak because it’s Daevon.
I stutter, apologize, and deny everything.
‘Look at my dude!’ Daevon tells my audience. ‘He’s a genius, and he don’t even know it.’
‘I don’t know whether you guys know this,’ Ms Mughal says, ‘but Ilyas was going to enter the Kablamo! Kon IV competition. The winner gets to develop their idea with an industry professional. Who thinks he still should? Say aye.’
But I’m already shaking my head. ‘My co-creator, Kelly Matthews, helped me develop the character and make the story better. Doesn’t seem right to do this without her.’
Kara frowns. ‘Kelly Matthews? Isn’t that the girl on the sex tape? She was some bougie bitch who hung around Jade and that lot!’
Ray shakes his head. ‘My sister found the clip on my phone this morning and legit thought I’d been downloading porn! Now I’m grounded.’
‘That’s enough!’ Ms Mughal starts up, completely shocked.
‘But that’s just it!’ I say, throwing my palms out. ‘Kelly isn’t just the-girl-on-the-sex-tape. She was amazing long before that ever happened. And she’s still amazing. She’s clever, and funny and woke.’
Kara raises her eyebrows. ‘Suppose her best friends Jade and Melanie better change their names to Woke-ahontas and Melanin Central.’
‘She’s nothing like her so-called friends, though. Her mum doesn’t want her hanging out with a brown boy from these ends, but she does anyway. She sees past all of this –’ I draw circles in the air around my face – ‘straight to this.’ My fist thumps my heart. ‘If that ain’t woke, then I don’t know what is.’
‘That is woke.’ Daevon nods in agreement.
‘And I don’t care that she fell in love with the wrong guy and ended up making the biggest mistake of her life. It doesn’t change anything. She’s still Kelly. She’s still my best friend.’
‘Bro, I had no idea she meant that much to you,’ Daevon says.
I wait for the ridiculing, to be told how lame I am. Instead, Daevon walks up to me and gives me a hug. Not a bro-hug, but a proper one.
‘You boys are gonna make me cry!’ Kara says, stuffing her face with Maoam.
Ms Mughal stands up to address us. ‘Ilyas is right. Stanley Park may have its problems, but the one thing we do get right is that every student matters. None of us is perfect. Not teachers, not students, no one. What gives anyone the right to assassinate this poor girl, who must be feeling absolutely devastated? Newsflash: people tend to remember the bad stuff more than the good. When I’m the one lying face down in the dirt, you better believe I’m going to pray I was nice to the person standing over me.’
Everyone is silent. Then Ray clears his throat. ‘I can’t even imagine what’s going on in her head right now. So, you know what? I think you should win this competition for her.’
‘Yes!’ Kara squeals. ‘Winning something for me would get me like …’ She jumps off the table and begins to perform a mesmerizing victory dance.
‘I finally get why you been ghosting,’ Daevon says, chuckling to himself. ‘Ilyas, man, this is your tribe. And Kelly. Not DedManz. Haven’t seen you this happy since primary.’
‘I don’t think you belong with DedManz either,’ I blurt.
He glares at me, but my mouth won’t stop yapping.
‘You’re too good for boys playing gangstas, Daev. Amma always said, “Be careful what you pretend to be, cos one day you’ll become it.”’
He looks away, his shoulders gradually stooping. ‘You might be right.’
‘So you gonna enter this masterpiece?’ Ray asks, directing our attention back to the comic.
I wrinkle my face. ‘You guys seriously think this could win?’
Everyone says yes except Kara.
‘Honestly?’ she begins. ‘I think the voices were crap. I go drama school every Saturday, so I know what I’m talking about.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Ms Mughal asks, grinning as if she already knows the answer.
Kara stands a little taller and begins to tell us her idea.
Saturday morning, I put my board art in the corridor, leaning against the radiator, as I snag my jacket off the hook. I was up till midnight designing and creating it.
‘What’s that?’ Shais asks. She’s dressed in a bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a towel turban.
‘This? Oh just a project for a friend …’
Before I can tell her not to, she flips it over and glares at it. ‘Oh …’ she says, disappointed. ‘This is actually pretty good.’
It’s the nicest thing Shais has ever said to me. I want to tell her she looks lovely without make-up, you know, to make her feel better about herself. But I’m pretty sure she’s going to twist my words and make out I’m saying she wears too much of it. So instead I take a leaf out of Daevon’s book and give her a massive hug. She goes rigid, her face as shell-shocked as The Scream (if the dude in the painting was rocking a towel turban and ombré nails).
Grabbing my artwork, I book it out the door.
I’m hot and sticky by the time I get to the Matthews’ house. The cold air converts my sweat to liquid nitrogen. Resting the board against the front gate, I wipe my brow. The Ghost of Mrs M hisses in my ear: If I ever catch you on our property again, God help you!
Kick the Moon Page 20
