My insides shrivel. There’s no convincing some people. Mrs M wants to believe I would hurt Kelly so she can justify cutting me out of her life. Being as stealthy as I can, I open the gate and stalk up the long drive. Carefully placing the board on the drive, I scamper away.
From a safe distance, on the opposite side of the street, I pull out my phone and text Kelly.
Her bedroom window remains completely still. No peeping eyes, no twitching curtains.
I get the idea to send her a voice message on WhatsApp. I press record:
I still love you, Kelz. There’s nothing you can say or do to ever make me hate you. And I want you to know there’s a ton of other people at school who think you’re amazing.
On Saturday, Ms Mughal and a bunch of students from my maths class want to come with me to Kablamo! Kon IV. They legit think we can win! Never gonna happen – I can’t do it without you. You and me, Kelz; we ain’t had things go our way for time. But we have to keep hoping and fighting, right? Nothing worth having comes easy.
OK, I’m gonna go now, cos it’s freezing out here. Miss you. But take all the time you need. I’ll still be here when you’re ready.
I send the message, but end up staying another fifteen minutes, staring up at Kelly’s bedroom window, wishing for a sign. Icy serpents slip between my ribs, coiling inside my lungs. Maybe her phone was confiscated? Wiping my leaky nose on a square of kitchen towel I find in my pocket, I resign myself to going home.
The painted board lies under her window: Cassie and the rebels from Project X realized in moody street art. I hope it brings a smile to her face. Hope she sees it before Mrs Matthews reports it to the council.
Later that day at Dad’s shop, I carry a large crate from the stockroom, struggling under its weight, as I make my way outside. Not the best way to spend your Saturday, but Dad needed an extra pair of hands, and I need something to focus on.
Beneath a tangle of shredded paper lie fresh brown cassavas that have travelled all the way from Ghana. Tipping the hairy buggers into the display tray, one root catches my eye, and I pluck it out. It looks like a Hobbit foetus. For a moment, I’m about to snap a pic and send it to Kelly, but then I remember she’s gone off-grid and isn’t replying to messages.
‘Beyta?’
My heart leaps into my throat as I spin round, ready to hug the life out of Amma and beg her to sort out my messed-up life. But standing in front of me is a small lady wearing dark glasses and a pink coat with stains on. She starts speaking to me in what I think might be Gujarati.
‘Sorry, Auntie,’ I say, placing Frodo’s baby on display. ‘Could you say it again in English, please?’ I offer her a smile, hoping she’s not going to call me out for losing touch with my roots.
‘Yes,’ she says, looking off sadly. ‘I am trying to buy kaki, but I am blind. Can you help me find fresh ones, please? I always end up buying the bruised ones, and they go off before I can eat them.’
I spot the white stick she’s clasping tightly and wonder how I could’ve missed it. Ripping off my gloves, I guide her by the elbow round to the fruit stall. Dad is crap at spelling, so it’s just as well she can’t see the price cards. Carkey/purssimom/Japinees frut. Dad’s doing them three for a pound.
‘Bung any three in,’ Yunus whispers, carrying a sack of blushing onions over to the other side. ‘Or we’ll be left with ones we can’t sell.’
I nod, waiting for him to go, then pick the best three I can find. ‘There you go!’ I say, placing them in the blind woman’s basket. ‘Not a blemish on any of ’em.’
Putting her basket down, she reaches out and touches my face, cold, dry fingers fluttering over my features.
‘You have an honest face,’ she finally concludes, picking up her basket. ‘May Lord Ganesha bless you with happiness and success!’
I watch her tapping her way over to the till.
‘Elias!’
I glance round. Kelly’s mum is standing beside a tower of bright yellow buckets of vegetable ghee. With her merino wool coat and periwinkle leather gloves, she sticks out like a sore thumb.
‘Mrs Matthews!’ I bombard her with a hundred questions about Kelly till she cuts me off with a raised hand.
‘I asked you to keep away from Kelly because I knew you were trouble,’ she says.
‘Me?’ I say, pointing at myself in disbelief.
Her lips shrivel like salted slugs. ‘Who else? What sort of a boy seduces a teenage girl into performing misogynistic sex acts on him, secretly films it, then sends it to her peers? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’
‘You think that was me?!’ I almost scream. ‘Oh my life!’
‘Well given that you’re the only boy Kelly is friends with of a tan complexion …’
‘But I’m not!’ I say. ‘I got lighter skin than the guy on that video. Plus I’d never do anything like that. Trust!’
‘What’s going on here then?’ Dad asks, bustling over and looking at Mrs Matthews with distaste.
My ears burn with shame. Even though I’ve done exactly nothing, I don’t want Dad to hear what she’s accusing me of.
Mrs Matthews blinks, turning her hatchet face to Dad. ‘Are you Elias’s father?’
‘What’s it to you? Why’re you scaring my customers with all your shouting?’
‘Your son coerced my daughter into performing a filthy sex act, filmed it and distributed it to the entire school. I want to know why he did it. I want justice for my daughter!’
Dad’s face colours. ‘I don’t appreciate you coming here and throwing around accusations about my boy. He’s a good lad, and if he says he didn’t do it, I believe him. So either buy a banana or clear off.’
‘I shop at M&S,’ she hisses.
‘Well la-dee-da!’ Dad retorts. ‘Someone call the press: we have a lady here who shops at M&S!’
Mrs Matthews and Dad glare at each other. Customers goggle like they’re being treated to an exclusive performance of Punch and Judy. A few of the aunties give me evils, instantly assuming the worst.
‘You may have your father fooled,’ Mrs M says stiffly, ‘but you don’t fool me. My daughter doesn’t deserve to have her reputation destroyed by a teenage lothario. If I ever catch you on our property again, God help you! Oh – and that ridiculous sign of yours has gone straight in the bin.’
‘You’ve made your point, now piss off. Nobody’s interested in your cock-and-bull story,’ Dad growls.
Mrs Matthews ignores him, fixing me with a look that could cryogenically freeze a polar bear. I gulp. She makes a show of adjusting her expensive leather gloves, then marches off, stiletto heel boots shivving up the pavement in a preview of what’ll happen to me should I darken their door again.
‘All right, show’s over,’ Dad tells the gathered scandal-mongers. ‘And for the record, my son is not guilty, so you can wipe those looks off your faces.’
Two women drop their shopping baskets and walk out. One of them calls me a name that sounds like ‘Weinstein’. But right now, all I can think about is that Dad stood up for me.
‘Amma, please come home.’
It’s Sunday night, Imran’s definitely going to kill me now I’ve called him out in front of the whole school, and I can’t enter this competition without Kelly. Our plan to win her round clearly didn’t work and even though Ms Mughal and everyone want me to do it, Big Bad Waf belongs to Kelly just as much as me. She’s my best mate. My life is falling apart, and I need Amma.
There’s a pause on the end of the line. I chew my lip, snipping off ragged flakes.
‘I’m sorry, beyta,’ Amma says. ‘I’m needed here just a little while longer. Sohail is putting on a brave face, but your little cousins – oh it breaks my heart to see them suffer!’ Her sobs cut me up, and when she starts to apologize for them, holding it together becomes impossible.
‘I miss you, Amma …’ A tear rolls down my own cheek.
‘Give me ten more days. I’ll bring a box of petha dhi mithai for you and a beautiful j
amawar sherwani. You’ll look so handsome! Is everything OK?’
I clamp a hand over my mouth. Offloading my problems on my already miserable mother seems unforgivable. She’s trying to be a rock for Uncle Sohail and my little cousins, even though her big sister just died.
‘You know me: same as ever,’ I say, giving a hollow chuckle. ‘Shaista’s doing well. Some make-up company tapped her for advice about launching a line of Asian cosmetics. And Dad’s given up smoking.’
‘What about you, beyta? How’s your comic book coming along?’
I smile. ‘Better than ever. I have this friend called Kelly, who’s full of amazing ideas. Only she’s stopped coming to school … family problems, innit.’
‘Oh dear! Make sure you’re a good friend to her.’
‘I will,’ I say, though I don’t know how.
‘I better go now. Take care of your dad. He can be such a hopeless buffoon.’
I hold back the ugly crying till she’s rung off.
Monday morning, and our year curriculum coordinator, Ms Hinds, directs us into the hall, class by class for a special assembly. With only Year 11 present, the hall takes on a surreal quality, like we’re all aboard HMS Damnation on a one-way trip to the Island of Lost Souls.
Mr Gilchrist and Officer Pryce are up on the stage, grimly surveying us. Two captains on the bridge, about to whip this motley crew into shape. I hope they make Imran walk the plank.
‘Good morning, Year Eleven,’ Mr Gilchrist begins. ‘I’ve called this emergency assembly as unfortunately a terrible thing has occurred— WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?’
Whoever was stupid enough to think this wasn’t next-level serious just got the awakening of a lifetime.
‘Get up!’ Gilchrist orders, making everyone look round.
Noah rises slowly, showing disrespect with every gesture.
‘I don’t think you quite understand the importance of what has happened here at Stanley Park. I’ve had to call Officer Pryce away from urgent police business to give you this talk.’ He lets that sink in. ‘Sit down.’
Noah drops into his seat, his face redder than a mini Babybel.
‘Morning, Year Eleven.’ Officer Pryce scans the hall solemnly. ‘As your deputy principal has just explained, I’m here to give you a timely reminder of the law regarding sharing photos or videos of a sexual nature.’
At any other time, there might’ve been a few sniggers, but after Gilchrist’s outburst, everyone is corpse silent. By now, everybody has seen Imran’s evil video and knows exactly what she’s on about.
Officer Pryce gives us the same talk we had last year, back when we thought we were all too smart to ever get caught. She talks about evolving technology, about how we might think naked selfies are a bit of a laugh, but by doing it, we’re putting ourselves at risk and breaking the law.
‘Once you post an image on the internet, you’ve lost control, and it’s out there forever,’ she says.
She goes on about sexting and child pornography and how we’re all still legally children until the age of eighteen. Then she drops the bombshell about ‘joint enterprise’ – how even viewing and sharing this kind of video is a criminal offence that we could get prosecuted for.
‘A female student at this school engaged in a private moment with a male,’ she says sombrely. ‘It was recorded without her consent and shared publicly. You cannot even begin to imagine the distress and humiliation she is going through right now. We can’t determine if it’s a student from this school or another man in the video, but we do know he had tan skin, so was probably of Asian or mixed-race descent. If you know or even think you might know who he is, we would like you to do the right thing and come forward with this information. I will be in school all day today …’
There’s no shortage of compassionate, pitying faces in the hall. Where were these people when the video dropped? Where was the sympathy when mob mentality spread like an infection? Kelly’s moment of shock and betrayal slices through my thoughts, nearly choking me. How she pushed me away, like she no longer recognized me, like her brain was too damn mashed up to work. Was it fun watching another human being getting utterly destroyed? Did she get one top grade too many, or was it volunteering for loads of assemblies that got people’s backs up? Did her family’s wealth make her fair game to be utterly destroyed? The lion’s share of guilt lies with Imran, but all these bastards had a hand in it.
‘Over the days ahead, we aim to get to the bottom of this,’ Mr Gilchrist says. ‘The sooner, the better. At Stanley Park, we pride ourselves on being the sort of school that cares about each and every one of our young people. The right to learn in a safe environment has been violated for this student. When she comes back to school, and we don’t know if she will yet, there will not be any – and I mean any – mention of the aforementioned video clip. If there is, if she is made to feel unhappy or ashamed, I promise you that I will personally exclude you on the spot. Because if you could be that cruel to another human being who made a terrible mistake that they already regret, you do not belong at Stanley Park, and we are not willing to give you the benefit of our nurturing community.’
I hear sniffling and see Jade crying into a pink tissue. Melanie hugs her, placing her chin on top of her golden head as she strokes her shoulder.
Next Officer Pryce speaks about humiliation and mental health. She reminds us to be careful of what we say, because we can never know how it will affect someone else or what may be going on in their life.
‘Trust me – you don’t want to make yourself the trigger that pushes someone into hurting themselves.’
I zone out, distracted by the constant need to call Kelly. I don’t even care about the competition any more and anyway, I can’t enter something that’s half hers. I just need to know she’s all right.
‘When you go back to your lessons, you will do so quietly,’ Gilchrist says. ‘You will be mature and not share information with the lower school. The following students will need to stay behind: Rory Petersen, Imran Akhtar, Krishna Patel and Ilyas Mian.’
My stomach bottoms out. Why me?
‘Why you making me stay behind, though?’ Imran has the audacity to say as students are dismissed row by row. ‘This is racial profiling.’
‘Calm down,’ Officer Pryce says. ‘I assure you that’s not the case, but we do need your full cooperation. Whoever was on that video has committed a very serious crime.’
‘And?’ Imran says.
I want to scream.
‘Why you picking on me and my bredrin for?’ Imran kisses his teeth.
‘Because some people have already come forward with your names, and by law we are obliged to investigate,’ Officer Pryce retorts.
Yaas, queen! I think, wishing she would really Hulk out and twist him into a pretzel.
Imran snorts. ‘So what you want us to do? Get our dicks out so you can match ’em up with that video?’
Krishna and Rory snigger.
‘I’ll thank you to watch your mouth, sunshine,’ says Gilchrist, shooting Imran a warning look.
‘Follow me, please,’ Officer Pryce says stiffly, and Imran has no choice but to follow her into the corner where he won’t have an audience to show off to.
‘Sir,’ I say. ‘Is Kelly OK?’
‘Well how do you think she feels?’ Gilchrist replies tetchily.
He moves off to assist Officer Pryce’s inquiries because – surprise, surprise – Imran is being a prick. Now’s my chance. Pulling out my phone, I fire off a text.
I wait, but, just like with all the other texts I’ve sent this weekend, Kelly doesn’t reply.
‘You watching that video again?’ Rory asks, grinning.
I shake my head, putting my phone away.
‘Look at Imran denying it!’ Krishna says, gesturing with his chin.
I crane my neck. ‘You gonna tell ’em it was Imran?’
‘Whose mans is this?’ he says derisively. ‘Bro Code.’
‘Why, you thinking about snaking?�
�� Rory asks, leaning forwards threateningly.
I shake my head quickly.
‘Course he won’t,’ Krishna says. ‘They’re DedManz. If Imran goes down, he’s taking this one with him.’
I gulp.
All too soon, I’m being summoned by Officer Pryce. At least I’m up last. Do I do what the other lads did and deny all knowledge, or stick my neck out?
‘Before we begin,’ Officer Pryce says, her light eyes staring into my soul, ‘it’s really important that you remember to tell the truth. OK?’
I nod.
‘Do you know the identity of the male on the video?’
Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Imran lurking in the doorway and gasp. Pryce’s eyes follow mine.
‘Oi, bro!’ Imran shouts.
Officer Pryce bristles. ‘You’ve had your interview. Go back to your class.’
‘Yeah, in a second.’ Imran motions me over, and I get up.
‘Sit down,’ Officer Pryce instructs.
‘Just a sec, miss,’ I plead and duck out.
I run up the steps to where Imran is waiting between the aisles of seats so we can’t be overheard. He places strong hands on my shoulders and pitches forward till our foreheads are touching. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
‘You gonna keep quiet, fam?’
Looking into his dark eyes, I see the universe, and the universe stares back. Only now do I fully understand the power Imran commanded over Kelly. ‘You hurt my best friend, Imran. She’s the only one who ever liked me for who I am.’
‘What you chatting about? I rated your skills from Day One. Why you think I got you to tag up these ends?’ He moves his lips close to my ear, his goatee tickling my jaw. ‘Bros before hoes. Money over bitches.’
I throw my arms around him and, after a startled pause, he hugs me back. My hand slips inside his pocket.
‘What you doin’?’ he asks in surprise.
Kick the Moon Page 21
