by Sarah Ayoub
‘I mean, look at my parents. I love them to death, but I know my dad’s a bit backward. His relatives in Lebanon have moved with the times – girls there are allowed to stay out past midnight without a chaperone, and date boys outside their village, and they don’t have to go to every family function under the sun – but my dad refuses to accept that. He thinks his village is the exact same way it was when he left it. And the funny thing is, he’s pretty tame compared to some other dads – he doesn’t expect me to go to Lebanon at eighteen and marry my cousin.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Shehadie says. ‘My grandparents aren’t like that.’
‘They can’t afford to be. Your mother marrying an Anglo forced them to wake up and look at things differently, even if it took them a long time. They saw a different way of living and realised that it was okay, it didn’t ruin anything. Their relationship with their daughter wasn’t jeopardised in the long run, her marriage lasted, and her son still knew where he came from. I mean, you’re at a Leb school, for God’s sake.’
‘But whether I belong there is an entirely different matter,’ he says. ‘Do you really think there can be a middle ground?’
‘There has to be,’ I say. ‘For my sake, at least. Because while I’m here in Australia, I’m always going to be an ethnic. And in Lebanon, I’ll always be the Australiyee. So if there’s no middle ground, then I don’t belong anywhere.’
13
I hate that I’ve been stupid enough to buy into the ‘friends forever’ bullshit
By the time Sunday comes around, I’ve still had no word from Dora. Facebook is littered with photos from Friday night, and even though I spot myself in a few, looking like I’m having the time of my life, I log off and avoid it. I know how the night pans out: my years-long friendship with Dora dissolves because it can’t withstand the pressures of high school.
I go to school on Monday with a gnawing pain in my gut. I know that things with Dora can’t go back to normal, but I’m not prepared to face whatever happens next. A public fight? A fake friendship? Or an awkward search for new friends to help me see out the year?
I see Dora sitting with Vanessa’s posse, giggling with Rita over God knows what, as I make my way through the quad. I don’t call out to her, just smile at her from afar. She doesn’t move, and Rita looks at me with disdain, like she feels sorry for me.
I guess Dora reconsiders, because she comes up to me as I’m walking towards my locker before the bell rings for assembly. ‘Soph, can I talk to you for a sec?’
I shrug. ‘Sure. Though I can’t for the life of me think what about.’
‘Now’s not the time for your sarcasm,’ she says, folding her arms. ‘What happened on Friday was shit and I’m not going to deny it. But it made me realise that we’re at two different points in our lives right now. I told you at the start of this year that I wanted something more. I want to enjoy being young while I can, and I thought you wanted the same thing. We’re teenagers, we have to lie to our parents sometimes. You need to live a little.’
‘Dora, let’s forget about Dictator Dad for a second and think about it. This isn’t just about me lying to my parents to live a little. I don’t want to do that at the expense of my safety, driving around with a guy who’s been boozing it up –’
‘He didn’t drink that much, I asked him,’ she interjects. ‘And he waited an hour or so before he started driving.’
‘It doesn’t matter – he’s on his Ps, which means he’s not allowed to drink at all. I don’t care how big or hairy he is, he’s still technically not a man yet. Plus, even if we forget about the drinking, you still did a pretty dodgy thing by not even calling to see if I got home okay. You didn’t care about me even as an afterthought.’
‘I know, I stuffed up,’ she says, sighing. ‘You know I love you, right, but I don’t want to spend my last year in high school being a loser. I have fun with those girls.’
‘You have fun with those girls because they get their high from thinking they’re better than everyone else,’ I say. ‘And they treat everyone else that way. If that’s what it means to be popular, then I’d rather be the biggest loser that ever lived. I want my friends to look at me and say, I’m glad I have you by my side because you’ll never let me down, no matter what else is on offer. Rita doesn’t fit into that category. So I guess you have to ask yourself if you’re really willing to destroy a good friendship for someone who might not think you’re worth it in a few weeks’ time.’
I can see Rita watching us, and even though I sound tough I want to disappear into thin air. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me fight this out with Dora, especially as my eyes are about to flood the quad with tears.
‘That’s slack, Skaz,’ Dora says, twirling a piece of her hair. ‘And it’s not even true. Trust me, if you get to know her, she’s not like that.’
‘I knew her way before you did. And she’s always been the same – happy to let things slide when something better comes along. Come to think of it, maybe you guys are a perfect fit after all.’
She sighs. ‘We can still hang out, you know. Nothing has to change – well, not everything, anyway.’
‘Dora,’ I say, exasperated, ‘you left me alone in the city at night. I didn’t even have a lift home. Good friends don’t abandon each other like that, especially when they have no way of getting home. Six months ago you would’ve declared anyone who did that a bitch.’
I get a half-smile response; she knows I’m right. We used to laugh and joke around together. Now, there are only awkward silences and stupid explanations about what we feel and think and do. I want to walk away, but Dora is still standing there, caught between the old and familiar and the new and exciting. If I’m honest, I can’t really blame her. I wish I was the type of person worth turning down the world’s biggest party for.
‘I guess I saw this coming,’ I finally say. ‘Friday just brought it on. You stopped calling, stopped waiting for me after homeroom. When you did call, it was only about homework.’ She opens her mouth to say something but I’m on a roll. ‘No more immediate responses on Facebook, no more after-school hangouts on Fridays, barely any text messages.’
‘I don’t know what to say to you, Soph.’
‘Then don’t say anything,’ I reply, heaving my bag onto my shoulders. ‘I’ll be okay,’ I tell her. ‘Really, I will.’
The bell rings, and Dora rejoins Rita while I walk alone to the assembly hall wondering how I’m going to get through the next few months without a best friend.
I’m in a foul mood all through Economics and Business, then head straight for the staffroom when recess hits, hoping to catch Mrs Cafree so I can ask her a question about my methodology. When the bell rings for us to go back to class, I’m relieved to have survived my first break without any friends.
The next few lessons pass by in a blur thanks to the fact that I completely tune out, which earns me a lunchtime detention from my Maths teacher.
I walk into the detention room, kick my bag under my desk and lay my head on the table. At least I don’t have to worry about who I’m going to hang out with over lunch. Perhaps I should aim to make this a regular thing? It’d even give me extra time to get my school work done. My brilliant plan is abandoned when Shehadie walks in and plonks himself into the seat next to me.
‘What a waste of a lunchtime,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘What are you in here for?’ He asks as if we’re friends, in school anyway.
‘I forgot my calculator and refused to share someone else’s,’ I say bluntly, because clearly we’re not friends.
‘That’s all? Geez, this school’s discipline policy is like pot luck.’
I laugh inwardly but make no effort to keep the conversation going. I have to hand it to him, though, he has persistence.
‘So how are you feeling after the weekend?’ he asks. ‘Are you okay?’
I slide a look at him that says ‘shut up’, but he doesn’t get it.
‘I saw you ta
lking to Dora this morning –’
‘Shehadie,’ I say, exasperated, ‘I don’t really want to talk today.’
‘Okaaaay,’ he replies, holding his hands up in front of his chest. ‘I just think it’d be stupid of you to let it slide, you know.’
‘Yes, because that’s the core message at my Catholic school: don’t let it slide. Don’t turn the other cheek, forgive and forget, blah blah blah.’
‘What she did was slack. Not that I want to get in the middle of your friendship or anything, but to me that’s not really friendship so I’m just going to say it. You’d be an idiot if you forgot what she did.’
I glare at him.
‘That’s what I’d tell my sister, if I had one,’ he adds. ‘I’m sure your brother would say the same.’
‘You don’t know my brother,’ I mutter, pulling my journal out of my bag. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to let it all out in my journal.’
He smirks at me. ‘Girls with journals end up becoming cat ladies, you know.’
‘Shehadie,’ I snap. ‘Shut up.’
And with that, the conversation is over.
Clearly, the boys have decided it’s interfere-with-Sophie’sbad-mood day because Zayden sits next to me in fourth period. Under normal circumstances, this would have made me squeal with delight, but today my heart sinks when I realise he’s just here to talk about Friday night.
‘How are you going, Sophie?’ he says with a smile.
‘Okay,’ I reply half-heartedly.
‘Listen, Soph,’ he continues, pulling his stuff out of his school bag and placing it on the desk. ‘I just want to say no harm done, you know. Sometimes we get a bit carried away when we want to have fun. I wish you could have come with us, but I guess it wasn’t going to work out with your curfew and all.’
I shrug.
‘But you know, you really need to be careful who you’re hanging out with, because you never know if they really understand you.’
My face reddens. Act cool, Sophie Kazzi, act cool. Even if it’s an entirely foreign concept to you.
‘I’m not following you,’ I say.
‘Well, you know how our community can get a bit talkative, right?’ He looks at me like he’s trying to sell me girl-scout cookies.
‘That’s an understatement if there ever was one.’
‘Right. You know all about it. So you know reputation’s a big thing, especially for a girl. And especially when she comes from such a great family and all.’
Because you visit our home regularly and know our family dynamics? I go to interrupt him, but he’s still talking.
‘And you know how we’re all protective of each other because not everyone understands us or views things the way that we do. And because of –’
‘Zayden,’ I cut in, surprised at my rashness, ‘whatever it is you’re trying to tell me, just say it.’
He stares at me, open-mouthed. I guess he’s surprised by my rashness too.
‘I think you should be careful,’ he says finally. ‘Some people saw you going home with that Aussie boy.’
‘He has a name,’ I say, softly this time. ‘And he’s half-Lebanese – not that it should matter what he is.’
He scoffs. ‘It’s not like we can see any Lebanese side. Anyway, it looks bad. Girls like you shouldn’t be out with guys like him.’
‘Girls like me? Zayden, you don’t even know me. Why are you suddenly so concerned? You’ve never really spoken to me before. Why now? Why this guy?’
I find his blatant racism disturbing. Even more so than the fact he thinks I’d do what he says, just because that’s what he’s used to. I want to ask him how he plans to function in the world outside of high school. But I don’t. I’m not sure that concept has even occurred to him yet.
‘They want us out of the country, Sophie. The least we can do is keep them out of our lives.’
‘Come on, Zayden, they don’t want us out of the country. The governor of New South Wales is a Lebanese woman, for heaven’s sake. Her husband captained the Wallabies. And the former premier in Victoria was a Lebanese man.’
He stares at me blankly and opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it.
‘You can’t take that one stupid comment that led to the Brighton Brawl seriously. We don’t even know what it was – it’s all Chinese whispers!’
‘So you start getting cosy with that Aussie guy and suddenly you no longer have any loyalty to who you are? What about my little cousin, Soph?’
‘Zayden, I swear to you, I think it’s terrible George got hurt. I was distraught for him and his family. But not every Aussie person thinks like that, and not every Aussie person deserves to be treated the way you’re treating Shehadie. I mean, how would you like it if every Aussie started treating us like we all condone gang rape just because of the actions of a few animals?’
‘So you’re not going to stop talking to him? For your own good?’
‘Is this what it comes down to? The guy’s not even my friend, Zayden. I just think it wouldn’t kill any of us to show him some courtesy. Lebanese people are supposed to be among the most generous on the planet. Are you trying to tell me that if an Aussie guy walked into your home, your parents wouldn’t welcome him with open arms? Give him the meal of his life and five-star hotel treatment? That’s about honouring our culture too … and Shehadie is a visitor to this school, after all. What’s more, he’s just a kid like you and me.’
‘I thought you were smarter than that, Sophie. You’re better off sticking with your own kind. I’m not saying that non-Lebanese aren’t good people, I’m just saying that we do things differently. We think differently, we act differently. Plus, imagine how your dad would react to you being friends with an Aussie guy. Your brother even.’
There’s truth in what he’s saying about my dad and brother, even if I don’t want to admit it. Maybe that was one of the reasons Leila hadn’t ended up marrying Peter. I realised I’d never even asked her what happened on that front.
‘We’re not going out or anything,’ I say. ‘We don’t even like each other half the time. You know me – I talk to everyone. I like to give people a chance.’
By now, the class has settled down and our teacher is starting the lesson.
‘That’s nice,’ Zayden whispers, opening up his textbook. ‘But not everyone deserves a chance. Especially when they don’t dish them out themselves.’
‘If you follow that philosophy,’ I whisper back, ‘then you’re saying it’s okay for society to judge us based on what they see about Lebanese gangs in the newspapers. But not everyone thinks that way, and Shehadie’s one of those people who’s smart enough to know better, no matter where he grew up.’
Zayden looks at me for a second and shrugs. ‘We all have to suffer stereotypes in our lifetime. And not all of us can do anything about it.’
Can’t or won’t, I wonder. I think about the fact that lots of the people around me are content to live in their little squares, without ever considering the plights of others. Suddenly the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ makes perfect sense, and I understand why half the kids at my school have pretty blissful lives.
Tuesday. Another Dora-less school day. I spend recess in the library borrowing books for my Business Studies assignment, but still obsessing about how my friendship with Dora has got to this point. Then again, if the articles in Girlfriend have taught me anything, it’s that to some people popularity is everything. Sad thing is, I hadn’t realised Dora was ‘some people’.
At lunchtime, I see her. I’m walking down the stairs that face the seniors’ area of the quad when I suddenly feel self-conscious, aware that Rita, Vanessa and Dora are hanging out on a bench a few metres in front of me. Besides a small nod in my direction, Dora doesn’t acknowledge me. If they didn’t already, the whole school now knows that our friendship is officially over.
The backpack on my shoulders seems heavier than usual, the stairs longer, the quad a hell of a lot bigger. I think about h
ow I preferred it when Vanessa and Co. didn’t know I existed. Instead, I’d come so close to being one of them and then got screwed over at the last minute because I couldn’t shake my ability to listen to my gut. It might be a good thing in an adult, but for a seventeen-year-old, it’s a curse.
Across the quad, Shehadie is reading a book under the pergola, like he’s done every day since he came to CSC. Zayden and a few other boys from our class are playing football, and as usual they don’t ask him to join in. Instead, they ignore him, or occasionally throw a snide remark his way. My eyes meet Shehadie’s and he smiles. I smile back awkwardly, and look from him to Vanessa’s group, like we’re all part of some confusing game.
I start to walk over to him, but my fear gets the better of me and I go into the toilets instead. I sit in a cubicle, take out my journal and doodle over some of the pages.
After five minutes, I’m over being so pathetic and make my way to the library. Mrs Morton, the librarian, sings out my name as I walk in.
‘Back again today?’ she says.
I nod, embarrassed.
‘Don’t worry, we’d rather thirty of you than half the other kids in here.’ She gestures to the noisy juniors milling about. ‘Plus, I bet we’re good for you too. You must be making headway on all your assessments.’
‘Something like that,’ I say. ‘Got anything new for me?’
‘Actually, I ordered something that I think you’ll really love,’ she says. ‘If you man the sign-in book for a moment, I’ll go find it. Ms Richards is at the canteen stocking up on chocolate for her 2 pm craving so I’m on my own right now.’
