That evening, Layla couldn’t stop thinking about the theme that had popped up during the day with people talking about love and forgiveness. But how could she love and forgive when people had been so awful? She decided to bring it up at dinner.
‘Mama, have you ever forgiven someone who has caused you a lot of pain?’
Her mother laughed. ‘Ya3ni, I keep forgiving your father every morning for leaving the toilet seat up!’ Fadia’s brown eyes twinkled, and the wrinkles around her smile deepened as she teased her husband. Baba shook his head, clearly not finding it nearly as funny as Layla’s mother did.
‘No, Mama, seriously!’
Mama looked at Layla, her well-manicured eyebrow arching up with curiosity. ‘What makes you ask this question, ah, habibti?’
Layla shifted in her seat, her yellow cotton jalabeeya sticking to her legs in the hot Brisbane humidity. ‘Someone said at school today that love and forgiveness are the only ways to move forward, to heal pain and all this,’ Layla’s voice became mocking as she made air quotes with her fingers, ‘“airy-fairy” stuff.’ She continued, looking at her dad as well for reassurance. ‘I don’t know if forgiving someone who wants to hurt you makes any difference though.’
Baba wasn’t giving her anything, and her mother’s face betrayed no emotion either.
‘Aha ya shabab,’ Fadia said to everyone else at the table. ‘What do you think?’
‘If people talk about forgiveness, they should start also doing it themselves, shouldn’t they?’ Ozzie looked up from his meal for the first time that evening, his voice cutting, indicating that this meant a little something more to him. He let go of his fork and knife, ignoring them as they clattered sharply on the glass table. His face seemed irritated, as if Layla had said something to him personally.
Ozzie pushed his chair back from the dining table and threw his hands outward, aggressively. ‘Listen. If they want to talk about forgiveness, then they should take you off probation, give you your scholarship back and make Peter apologise to you for the way he treated you.’
Ozzie’s voice rose.
‘If they want us to forgive, they should stop talking about us in the news like we are all terrorists, or gang members.’ Her brother’s jaw clenched, then he jumped up abruptly, and the movement tipped his chair backward, the metal frame crashing into the tiles, skidding across the room and loudly hitting the bannister on the wall.
Layla grimaced; that was going to leave a mark in the wood of the bannister. She looked back at her brother, who wasn’t done.
‘If they want forgiveness, they can start actually accepting us, hiring us, rather than wondering why we’re all unemployed! That sounds like the kind of forgiveness I am interested in!’ The teenager then turned around and stormed off. His thudding footsteps could be heard climbing the staircase, walking down the hallway, and then SLAM; there went his bedroom door.
Layla looked around the table. Baba was unperturbed, diligently wiping up the juices of the meal with a piece of bread, all with the attitude of a man who had no problems in the world. His moustache bristled slightly, but Layla couldn’t tell whether that was from annoyance, or just his chewing.
Sami and Yousif had been sitting very still, very silently, almost holding their breath. Now that Ozzie had left the table, giggles started to escape from their tightly held lips. Layla figured it was only a few minutes before they went into full-fledged laughing mode once more. They really lived in their own world.
Layla looked at her mother, who sat at the head of the table, hands clasped together on her lap. Her mother breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, a breath of sadness and resignation. Mama looked up at Layla. ‘Don’t worry about Ozzie. He’s just frustrated – he’s been applying for part time jobs all week, but without any luck. The shop keepers nearby said they don’t want kids who could be a part of an “African gang” in their workforce. Ozzie is taking it very personally.’ Her mother’s voice was soft, her tone almost apologetic. ‘People don’t always understand what they don’t know, habibti.’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t make it hurt less, does it?’ Baba’s voice interjected. His voice was soft, but the tone wasn’t. It sounded like her dad knew exactly what Ozzie was going through. Like he knew this pain. Pursing his lips, indicating the discussion was over, Baba changed the subject. Dinner was always so dramatic!
‘Everyone finished?’ he asked.
The twins nodded, then started slapping each other’s shoulders in a strange game no one quite understood. Layla looked at her father and nodded as well, as he started collecting the plates to put in the dishwasher.
Layla sat back in her chair. Ozzie had a point. Forgiveness had to go both ways, didn’t it? But what did forgiveness even mean? And did she even have time to deal with this when she had a competition she needed to win? She looked at her mother for advice, reassurance, but her mother’s mind was somewhere else. Mama was leaning forward on the table; her thick forearms resting on either side of the plate, dark brown eyes rimmed with black kohl, staring into space. Fadia’s hands trembled ever so slightly, which was unusual for the Sudanese doctor. Layla had never seen that happen before. Tendrils of henna decorated her mother’s fingers, the artistry of vines and flowers in a dark black ink trailing across her palms and down to her wrists. The colour was faded around the tops of her fingertips, the light brown of the washed-out markings meaning Mama would probably be getting her monthly henna session soon. She would spend it sitting on the couch in front of the television for hours as Safia, the local artist extraordinaire, worked her magic. Fadia’s hair was freshly set in loose curls that waterfalled across her broad shoulders, which today, were heaving under the pressure of holding a family up in a country she didn’t always feel welcome in. Still, Fadia never hunched.
‘Ma?’ Layla prodded her mother with gentle words. ‘Ma?’ Her voice held a question.
There was no response from her mother for a beat. Then, like the air escaping a balloon, another deep sigh, and her mother collected herself, her hands no longer trembling. She picked up her plate to take to the kitchen. ‘Layla, habibti.’ The plate was loose in her hands, and she met Layla’s eyes with a firm, but gentle gaze. ‘It’s tough, habibti. It’s tough for all of us. Focus on what you can control for now, okay?’
With that, she turned and walked away, her colourful jalabeeya a kaleidoscope of beauty and confusion.
CHAPTER 12
THE rest of the week at school all Layla could think about was the competition. The lunchtime before tech class, Layla started to get a little worried. She knew that Mr Gilvarry would ask her about the project, but she had no ideas. The competition was the best way for her to win back favour with the principal, he’d said as much on her first day back when she’d come into school, but she had no entry. She had heard that Peter’s group had already moved past brainstorming stage and into building their first prototype, but she was nowhere near that stage! It was all a disaster, and Layla didn’t know who to tell or to confide in. She had tried to talk to Dina, but Dina was excited about the idea that Layla might have to leave this school and go back to ISB with her, so she wasn’t much help. The only other person Layla felt like she could trust was Ethan.
At that moment, she heard his voice – and it was as if he could read her thoughts. ‘You okay, Laylz? You look kinda sad. Is everything all right?’
Layla turned her head to look at him. They were both sitting on a bench outside the tech building, the bench nestled in the shrubbery that covered most of the building’s walls. Layla had gone to pray at lunchtime and then sat down to get some air before classes were meant to start. (She may have also been trying to avoid running into Peter or his brother.)
‘How did you even know I was here?’ Her voice came out almost accusatory, like punches. Layla swallowed; it wasn’t her intention to sound so harsh. What’s wrong with me? Any other time, Layla would have been super excited by the chance to sit next to Ethan, alone and hidden in shrubbery. But her mind w
as totally occupied by the competition and the fact that her future – her whole, perfectly planned-out future – was at stake.
Ethan seemed taken aback by Layla’s tone. ‘Oh, I saw you walk across the oval and I thought you might want some company. I knew it was you by, you know …’ Ethan waved at the long skirt in an awkward fashion. He chuckled slightly, then bit the laugh off, falling quiet.
Oh rah, I didn’t mean to make him feel bad.
Ethan continued. ‘I’m sorry, let me know if you want to be left alone. I just want to say that you can talk to me.’ Ethan studied his fingers, a single red curl loosening again and obscuring his face.
The stillness held for a moment, then stretched into a minute, then two. Layla went to start to talk, but hesitated. What did she even want to tell him? That she was sad that she might lose her scholarship, get kicked of the school? That she was angry that she was the one paying the price for something she didn’t think was her fault, even if she might have had some part in it? That she needed to win this competition, but she had no idea what she was doing? That she thought he was the cutest guy she’d ever seen, but didn’t know if she liked him, or even what to do about that? So many things to say, where should she start?
Layla opened her mouth, not sure where she was going but needing to say something, anything, to break the silence. ‘Ethan, you know …’ she began, her voice croaky.
Ethan’s eyes instantly looked up from the ground, meeting hers. They were a light greeny-brown, hazel almost, with specks of gold. His pupils were large and dilated, presumably as they were sitting in shadow. His expression was expectant – nervous, almost.
‘Yeh?’ he asked. ‘Is it about the party or something? You know, it’s not a big deal if you can’t make it. I’m thinking about not going either.’
The party! Layla bit back a laugh. The party was another thing that she was screwing up, but it was so low on the priority list right now. Sigh. She barely registered Ethan’s comment about him not going.
‘No, no, it’s not about the party. It’s, like …’ Layla broke eye contact and turned away, her mouth still open. Without even thinking, the words began to pour out of her mouth. ‘I’m just so worried about this robotics competition, you know? I haven’t even got a real idea yet, and I have to do it all by myself, and compete with the damn Cox, and I feel like I don’t have a chance …’ Layla swallowed.
Janey Mack.
The verbal diarrhoea was unstoppable. Layla ranted, as if she was at the Hussein dinner table rather than next to the boy she was crushing on, sitting on a tiny seat hidden in the shrubbery.
‘It’s so unfair. I don’t think I did anything wrong, but I’m being punished for it, and nothing happens to him! I mean, I know I shouldn’t have called him a convict … but C’MON! Nothing has happened to him! And nobody else seems to think it’s a problem! I’m meant to pretend like this is okay or something, but I haven’t even been asked for my side of the story. I came to MMGS because I thought I was welcome. I thought I was equal. I thought at a place like this, I’d be able to learn and become a world-travelling adventurer, meeting new people, going to lots of different places, having the time of my life! Instead, I’m supposed to be proving that I deserve to be here, because the chairman’s kid is a liar? I’m supposed to bite my tongue and let that happen? I already did the exam, proved I was worth being here, why don’t they trust me? Why does everyone make these judgements about me and where I’m from just by looking at me and I don’t even get a chance …’ Layla was almost out of breath, but she continued, ignoring her stomach tightening in knots, ignoring her brain saying STOP ALREADY, YOU’RE EMBARASSING YOURSELF, ignoring the bewildered look on Ethan’s face.
‘I mean, I feel people don’t want to believe me – or believe IN me! They don’t want to believe people like me and my mum can look the way we do and still do everything. They don’t want to believe my brother isn’t in a gang. They don’t want to believe I didn’t pick the fight, that someone else might have. They want to make us beg to be treated well, and then they don’t want us to complain, and even then, I’m not good enough, my brother isn’t good enough, none of us are good enough. Like, when will we be enough?!’
The last few words burst out of her mouth loudly, explosively. ‘And everyone wants me to forgive?!’
With these words, she leapt up from the bench, all thoughts of her feelings about Ethan momentarily forgot. All the frustration of the past few weeks had come back and hit her at the same time. The unfairness of her situation, the fact that things were difficult for Ozzie, even the reality that Ms T looked white when she was black, and that was because of the terrible things that had happened in her people’s past.
All of it made Layla so, so, so mad. And she felt helpless. And that helplessness made her even angrier.
‘I mean, do you even get it?’ Layla spat at Ethan. ‘Bah.’ She turned around haughtily, facing the oval. ‘Your parents have enough money to send you to this school. We have to send all our money to family back home. They would starve without us. You probably have no idea how hard life can be.’
The thought of her scholarship being taken away sat in the back of her mind as she surveyed the view. The enormous oval, with lush, carpet-deep green grass. Buildings that looked like they were lifted out of an architectural magazine with a feature on castles. Students milling about, wearing ties and wide-brim straw hats, like they were at the polo. Layla couldn’t believe she was even there. Of course, she didn’t belong. How had she even thought it might be possible?
Closing her eyes, she muttered under her breath in Ethan’s direction. ‘Life is easy for people like you.’
There it was. With those words out, Layla felt a weight being lifted off her chest. It wasn’t even about Ethan, she knew. She hoped he got that too. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and waited for his response.
Silence. Silence, except for the faint sounds of chatter and laughter from the other side of the oval. Silence, except for the sounds of a crow in the forest behind the tech building. Silence. It felt heavy, expectant.
Oh no. What have I done? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no!
Layla’s mouth clenched and she started to grind her teeth, as the anxiety spread. These were thoughts she could share with Dina, who understood that life was more difficult for people like them. What was she doing talking about the hard parts of life with someone like Ethan! He wouldn’t understand at all! Her face contorted as she held back the urge to cry. No, no, no! Not only would he think she was paranoid, but he would probably tell everyone else that she was like, a racist, or something silly.
Layla closed her eyes and forced herself to face her friend, who, after this conversation, might not be her friend any more. She opened her eyes again, and her bushy eyebrows shot up.
The bench was empty. There was no one there. Ethan had left.
Layla’s stomach dropped so quickly, she felt nauseous.
Janey Mack!
What had she done?
Layla needed to find Ethan, and fast. A quick glance at her watch told her there were only a few more minutes before lunch ended and everyone in her class would be headed their way. Layla didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if she didn’t get a chance to explain what she meant. Nothing she’d said was a lie, but she didn’t mean to hurt him. Ya Allah, who was she becoming? It was as if she was picking fights with everyone. She wasn’t even like that though. She was just angry at how the world was treating her and the people she loved …
‘Eth! Eth! Ethan, where are you?’ Her voice was low and urgent, as she walked around the shrubbery, parting the greenery every few steps to check if he had hidden inside the bushes. Then Layla started checking further afield and made her way around the back of the building. She walked along the narrow path between the building and the fence at the edge of the school boundary. The fence was nothing but wire and her hands trailed along it, following every bump. Her eyes glazed over as she stopped walking and stared into space. If only s
he could just run away from all these problems …
A movement broke her out of the reverie. Ethan was next to her, leaning against the fence.
How did this guy move so silently? Ethan!
‘Ethan!’ her voice and brain shouting at the same time.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, nodding toward where Layla was holding onto the fence, his eyebrows quizzical.
Layla looked down and noticed that her foot was wedged into one of the holes in the mesh pattern, and her hands gripped the top railing as if she was about to jump over. Layla let go of the railing with surprise and stumbled backward.
‘Weird flex, but okay. Mate. Where were you?? I was looking for you everywhere! Listen, I am so sorry about kicking off earlier, I didn’t mean to get all worked up and you know it’s not really about you, right …’
Layla trailed off as she noticed Ethan’s face. He didn’t look angry at her at all.
‘Dude?’
The red head sighed, a cloud coming over his crystal-clear eyes, greener now than ever before.
‘We’re all hiding something, Layla. Everyone is fighting their own battle.’ Ethan took in a deep breath, unexpectedly shuddering.
Holy bananas, hold up. Is he going to cry? Layla reached up to squeeze his arm, feeling the muscles tense underneath her fingers.
‘Mate, what’s going on?’
Before he could continue, a group of their classmates appeared around the corner. The rest of the boys were boisterous and giddy from the lunchbreak, and they trampled in like antelope, crushing all emotion and vulnerability in sight. The mood shifted as the air was filled with laughs and yells of young teenage boys.
‘Ayyyyy, there you both are! Cheeky, hiding behind the tech building, ayyyy?’ Baz galloped alongside them and ruffled Ethan’s perfectly coifed curls, tugging on the end of Layla’s scarf, which was flapping in the wind.
You Must Be Layla Page 9
