Tim meets Baba’s eye and Baba mouths a thank you to him. I grab Baba’s hand and quickly lead him back into the restaurant, out to the back.
We’re both shaking. I call the police. They arrive in half an hour and take a report. But there’s nothing they can do because it all happened off our premises.
*
It airs that night. With the editing job they’ve done, it just sounds like we have something to hide. The report ends with the reporter outside a mosque, telling the audience about some people’s fears of ‘creeping sharia’. There’s a shot of the man who’d harassed us in the restaurant. He’s a member of a new organisation that wants to stop the ‘Islamisation of Australia’. There’s a shot of the founder, Alan Blainey. Then there’s some file footage of a group of people at an anti-asylum seeker rally.
‘But is all this just fear-mongering?’ the journalist asks in the end.
A bit too late for that.
I feel like vomiting.
*
It’s Hasan’s tenth birthday and it’s time to cut the cake. I’ve been looking for him all afternoon but he’s been too busy running around with his friends and only offered me a wave whenever I called his name. I’m grinning as I chase him now. He’s laughing so hard that he has to stop to catch his breath. I grab him from behind. ‘Got you!’ I cry and spin him around. I stumble back in horror. His face is featureless. Its anonymity taunts me: the sister who survived; the sister who cannot even remember what her own brother looked like. Guilt plagues me even in sleep.
Michael
Mum’s standing at the kitchen bench swigging down her morning cup of coffee as she makes Nathan’s lunch and tests him on his spelling words. I go to the pantry, take out a box of Milo Flakes and pour some straight into my mouth.
‘Michael!’ Mum yells. ‘Use a bowl.’
My mouth full, I shake my head and point to my watch. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl, wave to them both and head to the front door. Mum rushes after me.
‘Wait,’ she calls out.
I turn to face her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
‘Is your decision really final? I mean, don’t you want to at least wait until you finish HSC and receive your marks?’
‘It’s final, Mum. Pretty much the one thing I’m certain of in my life is that I want to do graphic design. I’m going to break it to Dad when he gets back and finally I can stop pretending.’
Mum’s eyes widen. ‘At least wait.’
‘Mum!’
‘I don’t want him to return and have to deal with the disappointment straight up. Let’s give him time to settle in and then you can tell him.’
I exhale loudly. ‘Okay, fine.’
*
I’m playing with Nathan on the Xbox in the early evening. Mum is next door watching an inane current affairs program. She suddenly calls out to me.
I ignore her at first. FIFA, or segment on neighbourhood feud/ restaurant health scare/ exploding breast implants? Hardly a difficult choice.
‘It’s about Aussie Values! Quick! It’s coming on after the ad!’
Nathan and I jump up and run to the family room.
It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. I’m glued to the spot, a wave of nausea rushing through me as I see Mina on the screen, her face racked with panic.
‘What’s it about?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She looks slightly disturbed. ‘Nobody should be doing media without your father’s authorisation. Oh!’ Her tone is now one of relief. ‘It’s Andrew!’
Andrew’s ranting to a reporter. ‘How do we know halal certification money isn’t being used to fund terrorism? People don’t have a choice. Halal is taking over. The new Afghan restaurant in the neighbourhood has forced out an old fish and chip shop, a fixture among locals for years.’
Mum beams. ‘Good work, Andrew! We got some national coverage.’
All I can think about is Mina’s face. Weren’t there other ways to draw attention to halal scams without dragging her into it?
The report continues and I do a quick Google search. To my surprise, a Federal government enquiry found no links between halal certification and funding terrorism. I ask Mum if she knows about it.
‘Obviously they won’t find any evidence,’ she scoffs. ‘That just proves how deep the funding scheme is.’
I frown. ‘So no evidence is evidence?’
Mum, distracted by the TV, nods absent-mindedly.
I feel the urge to be outside, alone. ‘Mum, can I go for a drive?’
Mum now looks tormented. Her standard response since I got my licence three months ago.
‘If you didn’t want me to be seventeen at the end of year ten, you shouldn’t have held me back at school,’ I say.
She gives me a death stare but gives in.
‘Stick to the speed limit. And no phone.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
I go into the hall, grab my car keys, yell out that I’ll be back in an hour, and leave. I hear the front door open and slam shut behind me, Nathan on my heels.
‘I’m coming too!’ he says. ‘Mum said it’ll force you to drive more carefully. Because you love me more than yourself.’
‘She needs a meme generator of her own,’ I say, with a groan. ‘I was kind of hoping to be alone . . .’
‘Okay!’ he cries back cheerfully, opening the passenger door and climbing in.
I sigh and get in.
‘Why do you want to be alone?’
‘To contemplate life.’
I stop at a Maccas on the way, pick up some meals for us, and then head to the national park. I pump the music loud the whole way, ignoring the frowning faces of people in the cars at traffic lights.
‘Does this music help you contemplate life?’
‘Yes.’
My phone vibrates. Nathan grabs it first.
‘You shouldn’t use a mobile phone when driving. We might have an accident and you could kill me and then you would deprive Mum of the pleasure of grounding you for life. So I’ll read it to you?’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s from Fred. Saw your dad’s organisation on TV. And Mina from school. Looks like her dad’s into some dodgy shit big-time. How do you want me to reply?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say distractedly, thinking about a response.
After several tries I settle on: Who knows what the full story is? The response is excruciatingly lame. I dictate to Nathan, feeling piss weak and slightly confused. Why should I even care?
‘Okay, sent,’ Nathan announces. ‘You can contemplate life now. I’m going to play Minecraft.’
My mind is in overdrive, wondering if Mina will connect my surname to Dad’s. And then Aussie Values to me.
Mina
Baba drops me off early to school this morning. I’m drinking a coffee at my usual spot under one of the large fig trees on the school grounds. I see Mrs Robinson in the near distance, carrying an expensive-looking briefcase, ambling up the path as if she might be trying to delay the beginning of another day.
My stomach plunges. Will Mrs Robinson mention the program? Will this be the moment I’m going to be tapped on the shoulder and told I’m in the wrong production line?
She’s close now and notices me as she approaches.
She stops and makes small talk with me and it’s soon clear that she hasn’t seen the program. I try not to do a fist pump.
‘How’s school, Mina?’ ‘How are you fitting in?’ ‘What’s your favourite part of Victoria College?’ ‘Yes, I think the student café is a great idea too. Fabulous for building Maths skills.’ She goes on in this vein for a few minutes, and then asks, ‘So you like this tree too, hey?’
I nod. ‘It’s pretty spectacular.’
‘When I got the job as principal here, I gave up the water views from the North Sydne
y school I was teaching at for the leafy North Shore. I love the tree change.’ She smiles warmly at me. ‘This tree’s been a sentry over generations of graduates.’
‘Full of secrets,’ I say. ‘And history. That’s why I like it.’
*
Paula rushes up to me fifteen minutes before the first bell is due to ring. She throws her bag on the floor, sits down to face me, legs crossed, and stares intently into my eyes.
‘Oscar Wilde wants you to know that there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.’
‘Oscar Wilde could say that. He had excellent taste in clothes.’
‘Nobody with even half a brain takes that show seriously. They’ll be back to real estate crooks and crazy fad diets tomorrow. I say we have fun with this. I’m thinking a halal kebab van outside the café. A huge banner: One Bite And You’re Converted. What do you think?’
She grins at me.
I grin back at her. ‘I love you. The End.’
She seems genuinely touched.
‘Okay. Cheesy, sentimental moments quota for the week reached,’ I joke.
She laughs. ‘Totally.’
‘You know what the trick is?’ she says when we hear the bell ring and reluctantly rise and make our way to home room. ‘Learning that it can’t always be about them. Sometimes, maybe even most times, you fight back. But sometimes you can end up dignifying their arguments when you defend yourself. And even if you’re in the right, it’s exhausting to live your life in constant resistance. You have to keep a space to yourself, Mina, a space where they don’t exist. And doing that will piss them off more, anyway.’
‘How?’
She shrugs. ‘I think some people just can’t handle people who go about their life genuinely not caring about what other people think.’
‘This is from personal experience?’
‘I’ve had years of practice.’ She grins at me. ‘After all, you’ve only known me in my Wilde days.’
*
Home room is quiet.
Recess, not so much.
A lot of people are really sweet and sympathetic and it gives me the confidence to decide I’m not going to bother defending myself.
Hey, was that you on TV last night?
No, I’ve got a twin.
What’s going on with your dad?
Tinea.
But why’d they single your dad out? They must have had a reason.
The producer has a thing for Afghan men.
Why do you serve halal in Lane Cove anyway? There aren’t many Muslims here, are there?
Not yet. The breeding program’s in progress and we’ll be able to take over soon.
*
My name is called on the loudspeaker. Trying to mask my trepidation, I get up from my desk and go to the office.
Mrs Robinson has been informed about the program.
‘Did you watch it?’
‘No, I watch the ABC.’ She smiles. ‘Some of the teachers were chatting about it at morning tea and were quite concerned for you and your family.’
She gives me a pep talk, advising me to ignore the tabloid media.
‘Instead of bullying and harassing people like you, we should be welcoming you to our country,’ she says, shaking her head in dismay. ‘Your parents are hard-working, decent, moderate people who have clearly made extraordinary sacrifices for you to have this opportunity.’
There’s a reason why I’m drawn to the tree in the school yard most mornings. The roots spread wide, twisted and coiled. The trunk is enormous, rough and crusty. Can you be jealous of a tree? Of its roots that dig deep into soil, staking their claim? I smile to myself as Mrs Robinson reassures me that I should always feel welcome here.
I’m like an Afghan sapling that grew a little, only to be snatched out of the ground and planted somewhere else.
Everybody’s pruned and shaped somehow, I guess. But not everybody has to fight to stop from being torn out of the ground.
*
A backpack on his shoulder, Mr Morello takes us outside for Society and Culture. He instructs us to assemble side by side to form a straight line. Then he divides the class into two.
‘Everybody on the right of Zoe is able-bodied,’ he says. ‘Team Kyle. Everybody on the left of Zoe, including you Zoe, has a physical disability. Team Zoe.’
Paula and I are on Team Kyle. We all exchange quizzical looks and call out to Mr Morello to explain what’s going on. He tells us to be patient. He takes a bunch of short lengths of rope from his bag and hands one to each of the students on Team Zoe. He then instructs them to quickly work together so that each of them has their hands tied to the front of their bodies.
Terrence is already mouthing off as Fred ties his hands together. ‘Hey, sir, not all of us are into kinky, you know.’
Mr Morello growls at him to keep a lid on it.
Michael and I are on the same team. I catch him looking at me and roll my eyes in Terrence’s direction. He feigns a suffering smile and raises his hands in resignation, the gesture reminding me of the way a parent would respond to somebody commenting on their unruly child.
Mr Morello is helping to tie Cameron’s hands as he’s the last person on Team Zoe. He then turns to address us all.
‘Your mission is simple. I’ve planted washing pegs in the gardens, café and quadrangle areas. The team who collects the most pegs wins. Team Kyle, you have ten minutes. Team Zoe, you have five.’
There are groans and cheers, and then Mr Morello shouts out ‘start’ and people instantly disperse and start running in all directions. I spot a peg behind a bin and swoop down on it before Fred who, hands tied, is hot on my heels. There’s laughter all around, but shouts of ‘That’s not fair!’ too. I run to the quadrangle area, grab some more pegs along the way. Michael, Paula and Jane follow me, calling out excitedly when they pick one up.
‘Quick! Over there!’ Michael calls out. ‘Under the chair. There’s a whole stack of them! I’ll go to the café!’
Jane and I sprint to the bench, reaching it at the same time as Terrence. All three of us are frantically grabbing at the pegs. With his hands bound, Terrence doesn’t stand much of a chance though. I grab a handful. Just as soon as Terrence picks up his first peg, he drops it again. Jane and I, giggling, quickly grab at the peg that gets away from him before he can try again. Jane’s so caught in the moment that she doesn’t seem to have noticed that she’s competing against the guy who routinely leaves her tongue-tied. That is, until he hisses, ‘Bitches.’
‘It’s just a game.’ Jane’s voice trembles slightly.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ he says scornfully. ‘Sheez, Morello’s an idiot. Like we need to do this shit to know that life sucks when you’re a retard.’
‘That’s an appalling thing to say!’ I cry.
‘Yeah, well, deal with it,’ he replies.
Michael jogs over to us, grinning madly as he holds up a bunch of pegs. Terrence sees him and groans loudly.
‘This is so rigged!’
‘That’s the point,’ Michael says.
I grin when Michael counts out thirteen pegs. Jane is standing beside me, deflated now. ‘I’ll go look in the garden,’ she says to nobody in particular, and walks off.
We hear a whistle and people start to call out that time’s up for Team Zoe.
Terrence rolls his eyes. ‘This is such bullshit.’
‘You’re such a sore loser,’ I snap, fed up with his tantrums.
‘If I wanted an opinion from somebody who bankrolls terrorists, I’d ask.’
I’ve never been punched in the guts before, but I reckon it might feel like the impact his words have on me. I stare at him, open-mouthed, winded.
Michael flinches too.
‘That’s not cool, man,’ he tells Terrence. His ton
e is grave, and while I don’t need anybody to come to my rescue, the tameness of his words makes me feel I’ve been punched twice.
Terrence lifts his brows at Michael, as if confused. ‘It’s your dad’s organisation that broke the story! Didn’t you see the bloke from Aussie Values on News Tonight last night?’
I stare at Michael but he’s refusing to look at me. When our eyes finally meet for a second, he just can’t hold my gaze and looks away.
‘Aussie Values? Your dad’s organisation?’
‘Yeah,’ Terrence says in a well duh voice.
‘I can explain,’ Michael says.
But I don’t want to hear another word from him.
‘Nope.’ I shake my head emphatically. ‘Don’t bother. I thought you were confused. Turns out you’re just a hypocrite.’
I throw my pegs at their feet and storm off.
Michael
When Mina walks away, I know I’ve lost her before I’ve even had a chance.
The last bell can’t come quickly enough. I leave Terrence thinking I’ve got to rush home to make it for work. I sprint to the front gates and hop onto the bus, grateful I’ve avoided bumping into anybody I know. I find an empty seat and lean my head against the window. The glass is cold against my skin, and smudged with fingerprints. Right at my eye level somebody’s used permanent marker to scrawl a tiny message to the world: Kylie loves Paul forever. When things can fuck up in a matter of moments, that kind of long-term optimism seems silly and naive. I feel like getting in touch with this Kylie girl and telling her to step into the real world.
I want somebody to blame for everything that’s happened but I don’t know who. I want somebody to fix things but I wouldn’t know where to start.
Before Mina, my life was like a completed jigsaw puzzle. Mina’s come along and pushed the puzzle upside down onto the floor. I have to start all over again, figuring out where the pieces go. But some of the pieces to the puzzle don’t seem to fit the way they used to.
The thought terrifies me.
How can my parents be right, be good, if it means people like Mina end up getting hurt?
It’s so much easier to live in a world where everything is black and white.