Dahling If You Luv Me Would You Please Please Smile. Rukhsana Khan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ not there it means you’re a cheapskate and you bought seconds, not first quality.

      There’s a game where they try to rip off each other’s tag. In order to do that, they grab at each other’s bums!

      I thought I was okay in my polyester pants. They look like Lucky’s, they have a zipper and pockets and belt loops, they just don’t cost that much. At least I dress better than Premini Gupta, the only other “Indian” in the school.

      Even if I wanted a pair I would never ask my parents. They have me, my older sister and the twins to provide for. Eighty dollars goes a long way towards feeding us. I know, I’ve seen the grocery bill.

      My polyester pants are scratchy, and when the static builds up, they cling to my legs, but it’s not until Art class one day that I realize they won’t do.

      I’m intent on my picture when I feel a hesitant tap on my elbow, and hear a whispered, “What’s that you’re drawing, Zainab?”

      I look up, straight into Jenny’s baby blue eyes, or at least as much of them as I can see through her long stringy bangs. She sits beside me in most of my classes. She’s one of the few girls that will. She’s pretty except for her acne. Her complexion is a mass of angry red pimples in different stages of ripeness. Maybe that’s why she lets her ash blonde hair hang half over her face like a screen between her and the world. But what makes the boys notice her are her breasts. They call her “Jenny-big-jugs” when she’s not around.

      She steps a bit closer. “That’s an interesting picture, Zainab. What is it?”

      I relax a little. She sounds sincere. “It’s supposed to be hell.”

      Our art assignment is to draw a picture using silhouettes. I made a stencil of a man’s head in profile. It has a long sharp nose and a witch’s pointed chin. It’s supposed to be a devil. I cut out two rows of them from black paper, highlighting the edges with grey as if they’re charcoal turning to ash. I’m just about to glue the cut-outs to a background of red, orange and yellow flames.

      Jenny pushes aside some of her bangs and says softly, “It’s kind of neat”.

      I flush, mumbling thanks.

      “But maybe you could, I mean, why not make the chins and noses a little smaller? More human. It’ll mean we all can end up in hell.”

      Good point. I trim the noses and chins to a decent length.

      Kevin appears. “Why do you have flames going all the way to the top?”

      “I think it says in the Quran that there’ll be flames above and below. No escaping them.”

      “Oh.” He watches me add some more white for a moment then says, “You know, Zainab, I used to wear clothes like you.”

      I’m too intent on my picture to notice the change in the tone of his voice. I mutter, “Really?”

      “Yeah, then my dad got a job.”

      There’s a burst of laughter from Kevin’s friends. They just happened to be within earshot. I should have known.

      At first I think Jenny’s in on it. But through her curtain of hair I see her face redden. She says, “Oh Kevin. That wasn’t very nice.”

      Kevin’s face grows still. The laughter dies away. No one else could have said that to him and gotten away with it. Now Kevin looks as uncomfortable as I feel. His mouth is set in a grim line. He turns away. So do his followers.

      What’s wrong with my clothes? I’m clean. I’m coordinated. I just don’t happen to be wearing Lucky’s.

      Jenny has a pair. They’re so tight you could read the year of a quarter in the back pocket. And she has on a tight sweater. Every line, every curve of her body is clear from her slim hips and tiny waist to the dents in her shoulders where her straining bra straps cut into the flesh.

      Premini Gupta sits across from me. When I look up at her she quickly looks away, flicking aside her long black braid. She heard the whole thing but she too hadn’t laughed, though for a different reason. She’s wearing a faded calico dress, pink knee socks and a yellow cardigan that gives her brownish-yellow skin an even yellower tint. The sleeves of her cardigan are too short, revealing bony wrists. If anyone dresses like her father is out of work, it’s Premini. Why do they pick on me?

      The very next day, Premini comes to school in a brand-new pair of Lucky jeans that are so stiff she has trouble sitting down. There’s a smirk on her face, and a wrinkle in her hooked nose as she looks me over. Now I’m the only one in all grade eight who doesn’t own a pair of Lucky’s.

      I’m standing in line to go in after recess when I overhear someone talking about why they’re ripping off each other’s tags. Apparently there’s a store promotion going on. If you bring in twenty-two Lucky tags, you get a brand new pair of Lucky jeans for free!

      I, too, begin hunting Lucky tags.

      At first, I stalk them openly, making a grab as Jenny walks by. Her label is hanging by a few threads, just begging to be torn off. But she turns on me. “Zainab! You shouldn’t be ripping tags! It’s not fair. You don’t have a tag I can rip.”

      Her gentle reprimand is more embarrassing than if she’d yelled at me. And yet it’s not fair. I can’t get a tag unless I rip a tag, but I can’t rip a tag unless I have a tag. I’ll have to be sneaky about it.

      During Gym, in the middle of a soccer game, I tell the teacher I have to go to the bathroom. Then I sneak into the change room and corral my prey. I’m not stealing. I’m just playing the game in a more efficient manner.

      It gives me particular satisfaction to rip off Cheryl’s tag. She’s Kevin’s official girlfriend, though that doesn’t stop him from flirting with other girls. He calls them his harem and he’s constantly teasing them, pinching them, and touching them. He likes to spread himself around. He says in this age of women’s liberation it’s their turn to carry his books to school.

      Kevin would never treat me like that. I’m not pretty enough. In a way I’m glad. If he looked my way, if he were to give me the attention he gives those other girls, I don’t know if I’d act any differently. There’s no denying he’s gorgeous with his platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes.

      Anyway, I’m careful not to take all the tags. I’m tempted to take Premini’s but decide against it. It would be more logical to take the ones that are partially off, and Premini’s hasn’t had time to be torn at all. I’ll get it later. I don’t take Jenny’s either. Somehow it doesn’t feel right.

      I harvest nine tags, tuck them into my sock and run back outside to join the game. But it’s hard to keep a straight face when my classmates go into the change room and rant about their lost tags. Jenny gives me a curious look. If she suspects anything she doesn’t say. At a time like this I find the speckled pattern of the ceiling tiles extremely fascinating.

      By mid-October, the cold weather makes my polyester pants cling to my legs in a static haze, squeaking where the fabric rubs together when I walk. It would be nice to have the feel of stiff denim next to my skin. We’re doing track and field in Gym now and even when I’m the first to finish my laps, I can only harvest two or three tags before the others drag themselves into the change room.

      By СКАЧАТЬ