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

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СКАЧАТЬ their butts, protecting their tags.

      During Math, I see an unguarded tag. Someone left the closet wide open. Jackets and gym shorts are spilling out on the classroom floor. Mr. Weiss asks for a volunteer to clean them up. Nobody volunteers so he picks me. While I’m shoving the stuff back in the closet, I come across an old pair of cut-off jean shorts. They’re Lucky’s and they have the tag intact!

      I tuck them into the very bottom of the pile and nonchalantly close the doors. I’ll be back.

      I wait till recess and then, telling the teacher on duty that I have a stomachache, I creep back up the stairs.

      I have to walk past the classroom several times because whenever I’m about to enter, a teacher or caretaker appears. They always show up when you don’t need them. Finally the hallway is empty.

      Taking a deep breath, I slip inside. The shrieks and yells of the kids in the yard are muffled. I can barely hear them over the pounding of my heart.

      The soles of my running shoes squeak across the linoleum tiles as I make my way to the closet. My polyester pants crackle with static when I kneel down and dig through the discarded hats, scarves, mitts and T-shirts, looking for the pair of cut-off jean shorts.

      Ha! Found them. Soon, very soon, I’ll have the cool luxurious feel of stiff brand new Lucky jeans against my legs. Very soon, even Kevin will no longer tease me about the way I dress.

      It’s so hot! My hands are too sweaty to get a proper grip on the tag. I keep hearing footsteps creeping up behind me.

      The tag keeps slipping through my fingers, or else it’s sewn on tighter than all the rest. I take off my jacket. My long hair clings with static to the polyester lining like tentacles. Now my ponytail is glued across the back of my sweater. I try to ignore it. The clock is ticking away. After a few more tugs at the stubborn tag, I drop the shorts to free my ponytail. Hair clings to my fingers and the sleeves of my sweater. I’m hot from wrestling with my hair and the tag. What I need is water. Yes. Water would be wonderful. It’s so stuffy in here. I glimpse the white face of the clock. 10:18. I bite the tag with my teeth, tearing it away from the pocket seam just as I hear footsteps outside the classroom door.

      I search the room for some escape. There’s only the closet. I duck inside, pulling some of the hats and scarves over me, just as the doorknob turns. Through the slightly open closet doors I see who’s come into the room. It’s Kevin and Jenny.

      Chapter 2

      I feel like they can see me even though the closet doors hide me well. I’m sure Jenny can hear the pounding of my heart. She pushes aside her bangs and peers around the classroom. “Are you sure about this, Kevin? I don’t think Mr. Weiss would like us to be in here during recess.”

      Kevin takes a furtive peek down the hallway and quietly closes the door. “Relax, he’ll never know.”

      Jenny digs her hands into her jacket pockets, hunching up her shoulders. “I don’t like it. Maybe you could, I mean, just get your smokes and let’s go.”

      Kevin stiffens. “Is this going to be a habit? You telling me what to do?”

      Jenny’s face is red. “But I, I didn’t mean to.”

      “Like when I was kidding Zainab?”

      “What?”

      He twists his face and mimics her. “Oh, Kevin. That wasn’t very nice.”

      Jenny says, “But, it wasn’t.”

      Kevin roots inside his desk till he finds the pack of cigarettes. “Jeez, I was just joking. You showed me up in front of everyone.”

      Jenny puts a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that . . .” Jenny looks down at the toe of her sneaker. “I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t let it happen again.”

      Jenny nods quickly.

      He puts his arm around her waist.

      She slips free and glances at the clock. “Mr. Weiss will be here soon. We’d better go.”

      He pulls out a cigarette, puts it in his mouth and lights it, all in one fluid gesture, then letting out a cloud of blue smoke, he gives Jenny a look that would melt any girl’s heart. “What’s your hurry?”

      He must have rehearsed that look, those gestures, the whole scene. It’s straight out of a corny western. But it’s working. Jenny’s practically drooling. Her baby blue eyes are large and fixed on Kevin as he glides closer.

      The closet is getting hotter. The smell of moldy sweaters and sweaty gym shorts is nauseating. Recess will be over soon and the chance of making a clean getaway is sinking with every tick of the clock.

      He’s feeling her up. His hands trying to release her sweater from her pants. Jenny backs away, whispering, “Please, Kevin. Please don’t.”

      I can see her face, strained and agitated, as he concentrates further down her neckline. Why doesn’t she stop him?

      What would it be like to have a boyfriend? My older sister, Layla, always laughs at the way girls fall for guys. We’re lucky, she says. Islam spares us from this nonsense. Our parents will help choose our husbands. It’s all practical, and it makes sense. But . . . what would it be like to have the cutest guy in the school crazy about you?

      He has her up against the chalkboard. The hand that holds the cigarette is braced against it, trapping her. Gently, she’s trying to push him away. “Please, Kevin. Please don’t.” Kevin doesn’t listen. Her voice takes on a desperate note and a firmness I’ve never heard before. “Kevin, no. No. STOP!”

      He finally turns away with a sigh. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he lets it fall from his mouth, and crushes it with the toe of his sneaker. “I thought you liked me,” he murmurs, turning his back on Jenny. He’s facing me, now. She can’t see the way his eyes flick back, measuring her.

      Jenny steps forward and touches the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh, Kevin, of course I like you.”

      Jenny doesn’t see the smirk, the barely contained laughter on Kevin’s face, as she explains how much she cares.

      Kevin always said he’d be a movie star one day. I have to admit he’s a great actor already. He’s playing her perfectly. My hands are hurting. I’ve been gripping the cut-off shorts so tightly my knuckles are white and cramped.

      He’s back at her, like a dog at a fire hydrant, and she, with a grimace of distaste, is tolerating it.

      Why are girls such suckers for sweet talk? All any guy has to do is tell a girl what she wants to hear and she’ll do anything for him.

      The click of the doorknob and the muffled voice of Mr. Weiss in the hallway makes me sit up. Kevin, dragging Jenny by the hand, is rushing straight at me, heading for the only hiding place in the room—the closet. There’s no time to dig deeper into the pile of stuff on the floor, no time to drag down the old discarded sweaters that still hang from warped wire hangers above my head. He throws open the door and gapes at me, just as Mr. Weiss steps into the room.

      Kevin’s СКАЧАТЬ