Chapter 5 Dina
Dina
Fifteen years ago
The door finally swings open, and Baba blinks at me tiredly. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair unkempt, though he’s changed out of his pyjamas at least.
‘I’m up, Dina.’ He stifles a yawn and shuffles past me towards the stairs.
I hold in the scream that has been building up in me for the past half-hour.
For my friends, the first day of secondary school meant getting excited about wearing their new school uniform for the first time, making sure that they had their hair brushed to perfection and eating a hearty breakfast. For me, it was desperately trying to wake up my dad in time, after all of his overworking at the restaurant.
I follow Baba down the stairs, but instead of heading to the front door, he makes his way to the kitchen and starts up the kettle.
‘Baba, we really don’t have time for—’
‘It’ll just be five minutes, Dina,’ Baba mumbles between a yawn. ‘I definitely shouldn’t be driving without having a cup of tea, at least. Don’t worry, we won’t be late.’
I check my watch, and I know that he is definitely wrong.
At least he has the foresight to make his tea directly in his tumbler before grabbing his car keys.
I follow him out of the front door and climb into our old beaten-up Toyota while Baba locks up the house. Whatever excitement I may have felt about the prospect of starting secondary school at some point has evaporated; replaced now by dread in my stomach.
Baba starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. It’s not long before we merge into the rush-hour traffic on the main road. I keep checking my watch, counting down the time until I’m officially late, and it doesn’t take long, all things considered.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Baba says, noticing me check the time. ‘All the teachers there already know Deen, so … it’ll be fine.’
Deen has gone ahead to school with a group of his friends, so I haven’t even thought about that. Instead of comforting me, it just makes my dread build up even more.
By the time we pull up to the school building, we’re twenty whole minutes late. Baba has barely pulled to a stop when I throw open my door and climb out.
‘Have a good day!’ Baba shouts after me, though I barely register his words as I hurry through the front doors.
My first class is supposed to be English with Ms Nichols in room 203, but I have no clue where that classroom might actually be.
I duck into the East hallway, but all the classrooms seem to be 1-0-something, so I turn to make my way to the other hallway, when I nearly stumble into a teacher.
‘You should be in class,’ the teacher says, frowning down at me. ‘What’s your name?’
I shift from one foot to another. Surely, she will have to understand that it’s my first day in this school and that I’m lost. ‘Um, Dina Chowdhury. I’m looking for class 203 but—’
‘Dina Chowdhury?’ Her face turns sour as if there’s something unpleasant about my name.
‘Of course, you must be Deen’s sister. Already skipping classes on the first day and not even dressed in the right uniform.
’ She looks me up and down, her lips curling with distaste.
All the while, I’m wishing that the floor would open and swallow me up.
That would be far better than standing here in this empty hallway being scrutinised by this teacher who I’ve never met before.
‘I … My mum got the uniform from, um—’ I don’t even get the chance to explain that she found a discount shop with skirts and jumpers that were (according to her) exactly like the school uniform.
It was easier to justify buying those than dropping a couple of hundred pounds on the official school uniform.
Ma said I would just grow out of it within the next year anyway.
‘I think detention should set you on the right track,’ the teacher says with a nod, as if I haven’t even attempted to speak. ‘Though that didn’t work on your brother, did it? Now, off to class you go.’
She doesn’t even wait for me to respond before pushing past me in the hallway. For a moment, I can only just stand there, wondering how I’ve managed to get detention within the first five minutes of being in school. That seems like some kind of a world record.
I don’t have time to wallow in the unfairness of it all, though, because I still have to find my classroom.
I’m wishing that life came with a redo button as I restart my search for room 203.
After a few more minutes of looking, I finally find the classroom.
I can hear the buzz of conversation coming from inside – class is well underway, and I’ll have to walk in and interrupt everything. Explaining why I’m late.
Pausing for a moment, I take a deep breath.
Then, I open the door and step inside.
‘… And I think that he’s really—’ The girl speaking cuts herself off and stares at me, with the rest of the class.
But she doesn’t just stare. Her expression has contorted into a glare directed at me. As if me interrupting the class is some kind of a personal affront against her.
‘Are you supposed to be in this class? You know we started twenty minutes ago, right?’ Ms Nichols, who is perched on her desk at the front of the classroom asks, frowning at me.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I mumble, feeling my face flush.
At least the rest of the class seems to have lost their interest in me, even if the girl is still glaring daggers at me. Weaving through the desks, I find one at the very back of the classroom. I’m ready to disappear into the walls, if the walls would have me.
Ms Nichols nods to the girl and says, ‘Thanks for that, Maya, let’s move along.’
I watch as the girl – Maya – relaxes a little in her seat, her posture perfect and her fingers tapping the open notebook in front of her with her pen.
She has the proper school uniform, down to the knee-length white socks with maroon stripes.
Even the English textbook atop her desk is sparkling and new, while the one that I reluctantly fish out of my own backpack is tattered and filled with marginalia from a previous owner.
I open my textbook to the right page, reading over the poem that the class has been discussing, while Ms Nichols guides everyone towards the questions at the bottom of the page.
The class goes quiet as everyone picks up their pens and starts writing their answers. I skim over the questions and the poem again, jotting down notes first, before actually getting to the questions.
I’m still trying to finish my last sentence when Ms Nichols starts looking for the correct answer to the first question.
Maya’s hand shoots up before anyone else’s.
Could she be any more of a teacher’s pet?
And on the first day of school, no less.
I roll my eyes. I’ve met girls like Maya before – prissy and perfect and with zero problems in their life, always dying to show off just how amazing they are to anybody who’ll give them the time of day.
‘I think there are a few different literary devices that are used in this poem,’ Maya says in her haughty voice.
Even though the question asked to give one example, Maya seems determined to use this chance to show off.
Is this what every single English class is going to be like this year?
‘In the first line, we can clearly see an example of alliteration, and in the second …’
My ears perk up, my shoulders rise, and I lean forward in my seat, before my hand rises as if of its own accord.
Ms Nichols is smiling politely at Maya even though we all know that she’s totally wrong in her answer. ‘Ah, thank you, Maya. That’s not quite … In the first sentence, it wasn’t …’ Ms Nichols’s eyes drift towards me and she nods. ‘Yes?’
I have to stop myself from beaming as I answer. ‘There are a few literary devices, but the first line is actually an example of onomatopoeia. I mean, a tap,’ I say, quoting from the poem and tapping my finger against the wooden desk in front of me. ‘It’s kind of obvious.’
Maya has twisted around to look at me, her cheeks decidedly pinker than they previously were.
If I thought her glare was bad before, it’s nothing compared to her expression now.
If looks could kill, I would probably already be dead.
I don’t return her glare, though, just give her a sickly-sweet smile, which seems to make her even more angry.
‘Yes, thank you for that, and for the demonstration too,’ Ms Nichols says with a smile. ‘I don’t think I got your name.’
‘Dina,’ I say proudly, not wanting to hide away for the first time in this class. Maybe sharing a class with Maya won’t be the worst thing in the world after all.
We get through the rest of the questions and just as Ms Nichols is assigning us homework for the day, there is a loud rapping on the door.
‘Come in,’ Ms Nichols says and the door swings open.
A woman in a blue tracksuit walks in, smiling hesitantly at Ms Nichols. ‘Hey, Olivia. I just wanted to make a quick announcement about try-outs, if that’s OK? I won’t take up too much of your time,’ she says.
‘Of course, go ahead.’ Ms Nichols turns back to the whiteboard to finish writing up the homework assignment.
The woman looks at us, her smile warm as she takes us in.
‘Hi, everyone. I’m Jen, I’m the sports teacher here and I’ll probably be seeing all of you for class pretty soon.
There’s going to be try-outs for the girl’s football team next Thursday after school, and we’re always looking for new talent.
So, I encourage all of you to come and show off your skills.
I know there are already a couple of you whose previous schools have talked you up.
Maya Alam?’ Jen turns to Maya, her smile widening.
Maya sits up straighter at the mention.
I groan inwardly – how is this girl already in with every single teacher at this school? She only has a twenty-minute head start on me.
‘Your old teacher told me about how great you were. Please do come to the try-outs, yeah? And that goes for the rest of you too. Hope to see you all there.’ With that, Jen turns back to Ms Nichols, mumbles another thank you and ducks out of the classroom.
Maya is grinning from ear to ear and the classroom bursts into a curious buzz. I can already see a few of the girls around Maya turning to her, no doubt asking about whether she will try out or not.
But I’m already tired of the Maya show. So if Maya is going to try out, then I definitely have to try out as well. And when I get in, I’ll outshine her on the football field too.