Chapter 21 Maya
Maya
Thirteen years ago
Ms Nichols checks her watch, and then her register.
Not that she needs to. Not that any of us need to.
We all know who’s missing from our group: Dina.
Once again, she’s late. Except, this time, it’s not just for class, it’s for our once-in-a-lifetime trip to Spain.
The one that we’ve been counting down the days to for what feels like forever.
And now that it’s finally here, we’re all waiting just inside the airport for Dina to show up.
‘Who’s friends with Dina? Can you call her and see if she’s almost here?
’ Ms Nichols asks, eagerly looking around for people’s hands to shoot up.
I look around too, but everyone looks as annoyed as I feel.
Which actually makes me feel a little less annoyed.
It also makes me feel a pinprick of guilt.
Nobody raised their hands because Dina doesn’t really have many friends – maybe not any.
She’s always at the outskirts of everything.
Sure, there are a few girls that she hangs out with here and there, but she doesn’t have her group, like me, Nadine and Gwen.
‘Maybe if she had friends she’d actually show up to things on time,’ Gwen says, a little too snidely for my liking. I can’t even say anything because I would have said the same thing only moments ago.
Thankfully, a car pulls up outside just then, and Dina’s familiar figure climbs out of the passenger seat. Followed by her older brother, Deen. From the driver’s side, her dad emerges, and all three of them rush towards the entrance.
I heave a sigh of relief. It isn’t that we are massively delayed. Ms Nichols has made a schedule that has accounted for the fact that there are thirty of us going on this trip, which means that things won’t always be running smoothly.
Dina doesn’t immediately run towards us though, instead she has an entire, rambling conversation with her dad, before she finally makes her way over.
Her face is a little flushed, and I don’t know if it’s from running from her dad and brother towards us, or embarrassment. Maybe a little bit of both.
‘You’ve finally made it, Dina,’ Ms Nichols says. She sounds a little chiding, and Dina doesn’t respond. That niggling feeling of guilt grows in me, even though I haven’t done anything.
We get through security and to our gate, and by the time we’re boarding our plane an hour later, my strange sense of guilt has faded away.
When I get to my seat and see Dina seated next to me, I expect to feel annoyed.
But I don’t. I stuff my backpack underneath the seat in front of me and sit down, buckling my seat belt.
Dina gives me a scathing look before turning to stare out of the window.
Her hand grips the handrest with a little too much intensity, nails digging into the foam so hard that I’m surprised she hasn’t torn into the handrest.
‘Are you OK?’ I find myself asking, against my better judgement.
‘Fine.’ Dina doesn’t even turn to look at me.
Rolling my eyes, I sit back. I shouldn’t have asked. What else did I expect from Dina?
But as the plane starts to move, Dina seems more on edge. Her grip on the handrest tightens – if that’s even possible – and her legs go up and down, like a nervous tic.
‘Is it your first time flying?’ I ask.
‘That’s none of your business.’ And that’s Dina’s way of saying yes.
‘Don’t be nervous. More people die from car crashes every year than plane accidents, so … you really have nothing to worry about.’
Dina finally turns to me. ‘You really think that’s helpful? And I’m not nervous. I didn’t even say it was my first time flying.’
‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘Well, don’t.’
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest as the plane turns into the runway and slowly starts picking up speed.
It’s not a big plane, which means that I can feel the rumble of the engine alongside my own heartbeat.
Beside me, Dina closes her eyes, and I can sense her breathing becoming shallower.
She’s definitely not doing a very good job of pretending not to be nervous.
I study her closed eyes, the shallowness of her breath.
This is maybe the only time I’ve seen her actually look vulnerable.
Like for this one moment in time, she’s let some of her walls down.
Looking at her like this, my heart seems to still.
I haven’t quite admitted it to myself before, but when Dina isn’t scowling at me and trying to beat me at anything and everything, she’s really quite beautiful.
Gently, I place my hand over hers, fitting my fingers into the gaps in hers.
Her eyes fly open, but I turn away before she can look at me.
I fully expect that she’ll pull away from me, grumbling about how she can take care of herself.
But she doesn’t. Our hands stay like that as the flight takes off and the ground gives way from underneath us.
My stomach lurches, and I’m not sure if it’s because of Dina squeezing my hands with hers, or because of the plane taking off.
‘How come you’re always late to class?’
‘What?’ Dina asks through gritted teeth.
‘If you talk, it’ll make the flying easier.’
‘This is what you want to talk about?’
I shrug. ‘I’m just curious.’
Dina glances out of the window, seems a little terrified to see a tiny, sprawling London underneath and quickly turns away. She takes a deep breath.
‘My dad, he works all the time.’
‘What?’ I don’t know if that’s just information she’s offering to change the subject. Because that’s what it feels like.
‘He has a restaurant. It’s open until late, and he’s there even later. It’s not doing so well, I don’t think, so he’s stressed about that and he’s tired in the mornings. It’s difficult to get him up and drive me to school. So I’m late sometimes,’ Dina explains.
‘What about your mum?’
‘What about her?’ Dina frowns.
‘Can’t she drive you?’
Dina shakes her head. ‘She works a lot. She’s a nurse, she’s always doing night shifts and double shifts, and then she comes home and helps with the restaurant in whatever capacity she can. She’s even more tired than my dad most of the time.’
Dina glances at me with a flicker of worry in her eyes, like she’s afraid she’s revealed a little too much of herself.
But I’m finally starting to understand Dina, for the first time since we met.
All this time, I thought she was someone who just got away with stuff that the rest of us would never be able to.
That she had everything come easy to her.
In reality, it’s the exact opposite. She’s just good at hiding her insecurities. Really good at it.
‘I like the food at your dad’s restaurant.’
Dina raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve had food there?’
‘My parents have ordered from there a couple of times.’ I shrug.
‘And they’ve even invited your parents around for dawats, they said.
But your parents say they’re always busy.
’ After the first couple of times they turned down the invite, Ma and Baba started complaining about how Dina’s mum and dad must think they’re too good for us, since they never wanted to come around and they never invited us around either.
Dawats are a big part of Bengali culture, and turning down so many invites is definitely a huge social faux pas.
‘I mean … they are always busy,’ Dina says, a little defensively.
‘I didn’t know that. My parents didn’t either. Your mum and dad just say they’re busy, they don’t explain any of the other stuff.’
‘What are they supposed to say? That they have to work 24/7 to make ends meet?’ Dina snaps.
I slink back in my seat, not quite wanting to look Dina in the eyes. All this time, I really thought she believed she was above the rest of us. In reality, she was just trying to get by.
‘No … sorry. We just didn’t know.’
Silence washes over us for a few minutes. Even through the rumbling of the plane, and the sounds of all the people around us, the silence between the two of us feels heavy.
‘You can get a lift with us sometime if you want,’ I finally offer.
Dina turns to me with a frown. ‘What?’
‘I’m pretty sure your place is on the way to school. My mum could pick you up.’
‘I don’t need your charity,’ Dina grumbles, finally pulling her hand away from mine.
I’d got used to the warmth of her fingers in mine.
Our hands seemed to fit together a little too perfectly.
I try not to let on how unsettled I suddenly feel without her touch as I pull my hand away from the armrest too.
‘Giving you a lift is not charity. I’m just offering. You don’t have to accept. We’d be going that way anyway.’ I try to sound casual about it.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Dina says, and I know it’s probably the most I’ll get from her right now.
Things are different between me and Dina in Madrid.
Maybe it’s the fact that we’re away from home.
Or maybe it’s the conversation we had on the plane, but we don’t bicker over everything.
In fact, we barely even speak to each other.
It doesn’t help that every time I so much as look at Dina, I feel my heart start to beat faster and my skin prickle with heat.