MSN
Then
It began with an message.
Shirin had been skiving off the occasional class with Kian for a month now. Sometimes they would talk about deep things, like their families, and sometimes they wouldn’t say much at all. They listened to songs on their phones with the volume as high as they could get it, and they would sit either in the fields near school or in the woods by Kian’s house. One time Kian had brought a joint with him, which after much deliberation they’d smoked. They hadn’t felt any effects for ages and Kian had told her to wait, that it was meant to take time to kick in. After an hour Shirin asked him where he got it from, and he said he’d found it in his brother’s drawer, underneath some textbooks. It was probably years old, off by now, she’d told him, half scolding, half laughing. He’d been embarrassed, his cheeks pink at the top, and that had made it harder not to properly belly-laugh.
Her parents didn’t know she was hanging out with Kian, of course they didn’t. Though they were not strict in their religion, they had made it clear that talking to boys was off the cards for Shirin, at least until she moved out. Her mum often hissed about girls at Shirin’s school who had gotten pregnant, warning that’s what happens when you talk to boys. She mentioned this to Kian once, the second time they met up. He was plucking bits of grass from the field and stopped when she mentioned that her parents had no idea that they hung out.
“They wouldn’t be okay with it?” he asked. “I mean, just us hanging out obviously, not the skipping school.”
She shrugged, hoping she looked casual despite her quickening heart. “They don’t need to know everything I do.”
The truth was, they knew most of what she did. Shirin was not necessarily a rule breaker. This was the exception. While before Kian she hadn’t minded following their rules, figuring once she left Hull she could be free, there was something about Kian that intrigued her. She didn’t see why being his friend would be a bad thing. The conversation moved swiftly on, and they didn’t mention it again. She thought Kian must have understood, being Iranian Muslim, too. Their parents were fairly liberal, but there were limitations to their liberalism. This was another reason why things were easier with him. He got her because he had a similar background to her, and she hadn’t realized how important that was to her until they stopped talking.
Anyway, it was a drizzly autumn evening when Rob Grayson messaged her. She did a double take when his name popped up on her screen, convinced it must be a mistake. While Rob was not overt in his harassing of Shirin, unlike Jordan, he was not a measly bystander like Tom. He laughed at Jordan’s insults and egged him on. He was known around the school for being a joker, so while Jordan wasn’t particularly well-liked, Rob was.
At the start of the year, in German class, Jordan and Rob had both sniggered loudly, over at the table next to her. She’d thought she was being irrational, big-headed even, to think whatever they were laughing at was related to her. That was until she’d heard them say “hairy” and had seen they were pointing to her fingers. They were slight, fine hairs, though dark. It grew quickly, the hair dark and thick against her light skin—perhaps the worst combination for a self-conscious hairy person. Following the incident she’d shaved the hair off using one of her dad’s multipack razors. It had grown back days later into stubborn stubble, much worse than before.
Rob_93: hey—do you know if we have any german homework?
She replied that they did and told him they needed to study for a test next week, expecting the conversation to end swiftly there.
Rob_93: what you doing?
Shirin_x_x: nothing
Shirin_x_x: why?
Rob_93: I feel bad about what Jordan said to you today. It was out of order.
Jordan had shouted “Paki” at her when she’d walked past him to go to her class. There had been crowds of students in the corridor, so she hadn’t seen him say it, but she knew his voice. It obviously hadn’t been the first time, though she’d still had a little cry on the walk home from school when she was alone. She had almost forgotten about it, though there had been an emptiness inside her for the rest of the evening, like she was hollow. It was often like that after someone had called her a name. She wanted to brush it off, so she pretended to do so, but when she was alone, inadequacy engulfed her. She felt so painfully like she wasn’t worth anything, unlike her friends, unlike Phoebe, whom everyone liked and who didn’t have hairy fingers that people laughed at.
Shirin_x_x: why does he hate me so much?
Rob_93: idk
Rob_93: don’t tell anyone I said this but he’s having a hard time atm. His parents are divorcing and he’s just pissed off at everyone tbh
She didn’t reply. It was hard to have sympathy for someone who made your life a misery, especially when their reason was as feeble as his. Her parents were constantly fighting. She sometimes wondered not only if they loved each other but if they loved her. None of that meant she’d ever go out and intentionally hurt someone.
Rob_93: are you going out with Kian?
Shirin_x_x: no
Shirin_x_x: why would you ask that?
Rob_93: i saw you both skiving off one time so jw
Shirin_x_x: well no, we aren’t
Rob_93: good ;)
Shirin_x_x: good?
Rob_93: yeh, cos i think ur alright
It was the most bizarre message she had ever received. And she had been in many a strange group chat with Phoebe and boys from around the world.
She didn’t tell anyone what Rob had said because she didn’t want to embarrass him. Like someone saying they thought she was “alright” was something to be embarrassed about. They continued messaging sporadically for the rest of the month. What she didn’t know about Rob was how passionate he was about performing arts. He went to Stagecoach every summer. She knew he did drama because they were in the same drama class, but she hadn’t realized that he wanted to be a performer. It made sense though; he always made everyone laugh, even when the script they were reciting wasn’t that funny. He just had a way about him.
Eventually he told her about his family, how his dad had left them when he was eleven and he hadn’t seen him since. He called sometimes, he said, from Tenerife—where he lived now—but it wasn’t the same. She never told him about her own family. Her gut knew there was something off, and she only partly listened to it. She wished she’d trusted herself more and had ended it in that moment. But she had misunderstood the feeling in her gut for her aversion to new things—and change—such as being desired and talking to boys. She really thought she was uncomfortable in a good way.
The next weekend Phoebe had invited Shirin and their friend Carmen to her house for tea. Their house was a semidetached down a wholesome cul-de-sac, different from Shirin’s house, which was bigger, though on a main road with cars speeding past day and night. Phoebe had parents who seemed happy to be together, which was a strange sight to see. They gave each other pecks on the cheek when they said goodbye, and Shirin couldn’t remember a time when her parents had done that. She imagined being part of Phoebe’s family must be nice: less anxiety inducing and more comforting.
Carmen was more Phoebe’s friend than Shirin’s, though they had known each other for years. They sometimes did things without Phoebe, but that was rare; Phoebe held them together. Carmen was much more focused on boys than Shirin and had a way about her that made Shirin feel bad about herself. She casually bragged about things Shirin didn’t care about, but she did it in such a way that made Shirin start to care about them. She compared herself to Carmen in these moments. Carmen was desired by the boys in their school—and the opposite sex in general. Whenever they went to town on the weekend and wandered the shopping centers, boys—and grown men—would stop and ask for her number. If this ever happened to Shirin or Phoebe, they would stutter and say they had to go. But Carmen was so used to it that she weighed the boys up, would have conversations with them before deciding if she wanted to hand over her number. She wasn’t necessarily street-smart, though, and they would have to drag her away from men who were too old for her, who might not realize she was only fifteen—or maybe they did know and that was even worse.
Everyone fancied Carmen, and that was fine, but she was not gracious about it, and Shirin hated that she thought such things, that she thought Carmen even needed to be gracious, because would she herself be, if she got that much attention?
In front of them now, in Phoebe’s front room, was an extra-large margherita pizza, noodles, soggy chips, and spring rolls. Phoebe’s mum was known to be anally clean, and it had spread to Phoebe, who insisted they use a coaster when putting their drinks down on the coffee table—and who always washed her teaspoon straight after making a cup of tea. Their sink never had dishes in it and always gleamed. Shirin was very careful when eating her slice of pizza on the sofa now, sitting on the edge of her seat so that if she dropped anything, it would go on the laminate flooring and not on the new corner sofa.
“Do you fancy anyone at the moment, Shirin?” Carmen asked between bites of pizza.
Shirin looked to Carmen, then to Phoebe. Phoebe’s gaze remained on the TV, as a pop group performed under Simon Cowell’s steely stare. This was not a wholly unusual question for Carmen to ask, because she liked talking about boys, but Shirin’s answer was always the same, so by now it seemed a pointless ask.
“Not really, no,” she said.
Phoebe turned then, narrowed her eyes slightly, and said, “What about Kian?”
Shirin’s cheeks colored at the directness of the question, and at the two pairs of eyes on her now. “We’re just friends,” she said.
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “You always say that, but you hang out alone a lot.”
“Is he Muslim like you? Would your parents be okay if you went out with him?” Carmen asked.
This was another reason why she didn’t like Carmen. She didn’t listen to Shirin when she spoke. She didn’t compute that it wasn’t a case of Shirin dating a Muslim man that would be okay—it was that Muslim people shouldn’t be romantically involved with anyone, period, before marriage. But no, Shirin didn’t need to have an arranged marriage either. She had explained this on countless occasions to Carmen, who seemed to forget time and time again, likely because she had her own fixed idea of what coming from a Muslim family meant.
Shirin opened her mouth to explain all this again when Phoebe interjected, “No, she can’t date anyone, remember? But you’d like to—wouldn’t you, Shirin?”
“Well, yeah, if my dream guy came along, I wouldn’t say no.”
“So you don’t think Kian is your dream guy?” Phoebe said. “He is quite fit.”
“Agreed,” Carmen said. “So you’re sure you don’t like him?”
Shirin felt her heart quickening. Did she? She didn’t really know. It wasn’t like he’d shown any interest in her, not in that way anyway. She’d only ever regarded him as a friend, though with these prompts, she began to wonder. “I don’t think of him like that,” she finally said.
Carmen curled her feet under her and then ran her fingers through her blond hair. Shirin thought it was quite a gross thing to do since her fingers were greasy from the pizza, but because Carmen had this air about her, it looked more nonchalant than anything else. “Right, I’m glad, because I really fancy him.”
“Fancy who?”
“Kian,” Carmen said. She was smiling without her teeth, a sort of shy but smug smile.
Phoebe turned to her, her attention fully on the conversation now, eyes widening.
“You do ?” she said. “Have you spoken to him?”
Carmen explained how she sat next to Kian in maths and how they often messed about. She said she hadn’t initially thought he was fit, but he’d taken his jumper off and his polo top had been stuck to it, so she’d seen his chest. She’d realized, then and there, that he was actually very fit.
Phoebe was lapping all this up, saying Carmen needed to go out with him, that they’d be such a cute couple, and Shirin had a stilted smile on her face.
She considered telling them about Rob, to have something to say to make her feelings less embarrassing. She knew, though, that he wouldn’t want her to tell people, that if it got back to him, he might be angry with her.
When Carmen asked if Shirin could put in a good word for her with Kian, she felt this pinch within her core, but ended up saying, “Of course.”
She was not sure how to actually broach this with Kian in a casual way, as Carmen had stressed to her it had to be. “Make sure it flows with the conversation,” she had briefed. “Don’t make it sound like I’m in love with him or anything.”
The temperature had definitely dropped, so instead of sitting in the fields they went to a greasy spoon two blocks away from their school, where no one cared that they were there in their school uniforms in the middle of the day. Shirin had an excuse on the edge of her tongue, that it was lunchtime, even though it was 1 P.M. and lunch finished at 12:55 P.M. No one asked though.
They both got hot chocolates and sat in a corner booth.
Shirin leaned her elbows on the table and examined Kian in a way she hadn’t before. He was good-looking. His features, she thought, were quite beautiful when you looked at him properly. His eyes were big, his lashes long and dark. His lips plump and pink. It was a sad realization. Of course, she would realize she found him attractive just as her close friend asked her to be her wing woman. And it’s not like she stood a chance, anyway, if it was between her and Carmen. Everyone fancied Carmen; few liked Shirin in that way.
At the very same time she imagined his lips on hers, and she was so embarrassed at herself that she took her elbows away from the table and sat back.
“What do you think—” she began at the same time as he said, “Did you see—”
They both stopped, laughed, and indicated for the other to go first. “No, you go,” he said. “I wasn’t going to say anything important.”
“Mine isn’t anything big either really. Just wanted to know what you thought of Carmen.”
“Carmen Thompson?”
“Yeah… She might like you, basically.”
His brows furrowed together, and he didn’t speak for a minute. “Right.”
She hadn’t expected this reaction, like he was annoyed at her. Everyone fancied Carmen, so his response was especially strange. “I mean,” she began, not knowing where she was going with this, “it doesn’t matter if you’re not interested—I know you’ve got a lot on. I just wanted to float it out there.”
“But you think I should talk to her?”
She picked up the teaspoon on the table next to her drink and lifted the skin out of the hot chocolate and onto a piece of tissue. She began to stir the drink like she was thinking about his question, when really she was thinking No, I don’t think you should, but she couldn’t justify saying that. Carmen was her friend, even if Shirin didn’t like her that much.
“I think you’d be cute together,” she said, echoing Phoebe. The words sounded awkward and not convincing coming out of her mouth.
“Interesting,” he said. He leaned back. He still hadn’t touched his drink.
She felt him slipping away from her, like she had done something wrong, though she wasn’t entirely sure what. So she blurted, “Rob randomly messaged me on the other day, you know.”
That got his attention. Kian cocked his head to the side. “Seriously? What did he say?”
“Just asked about homework and was weirdly nice.”
Kian made a ticking sound, like he was frustrated. “He’s a dick, you shouldn’t talk to him.”
“I dunno…”
“He’s horrible to you, Shirin. You’ve said so yourself.”
It was strange how quickly she’d forgotten this, how quickly she’d forgiven. She thought from speaking to Rob, hearing the way he viewed things, that maybe he didn’t mean to encourage Jordan. Maybe he felt pressured into it—a bit like Kian’s brother. Maybe he didn’t want to be like that anymore, maybe he wanted to change.
When she didn’t say anything in response, Kian said, “You don’t fancy him, do you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I literally don’t fancy anyone. I wish people would stop asking me that question.”
He pretended to be taken aback, a slight smile on his face, hands raised in the air. “All right, I was only asking.” He picked up his mug and took a sip, despite the skin on top. And, in Kian’s smile, she felt that order was somewhat restored.
“Just be careful, with Rob, okay?” Kian said. “I know you like to see the good in everyone, but he isn’t a good person.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Kian,” she said lightly, wrapping her hand around her mug.
“I do. That’s what you do for people you care about.”
She looked up at him, and they locked eyes for just a moment. All she could do was nod. It was difficult for her to take in the seriousness of his warning because her mind became fixated on him saying he cared about her. It was like she was betraying her friend for leaning into it, into the warmth she felt at his words, but for the moment she didn’t care.
“You’re so corny,” she finally said, kicking him under the table. In response, he threw a tissue at her and no more was said on the matter.