You Must Be Layla Read online

  ‘OMG. Yes, of course!’ Layla jumped off the stool, squealing with delight, before scrambling for her phone to send Adam a message about the news.

  As the weeks of summer, autumn then winter went by, Layla studied – harder than she’d every studied before. In the end, she resorted to the toughest tool in her arsenal: Shutdown Mode.

  Layla’s Shutdown Mode had been famous at ISB – it was how she’d stayed at the top of the class, although Dina often got close. She would be cruising along, laughing and joking with everyone else, and then something would trigger her intense mode and that would be the end of the good times for that week. Or sometimes, even that whole term.

  Layla would become fully focused, going to the library at lunch, rushing to her desk when she got home to continue working on an assignment, not even answering DMs straightaway. Her classmates were quite terrified of Shutdown Mode because it was like Layla turned into a different person. She didn’t even smile properly. But in Layla’s mind, You gotta do what you gotta do. Given this scholarship was so important, Shutdown Mode made the most sense. She had a tough goal: score in the top two percent of the state. But if she made it, it would be worth it. She would qualify for a fully paid spot at one of the best schools in the state.

  Dina, her loyal bestie, offered advice and support throughout via a daily stream of motivational pics and gifs to Layla’s tumblr account. It was the only social media Layla allowed herself during SD Mode, and her bestie’s love kept her grounded. I really hope I make this happen! Layla prayed. Allah, give me strength! Not a single prayer that year went without Layla asking her God for a little bit of extra support to get through this exam.

  The day before the test, Dina dropped a handwritten letter to Layla’s house. If you get this, it read, I will miss you so much at ISB, but I will be so so soooo proud of you. Go show the world what an amazing adventurer you are! <3 <3 <3

  With Dina’s blessings under her wings, and muttering prayers she’d half made up, Layla strode into that examination room knowing she’d done everything she could to get that scholarship. The rest – well, that was up to Allah.

  For weeks, the Hussein family waited with bated breath for the results. The package she received was thick and heavy, with Layla’s full name embossed on the front in large gold letters: ‘LAYLA KAREEM ABDEL-HAFIZ HUSSEIN’.

  As she ripped the envelope open, Layla knew that all the hard work had paid off. She had qualified for the scholarship.

  OMG YAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSS! THEY AIN’T READY!

  The school she’d been accepted into was the best. It was called Mary Maxmillion Grammar School, one of those names that even tasted luxurious when you said it. It was the same place Adam had gone to, but sadly, her new best friend wouldn’t be there: his family had moved away at the end of the summer after his mother got a high-flying job in New York. Even though Adam’s absence made Layla sad, it wasn’t enough to dull her excitement about the adventure ahead.

  Mary Maxmillion Grammar. Layla had rolled the syllables in her mouth as she went to sleep that night, dreaming of the rich, thick, lush grass of the school’s front oval. She’d seen the oval in the school’s brochure, pictured behind an entrance that was guarded by tall wrought-iron gates that touched the sky.

  MMGS was her first step to achieving her dreams of being a real adventurer. Climbing the Avocado Tree was going to be nothing!

  The new school uniform included a cream straw hat, which was giving Layla grief. She tried to squeeze the un-hijab-friendly piece on top of her headscarf, but it looked ridiculous. She giggled self-consciously. Oh yeah, that was the other thing. Layla was going to be the first person ever to wear a headscarf at MMGS. The only one! WILD!

  She had found that out during the acceptance meeting before school started. MMGS had asked Layla and her parents to come to the school for it, and that balmy evening the Sudanese family walked in to find a roomful of old men in suits sitting around a huge, dark mahogany table. The boardroom was intimidating, with large paintings of important-looking old white men all over the walls. The Hussein family dutifully took their seats, and the man at the head of the table did most of the talking. He had a very important-sounding title like ‘Chair of the Board’, and proceeded to inform Layla in a booming voice that she would be getting a scholarship and would be allowed to wear the hijab, even though he personally wasn’t a supporter of this policy.

  ‘This is not a Muslim school, this is an Australian school. You should follow the way we do things,’ Mr Cox had announced in a deep, sonorous voice.

  A softer voice interrupted, gently challenging the Chair. ‘But as principal, I have the last say on admissions and given your excellent results, we have awarded you a full scholarship, and so you and your family are very welcome at this school.’

  Layla turned to look at the principal – a small, balding man – regarding her kindly.

  ‘Tyrone Savage is my name. Hopefully not my game, though,’ he said, a smile playing across his lips. ‘Welcome again, to our wonderful education facility. Any questions?’

  After the formalities of the meeting, Layla was cornered by Mr Cox. She was in the middle of wrapping up a biscuit in a napkin and stuffing it in her pocket for later when he walked up to her.

  ‘Congratulations on being allowed into this school,’ he said, his moustache bristling. He leaned in, menacingly. ‘Remember to behave, because we can cancel your scholarship at any time.’ He faced away from Layla but whispered into her ear. ‘You’re a brave young girl, to do what you’re doing. Not everyone at MMGS is as excited as Mr Savage to have you around.’ Mr Cox straightened his jacket before walking away.

  Layla didn’t know whether to laugh with excitement or cry in fear. Was that a warning? A threat? What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t really tell.

  Well, at least everyone will know me!

  Anyway, what was she doing to be brave? Was it really brave to be herself? You’d think that’s the easiest thing to be.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘LAYLA!’ Baba bellowed again from downstairs. She heard the car engine start. ‘I’m going to leave without you!’

  Oh no! Layla threw the new straw hat on the bed. It wasn’t going to fit on her headscarf, and who wears hats anyway? She grabbed her backpack, stumbled over her skirt as she ran down the stairs, into the kitchen to get her lunchbox and then bolted into the garage just as her dad was pulling out. ‘Waaaaiiiittttt!’

  Ozzie was sitting in the front seat, laughing as she opened the back door of the car and clambered in. ‘We were gonna leave you!’ he sang with glee.

  OMG! Ozzie was so annoying. He was in Year 11, but she swore he acted like a two-year-old most of the time. The eldest brother in the Hussein family looked most like Baba – lean body, light brown skin, spongy black hair, strong jawline – but he was going to be much taller, already as tall as their dad. The height came from their mother’s genes, as Fadia often reminded them.

  Layla shot her older brother a dirty look then slammed the door of the white Camry, hard. Ozzie jumped, and she chuckled. Serves him right! Her younger brothers, though, were not so pleased. Sami and Yousif had been crushed by her backpack and were squealing with annoyance.

  ‘Layla, you’re squishing me!’ Sami groaned.

  The bag was heavy with her new textbooks, so he was not totally out of line. The twins looked like stretched toddlers – gangly limbs, huge dark brown eyes and the signature Hussein curls that Fadia kept trimmed short.

  ‘Ya-nhar-abyad,’ Layla muttered under her breath – using a curse word that only grandmothers used – then shifted the bag to her lap. Comfortable, she turned to the window, feeling the air on her face and through her headscarf as the Hussein crew backed out of the garage and sped off.

  Layla was the last one in the car, after Ozzie and the twins had been dropped off at ISB in the next suburb. This new school was half an hour away, out of the suburbs and set among the hills and high-rises of the inner city. Baba pulled over at the gate and parked i
n the crowded bay area out the front of the school.

  Ya-nhar-aswad! she whispered, using another curse word reserved for grandmothers.

  The place was really out of control! It was dark when they’d last visited, so Layla hadn’t really seen the school in full glory. In the sunlight though … whoa.

  The buildings behind the tall gate were like something out of a Harry Potter movie. Sandstone with huge glass windows; the front entry looked like the actual stairway to heaven. Layla could see the large green oval in the distance. ISB, with its demountable shipping container rooms and nothing over one storey tall, looked like a children’s playground compared to this place.

  ‘Good luck today, Layla,’ Baba called from the driver’s seat. ‘Do your best. Show them how smart the Hussein family is! Try not to get into trouble.’

  Layla chuckled as she waved at the car, then turned to the front gate and took a huge, deep breath. You got this, Layla told herself, as she adjusted her backpack and walked through the gates.

  Kids milled around her, chatting excitedly about their holidays. ‘Ooooooohhhhhh!’ she heard a girl screech to another. ‘Look at your hair!’

  ‘Oh man, you look like you’ve been working out,’ a deeper voice behind her said, in what Layla assumed was a conversation between two rugby players.

  ‘OMG, Sarah totally hooked up with that boy from the party. He’s sooo fine!’

  Layla had no idea what everyone was talking about, but she knew she’d figure it out. That’s what made adventures fun!

  Walking through the throngs of students, she felt a hush falling around her as she passed groups of people. Layla’s eyes darted from side to side, not wanting to draw any extra attention to herself, but it was too late. The eyes of hundreds of curious, hostile and confused kids – and some parents and teachers – followed her down the path, as she walked toward the largest structure she could see. She approached what appeared to be the main reception building to ask for directions. Walking up the path, she clocked three girls standing in front of the glass doors and gulped. Please don’t notice me, she prayed, eyes shut tight for a short moment. Allah, help a sister out!

  The girls were skinny and pretty and, gosh, did they know it – their shiny blonde hair gleaming and their school skirts that looked way too short to be regulation. Wow, those legs! How were they so smooth? And shiny? Layla was glad her brown hairy legs were covered by the skirt. Even looking at the girls made Layla feel uncool. She glanced down, hoping they didn’t notice her as she walked past a group and toward the door. Layla concentrated on her shoes, one step in front of the other.

  SLAM! A loud bang interrupted her. Ohhhhhhhhhh …

  Looking down meant Layla hadn’t quite seen the door. She had walked right into the glass panel! Her head throbbed as the entire wall shook, and the three girls nearby whipped around to stare at Layla, their perfect noses delicately scrunched in mocking laughter. Layla shook her head and stared straight ahead, desperately trying to pretend that nothing had happened. The beautiful girls weren’t going to let her get off that easily though.

  ‘Hahaha! Watch where you’re going, you freak! Who are you, anyway?’ the tallest girl spat out, her words hitting Layla like shards.

  One of the other girls good-naturedly pushed her friend on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be so mean, Veronica! Leave the poor refugee girl alone, she looks terrified!’

  They all laughed and turned away, forgetting the new student almost instantly.

  Layla shook her head, looked at the sky and muttered to her God. Allah! Where were you?! Rah, MMGS was going to be some hard work.

  It took Layla forever to find her classroom. She was in 8A.

  A for Awesome, she had said to herself when she found out, chuckling a little, the door incident forgotten. She had sung herself a little hype up tune to make her feel better, and her jokes did the same, working their magic on her mood. She could make herself laugh for ages with her lame jokes, earning her the nickname ‘broken record’ at her old school. Layla wondered if her classmates here would think she was funny.

  Humming, Layla threw her schoolbag on the rack outside her classroom. The bulging maroon backpack lay precariously on top of the untidy pile of identical bags. She then pushed the door and walked into the classroom.

  The room fell silent, and everyone turned to look at her. The humming caught in her throat, and she paused just inside the doorway, wondering if she’d done something wrong, again. Was it because she’d forgotten the hat? Dammit! Or had class already started? The clock on the wall said 8.40 am! Rah, how long had she been lost for?

  ‘Ah, come on in. You must be Layla. Now that everyone is here, we can finally get started. Layla, would you like to take a seat?’ The thin voice came from the front of the room.

  Everyone turned to look at their teacher. Layla couldn’t tell if the teacher was friendly or annoyed, though her narrowing eyes were giving it away. A moment later, everyone turned back to Layla. It was almost like a tennis match. The woman standing at the front of the classroom had a scarily wrinkled face, a little like a prune. Her eyes were beady, framed by trendy cat-eye glasses. Her lips were painted in a shockingly bright pink, popping against her pale skin. She had broad shoulders, very thin legs, with straight white hair pulled up in a tight, tight bun. Layla wondered if the style gave the teacher headaches. Sometimes when she tied her headscarf too tight it gave her these wicked migraines …

  ‘Ahem,’ the teacher made another noise, startling Layla out of her daydream.

  ‘Oh … y-y-yup,’ Layla croaked. She cleared her throat. She could do better than this. ‘YUP! I’M LAYLA!’ she yelled. Uh-oh. Too loud. Why weren’t her vocal cords cooperating today? A couple of people snickered. ‘Sorry for yelling, miss,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to make sure you could hear me. I’ve had a weird morning, you know? I ran into a door … anyway,’ Layla took in a deep breath. When she was flustered, she could ramble. What was she even saying? Oh yes. She should apologise for yelling.

  ‘Well, you see, sorry for yelling, because, like, well, (think of an excuse, quick!) I have to yell at my grandma when I’m on the phone with her because she’s a bit deaf and you kind of remind me of my grandma so I thought I should yell too. Just in case. I was just being polite, you know.’

  The class erupted with laughter.

  Oh no.

  ‘I mean – I don’t mean you’re old, miss, I meant to say, like, my grandma’s really wise and kind, you know …’

  The teacher’s face was darkening with anger, and Layla slowly spluttered to a stop. As the class continued to roar, Layla grimaced. She’d really put her foot in it, making fun of the teacher straightaway. What had got into her? She was usually pretty good at talking to adults, even if they didn’t like her, but maybe it was the nerves? Like, she knew that sometimes her hijab made old people act weird around her – Mr Cox was one example – even people on the street stared at her a bit, but she usually knew how to handle it. Maybe she really had hit her head hard on that door.

  ‘Janey Mack!’ Layla muttered an old Irish saying under her breath, one she’d learned to use instead of swearing. Why did she let her mouth run off like that? This was such a disaster.

  But maybe she could fix it!

  ‘Oh, miss, I’m so sorry. I meant no disrespect – you’re really beautiful for an elderly woman.’

  Elderly woman? JANEY MACK, Layla, what has gotten into you?! Layla couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

  The teacher’s brown beady eyes had narrowed again, and her pink lips had been pressing tighter and tighter together – you could barely see them any more, they were just two pink lines underneath a flat nose. With this final sentence from Layla, the teacher snapped.

  ‘Layla! This is completely unacceptable! I beg your pardon! We will not have any of that disrespectful attitude in this school, thank you very much! I don’t care where you’ve come from, but rest assured behaviour like that won’t be acceptable here.’

 
‘Where I’ve come from?’ Layla paused. What did she mean? ‘You mean like from my mother?’

  The class laughed louder, and Layla smiled, uncertainly. She didn’t even think that was a very good joke, really. Ah well, she might have got on the wrong foot with the teacher, but at least her classmates knew she was funny. Hehe.

  ‘Okay, I’m just going to …’ Deciding to move out of the line of fire, Layla scrambled to find a spare seat, glancing around the class, trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone, for permission. A girl with blonde frizzy hair smiled at Layla cautiously, but there were no spare seats around her. Layla finally spotted one right at the back of the class and made her way to the last available seat in 8A, squeezing into the plastic chair in the corner. There were two boys on either side of her.

  ‘I’m Ethan,’ said one, his greeny-hazel eyes piercing Layla’s soul.

  ‘And I’m Seb,’ said the other, who looked Latino, with his overgrown, dark wavy hair covering his eyes.

  Layla nodded at them both, and she settled into her seat and pulled out her laptop.

  ‘That was pretty funny, the way you shut Ms Taylor down,’ Ethan said, after a few moments of silence, and Seb nodded. ‘Nice one, hey.’

  Both boys put their hands up for a high five and Layla hit both of them at the same time before winking. She thought that Ethan was kind of cute – red hair, crooked teeth and freckles. School might be all right after all …

  ‘Layla!’ The teacher yelled from the front of the class. ‘Eyes to the front! If I get any more rude behaviour from you, I will be contacting your parents!’

  Layla was startled by the threat. Maybe she could get away with one more joke. This one always went down so well at ISB …

  ‘Miss, is it because I’m black?’

  Ms Taylor’s face looked like she was going to explode.

  ‘OUT! GET … OUT … NOW!’

  CHAPTER 4

  LAYLA collapsed onto the wooden bench outside the classroom door and stared out at the brick courtyard, stunned. She couldn’t believe she’d been kicked out of her first class on her first day of school. Rah. She liked being cheeky, but it didn’t usually get her into that much trouble. MMGS was next level. She was supposed to come in, make some friends and have some adventures – not get kicked out of class. She shook her head vigorously, trying to clear her thoughts and wondering where it all went wrong.