Read Online Boy vs. Girl by Na'ima B. Robert - Free Book Online Page B

going to wear the scarf? Do you have any idea what it will mean for your social life? What the other girls will say? What
Robina
will say?”
    â€œYeah, I have thought about all that, you know!”
    â€œI don’t think you have, love! Do you really think that you can commit to something as major as that? And what about Malik? What will he think?”
    Farhana’s face darkened. “Don’t talk about him – there’s nothing there. I can’t make my life decisions based on what
he
thinks.”
    â€œSo he never did call and apologise then,” Shazia murmured.
    Farhana shook her head and bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes. Malik’s betrayal still hurt, a full three months later.
    â€œWell, I’m just thinking about it. I haven’t decided yet. And how can
you
go on like that? You wear scarf, don’t you?”
    â€œYeah, but only because Dad makes me!” Shazia retorted. “It’s just that all the women in my family cover – we’re the
imam’s
family, after all! Personally, I don’t really think I need to. It’s not like I’m a great looker or anything. Anyway, I don’t have time for boys and all that stuff.”
    Farhana shook her head. “There you go, talking that rubbish again. I just wish you would look in the mirror and see what everybody else sees!”
    â€œWhat, a fat Paki with four eyes?” Shazia snorted.
    â€œNo, you daft thing! A bright, intelligent, beautiful, voluptuous, curvaceous, bootilicious…”
    â€œOh, cut it out, will yer!” Shazia slapped Farhana with her school bag. “Hey, there goes the bell - we’d better leg it!”
    The two girls grabbed their bags and hurried towards the East Block, where one of Farhana’s favourite classes, English Literature, was about to start.
    * * *
    Faraz’s experience was slightly different. Unlike his sister, he had never been surrounded by a group of mates, all into what he was into, all interested in what he had to say.
    He went to the Muslim prayer room at lunch time though, to pray and to see who else was fasting. There were quite a few boys there, ones he had seen at the mosque the night before. Again, they nodded their greetings and uttered brief ‘salaams’ before performing their prayers. Most of the boys left straight afterwards. Some stayed briefly to read from mini
Qur’ans
. These were the religious boys – the outcasts.
    After a little while, however, Faraz found himself all alone in the makeshift prayer room. He was happy to be there, out of trouble, but he was bored. He fished around in his school bag and his fingers felt a scratchy piece of card. He pulledit out. It was that brother Imran’s business card. He glanced up at the wall clock. If he hurried, and if the computer room wasn’t too busy, he might be able to check out the website before the next bell went.
    He grabbed his bag and bolted out of the door.
    The computer room was pretty full but, to his relief, he saw a single empty workstation and hurried towards it. Once he had logged on to the Internet, he quickly typed in the web address on the card.
    The site took a while to load. But gradually the screen began to fill with images, ‘urban Islamic’ images, just like Imran’s t-shirt. Faraz could feel himself growing more and more excited as he saw the artwork slideshow. Graffiti using Arabic letters loomed large on various city walls, huge canvases of geometric designs in bright, eclectic colours, galleries showcasing different artists’ work, and the t-shirts and hoodies emblazoned with similar themes.
    He read the blurb: an urban Islamic arts movement, dedicated to excellence and innovation in art and a commitment to community.
    Sounds amazing
, thought Faraz.
Absolutely amazing.
    There was one artist in particular whose work kept drawing his eye. He saw a partial photo: an Asian guy, big, beard, but dressed just like a