When Michael Met Mina (20 page)

Michael

‘Man, that wasn't cool or funny,' I tell Terrence.

He laughs. ‘Yeah, it was a bit low, hey. But I couldn't help it. I'm so over seeing girls moping around like they're surprised that life sometimes sucks.' He rolls his eyes.

I remember when I first got my Ps. I accidentally ran over a dog and Terrence fell apart on the side of the road, sobbing uncontrollably. I've seen Terrence pick on kids just because he's bigger, perfect the atomic wedgie in PE. But I remember when Travis Bates came to our school for two terms last year and Terrence caught some year nines making fun of him because he has cerebral palsy. The look in Terrence's eye was wild. He would have beaten the shit out of them if we were out of school. Just one word from him and they left Travis alone. He has no problem calling somebody four-eyes, but Travis was hands-off. He never hung out with Travis, but he told him that if anybody messed with him he'd fuck them up. When he's over at my place, he's nothing but patient with Nathan and will sit for ages listening to him drone on about plane engines.

And then he goes and taunts Paula like that, and I wonder who the hell he is.

He's like one of those half-baked cakes. Some parts are hard and overcooked, others soft and gooey. You can never tell which part you'll get.

The scariest thing about people like Terrence and my parents is not that they can be cruel. It's that they can be kind too.

*

Anh is pissed off with my stats and pulls me aside at the beginning of my shift.

‘Look, you're not meeting targets. You've got to push harder.'

‘Honestly, if it was between a crook politician and us, I reckon people would choose the politician. I can practically feel the hate coming at me through the phone.'

‘Derek over by the window is a zit-faced frigid who probably hasn't had a single relationship in his life unless he's paid for it. He couldn't strike up a water-cooler conversation to save his life. But put him on the phone and he rakes in the money.' I look at Anh, bewildered. ‘So. If
he
can do it, you've got no excuse.'

‘Right. Um. Okay. I'll try.'

‘Now go collect shitloads of money. We've got a contract from the RSPCA this month. Think of neglected puppies and cats that seemed like a good idea at Christmas only to be kicked out midyear.'

The first half of my shift is a disaster. I'm calling when busy stay-at-home mums have just picked up the kids from school. I'm the last call they want to deal with. I glance at Derek, who's busting a pimple as he speaks. He's obviously just scored a donation and is grinning.

The idea hits me and I run with it before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. I decide to make up rare endangered animals to get more money. There's the white kangaroo, western hairy platypus, green-nose frog. It becomes a sort of fun challenge, trying to think up new names. I don't know what it is about endangered species but it gets people's attention. I exceed my target and Anh is ecstatic.

Until somebody calls in to complain that there's no such thing as a western hairy platypus and demands a refund.

I get the sack.

*

Mina and I are huddled up in a café booth. She's in fits of laughter. Not exactly the shoulder to lean on that I was hoping for.

‘Tell me again,' she says, having way too much fun teasing me to feel an ounce of sympathy for the humiliating way I lost my job. ‘How much did you get for the white kangaroo?'

‘Fifty bucks.'

She cackles. I take her hand and softly kiss her palm.

‘Where are your morals?' she shakes her head in parody of a disappointed parent. ‘Honest people's money.'

‘Going to a good cause. The RSPCA would still get the money. It's not my fault if a cat can't arouse people's sense of charity but a blue mountain bee can.'

‘A
blue mountain bee
?' she laughs. ‘How much did that one get?'

‘Twenty bucks.' I kiss her other palm. ‘And only because I told him the honey produced by these bees had won some international honey award.'

‘A
honey
award?'

‘Yeah. He was impressed.' I lean in to kiss her but she has the giggles and pulls back.

‘Speaking of honey,' she says, ‘I feel like a brownie.'

‘Oh, I can see the connection.' I stand up to buy her one.

‘Sugar. Duh.' She sits up, stretching to see the display of cakes. ‘As a feminist I don't expect you to buy it for me because I'm a girl. I'm asking you to get it because I'm too lazy to get up.'

I laugh and she grins at me, poking her tongue out the side of her mouth.

Terrence calls me as I'm paying. I don't take the call, and text him that I can't talk and will call him back soon.

‘Do you have to go?' she asks me when I return.

‘Nah, it was Terrence. I'll call him later.'

‘I don't get you two. You're so different.'

I shrug. ‘We go way back. It's hard to just end a friendship.'

‘I can't imagine you having much in common.'

I take a long sip from my milkshake. ‘Basketball. Gaming. That's about it. I know he can be a jerk and a sexist pig. But I know he can be a good guy too.'

She frowns. ‘Just because somebody can be good sometimes doesn't make up for the times they're a jerk.'

‘Yeah I know. Look I'm not making excuses for him.'

‘Sounds a bit like you are.' She takes a bite of her brownie and watches me closely as she chews.

‘I'm not, I promise. I hate how he acts at school sometimes. But . . . people are complicated, is what I'm saying. You see one side to him. I see others. He's always been there for me. You need him and he's there, no questions asked. Like I said, we have history. It's hard to turn my back against that.'

‘He hurts people's feelings. He hurt Paula's feelings.'

‘I told him off about that. He'll leave her alone now. I'm sure of it.'

She picks at her brownie, unconvinced. Eventually she says: ‘What's the story with him and Jane?'

‘He enjoys stringing her along. It's cruel.'

‘She thinks he's serious about her.'

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Terrence isn't serious about any girl.'

‘Well, Jane's under the impression she's the one to change all that.'

‘That's stupid. Terrence is a player. Always has been. Everyone knows that.'

Mina's quiet. The mood is suddenly low.

‘Look, why are we even talking about Terrence? I'm not even that close with him any more.' I take her hands in mine and pull her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her. ‘Forget about everybody else for a moment. Jane, Paula – give them some credit. They can look after themselves.'

She looks up at me, defiant. ‘Paula's my friend. She hurts, I hurt. And Jane's got it in her to be strong if only she had the courage to see through Terrence. You don't just leave people to go through things on their own.'

I can't help but squeeze her tighter. ‘If only I had a heart as big as yours.'

‘You underestimate yourself. Although,' she looks at me with a cheeky smile, ‘I could never collect fifty bucks off some innocent guy for the sake of a white kangaroo.'

Mina

Jane tracks me down just after lunch and pulls me aside in the corridor.

‘Are you and Michael seeing each other?'

Her words are like an allergic reaction and a heat instantly builds up my neck.

‘No,' I say, as emphatically as I can manage.

She stares at me, studying me closely. ‘You're always together at lunchtime.'

‘Not
always
. Anyway, we're not alone. He just hangs out with us sometimes. With me, Paula, whoever's in the library. You've been with us plenty of times. Do we act like a couple?'

‘Well, no. I mean, he's obviously into you though. I see the way his face lights up when he looks at you.'

I try not to smile.

‘Why doesn't Terrence hang out with you guys?'

‘Because Terrence is the last person we'd want to hang out with.'

‘Hmm.'

I approach cautiously. ‘Have you, you know, worked things out?'

‘I'm going nuts,' she says flatly. ‘One minute he's texting me, flirting with me, making me feel like I'm the centre of his world. The next minute I'm invisible. I just wish I knew where I stand. I wish I knew what would make him like me.
Really
like me. Like, enough for us to be together.'

She looks stricken and pathetic and I want to whack her on the head and tell her to chuck him out of her life, but I know as well as she does that the heart and head are like parallel train tracks. I try the
you deserve more, he's not worth it
pep talk; trawl through every cliché on self-love that I can bring myself to utter. But she's fallen hard and I can see my words are like floating bubbles around her, pop, pop, popping before she's even had time to register them.

*

In Society and Culture the next day, Jane walks in with Terrence. They're holding hands. I steal a glance at Michael. He looks just as surprised as me and shrugs. Paula takes one look at the couple and shakes her head in disappointment. But Jane, deliberately avoiding our gaze, is unable to wipe the contented smile off her face.

Mr Morello walks in and promptly reminds Jane and Terrence of the hands-off policy. Jane giggles and sits next to Leica. Terrence saunters over to his usual spot in the back, next to Michael and Fred.

Paula slips me a note.

There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

Poor Jane.

I slip her a note back.

Glad to see you're quoting OW again. I was beginning to worry.

She chuckles.

Mr Morello announces that he has our mid-term essays ready to hand back. We're all nervous and jittery as we wait to find out our mark.

I get eighteen out of twenty and want to dance on the table. I look back at Michael. He grins at me. A good sign. We worked hard together researching the essay. Zoe is grinning too as she looks at her mark. Instantly, I see her search me out.

Mr Morello tells Terrence he wants to see him after class. Terrence asks for his essay and Mr Morello tells him he'll discuss it with him privately. Terrence plays it cocky, but even I can tell he's worried.

*

News travels fast. Mr Morello has Terrence suspended for three days for cheating. He's handed in an essay that a student from several years ago submitted. I can't believe his stupidity.

Me:

Sorry I couldn't talk before, Mum was around. Can you talk now?

Michael:

Not now. Terrence needs a lift to basketball. His dad's confiscated his car for a month. And cut his allowance. Some major shit going down for him at home because of the suspension. He didn't see that coming.

Me:

Boo hoo.

Michael:

Try not to be too happy. He feels
persecuted by Morello. Wallowing in self-
pity at the moment. And plans for revenge.

Me:

What's he going to do? Slashing tyres is so lame.

Michael:

If you cross Terrence, slashed tyres would be the least of your worries.

*

It's Friday night. The door to the restaurant opens and a couple enter. One of our waiters, Mariam, approaches them to seat them. After about five minutes I hear what seems to be a heated discussion in the middle of the restaurant. I quickly walk over to investigate.

The couple are arguing with Mariam.

‘Is there a problem?' I say calmly as I approach the table. I notice other customers have stopped eating and are staring at the table, trying to listen in.

The man flashes a smarmy smile at me. ‘Oh, hello there, miss. We were just trying to place our order and your waiter seems to have a problem understanding us.'

I look at Mariam, my eyes searching hers for a clue. The man's tone is so condescending that I'm pretty sure the customer-is-always-right rule has no application to this scenario.

‘Mariam?'

She tucks her hair behind her ears and seems to be struggling to contain her anger. I feel sorry for her. She's constantly making mistakes but Baba and Irfan want to give her a chance. She's another one from community detention they took pity on.

‘I came to take their order,' she explains to me in Farsi, ‘and after I wrote it all down they said they wanted the non-halal option.' She scrunches up her face. ‘I explained that all the meat is halal and they're not happy.'

‘Um, excuse me, English please?' the man says. ‘Just common courtesy I would have thought.'

‘So you're not happy about the meat being halal?' I ask.

‘Damn right we're not,' the man says, flashing me that patronising smile again. ‘Is it too much to ask that a person doesn't have halal food shoved down their throats in Australia?'

I take a deep breath, try to conjure a smile. I need to diffuse the situation quickly because we're now providing free entertainment for the busybodies nearby who have swivelled around to get a better view.

‘Sorry, I'm not sure I understand. What exactly is the problem?'

‘We. Don't. Eat. Halal,' the woman says slowly as though I'm an imbecile. ‘It's barbaric and inhumane and who knows what halal funds. So we refuse to eat it.'

‘Maybe you'd like a vegetarian dish instead?'

‘But we're not vegetarians,' the woman says indignantly, as though I'd accused her of being a devil-worshipper. ‘If you insist on serving up that barbaric meat, you should at least offer a non-halal option. This
is
Australia, not the Middle East after all.'

‘Afghanistan isn't in the Middle East,' I can't help but snap back. I quickly recalibrate, take a breath to calm myself down. The man demands to speak to the owner and so I tell Mariam she can return to work and let me handle the situation.

‘I'll go and get him,' I say. ‘But I normally deal with all the complaints.'

The woman smirks. ‘Oh, really? That's quite a lot of freedom for a Muslim girl, isn't it?'

I walk off quickly, worried I might go down for assault and battery if I stick around another second longer.

Baba is in the back, bent over a delicate dish he's trying to assemble. I fill him in on the situation.

‘Can you ask Irfan to deal with it, Mina? He's in the stockroom. His English is better anyway.'

I talk to Irfan and he joins me, but not before first smoothing down his clothes, combing his jet-black hair to the side and spraying on half a bottle of aftershave.

I notice Mariam is back at the table, looking overwhelmed as they talk to her. I quicken my pace to reach her before any more damage is done, although they seem to be quite friendly and chatty with her now.

‘It's okay, Mariam, we'll handle this,' I tell her hastily, and she gives me a bewildered look and steps away to deal with a new family lined up waiting to be seated.

‘Well,' the man says triumphantly. ‘Is this the manager?'

‘Yes, sir. Mina has been telling me about your worries about the halal food. It is humane, I promising you. That is what our religion is preaching us.'

Good Lord, Irfan's going to make things a million times worse now! I quickly interrupt.

‘Look, there's nothing we can do for you, sorry. We're not here to debate halal slaughter practices. We clearly advertise this as a halal restaurant. It's entirely your choice and right not to eat halal and there are plenty of other restaurants you can go to.'

Irfan is looking at me with horror but I refuse to meet his gaze and tell him in Farsi that he needs to trust me to do the talking.

‘So you don't offer a choice of non-halal?' the woman says.

‘No we don't,' I say losing my temper. ‘Just like a vegetarian restaurant isn't going to serve up a roast lamb. We've chosen to use halal meat and we know we might lose customers but restaurants make those calls all the time. As you can see from how busy we are, it doesn't seem to bother most people. I'm sorry you wasted your time tonight but the sign is at the front.'

I would have thought the conversation would be over by then but the man folds his arms, seems to have more to say.

‘Is it true you're hiring people who are on bridging visas?'

I blink once. I feel like things are spinning out of control.

Irfan stares blankly at them. ‘Begging pardon?'

‘Mariam – sweet girl – has a bridging visa, she told us. And you have two others working here too.'

‘And so what? Why is this your business?' Irfan says.

I wince. He's just confirmed it to them.

‘She says they're all very grateful for the help you've given them. But from what we know, they're not allowed to work. So you've got yourself a bit of a situation there, don't you? Cheap labour, cash wages.'

‘Work you could give an Australian citizen,' the woman snaps.

‘I think you should leave the premises now,' I say softly but firmly under my breath.

‘Sure thing, love,' the man says, and they stand up. ‘But you haven't heard the end of this. We're actually part of a new political organisation and we're going to make sure this comes up in the State election agenda. People like you are taking jobs away from honest Aussies.'

A wave of fury takes over me, wrenching itself from the pit of my belly.

‘You're from Aussie Values?' I demand.

‘Yes,' the woman says proudly.

‘That is the bullshit organisation who coming with the TV!' Irfan says angrily. ‘Get out, please.' He's all worked up now. ‘You getting out now!'

Everyone's eyes are on us as Irfan's voice rises. I try to calm him down but he's too distressed. ‘You making us terrorists on the TV!' he cries. ‘Get out!'

The man and woman are calm, smirk at us and walk out. I'm mortified. Irfan storms to the kitchen, no doubt to consult Baba. I smile meekly at the people closest to us, offer as many apologies for the disturbance as I can, and quickly follow Irfan.

I try to calm them down but they're both panicking, wondering if they'll be caught. Mariam walks in with an order and I stop her before she leaves.

‘What did you tell them?' I ask her urgently.

‘They were friendly and asking me where I'm from, how I'm coping here. I explained how kind your baba and Irfan have been to me and the others. They kept asking me questions and I did not know how to get away.'

I groan, lean my forehead against the doorframe.

‘I'm sorry,' she says guiltily. ‘Did I do something wrong?'

‘No, nothing, Mariam,' I console her. ‘It's fine. You didn't do anything wrong.'

I go out to the front for some fresh air and call Michael. He's our only hope.

He picks up after the first ring.

‘Hey,' he says brightly.

‘Michael I need your help!' I say quickly. I fill him in on what's happened, ask him to stop the organisation from taking it further, talking to immigration or the media.

‘They're not allowed to work but how are they supposed to live? We're just helping them out. And the media?! I can't let my parents go through the stress of it all. Why are they picking on us? We're an Afghan restaurant in the lower North Shore. We're hardly going to swing an election for them.'

‘I don't know,' he says with concern. ‘I'll talk to my parents.'

*

Baba comes home that night and heads straight to the verandah. He drinks tea and chain-smokes until past midnight. Mum paces in the family room until eventually she falls asleep on the couch.

She wakes up in the morning and cancels her lunch invitation to Emily and Rojin. It tears me apart to see my parents so distressed.