Chapter 27: The Snake King Won - My Name Is Samim

Rita, Ayan, Rence and I sit outside the head teacher’s office, waiting for Miss Brown and Rence’s mum to come out.

Zayn paces back and forth. “That’s why he didn’t let his pack of hyenas touch you. He wanted you to throw the first punch. That slimy snake! But as my sweet grandmother, who made tea strong enough to grow a beard, used to say, ‘A snake won’t bite you unless you are a threat.’ He must have been sweating like a kebab on the grill about losing to you in the championship.”

I’m so mad I could kick myself. Did Max really just play me?

The demons in my head wake and they speak with Max’s voice now: You don’t belong in this club, school or country.

Maybe he is right.

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The office door opens, and Miss Brown and Rence’s mum walk out. Rence’s mum wraps her arm around Rence’s shoulders, and they leave. She doesn’t seem too upset with him, which is good. Rence turns back and gives me a short wave before they disappear around the corner.

Miss Brown stands still, gazing at me for a few seconds. My face flushes with shame and I drop my head.

In the car, we sit in silence. What is there to say? Everyone tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen. I dragged Ayan and Rence into this mess. Whatever my punishment is, I deserve it.

At home, Miss Brown tells Ayan and me to wait outside the study. “I cancelled your interview with Mr Higgins today,” she says.

I swallow hard. That means Mr Higgins knows about the fight. Will this be bad for my asylum case?

“Ayan first,” she says, walking into the room. Ayan follows her.

I take a few steps back and bump against the wall. I slide down and sit on the floor. Zayn slumps beside me.

“You deserve to be alive so much more than I do,” I tell him.

“It’s true.” Zayn nods. It takes me a second to realise he’s joking.

I shake my head. “You would’ve never fallen into his trap.”

“Also true. But that’s only because you wouldn’t catch me dead in the chess club.”

I half smile.

“Actually, what am I saying? I’m dead in the chess club all the time these days!” Zayn says, and we chuckle together.

Lily walks past me, frowning. She’s probably wondering why I’m sitting on the floor and laughing on my own.

When Ayan comes out ten minutes later, his head hangs low and his face is gloomier than I’ve ever seen.

“No screens one week,” he sighs, walking past me.

I hate myself for getting him and Rence into trouble.

Miss Brown waves me into the room. I take a seat, my fingers clutching my bracelet.

“First, I’d like to hear your side of the story,” Miss Brown says, her voice calm but cold. “And then I’ll tell you what happens next.”

I swallow hard, my voice trembling. “Max is a bully. He picks on me, Ayan, Rita and Rence all the time. And he gets away with it.”

“So you took matters into your own hands?”

“No!” I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. He was talking about my mother! He was saying terrible things about her!”

“He was talking, but you were hitting, Samim. And although I’m sure what Max said was terrible, what you’ve done is worse.”

I dip my head and shove my hands into my pockets.

“If Max was bullying you, you should have told me. I could’ve spoken to the school, we could’ve handled it together.”

I stay quiet. There is nothing I can say to make this better.

She pauses for a moment, then says, “Mr Adams told me you were worried about competing against Max in the upcoming tournament.”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with what happened!”

“He was bleeding, Samim. His face was swollen. You can’t do that. Ever. And I mean it. Ever again.” Miss Brown’s voice is stricter and louder than I’ve ever heard it.

I know she is right. I know what I did was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It will not happen again.”

“And if Max bothers you again, promise me you’ll tell me.”

“I promise.”

She leans closer, and her voice softens. “It’s my job to protect you, Samim. I care about what happens to you. I know it’s not easy, but I need you to know you don’t have to handle everything on your own. We’re a team now, okay?”

I look at my hands, feeling a lump form in my throat. I don’t remember what it’s like to be part of a team, but I really, really want to be in one, so I bob my head.

“Okay,” she sighs after a pause. “But you are suspended from school for two weeks, and you will not compete in the championship.”

The room dims, as if someone has switched off the sunlight. I raise my eyes to Miss Brown, and she knows I’m pleading for mercy.

The chess tournament was my chance to do something that mattered. For myself, for Zayn, for Darya, for my sister, Fatima, and for all the children I met on my way. My victory was supposed to be their victory, too.

Miss Brown’s voice softens. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it. It was the head teacher’s decision and, frankly, I’m not surprised.”

I want to scream, but instead, I look away. I know how to swallow a cry in a thunderstorm of pain, because no one will hear me, anyway.

“I’ve been talking to your social worker, Miss Angela,” Miss Brown continues.

My heart bounces to my throat.

Please, please don’t send me back to the detention centre!

“She told me you’ve shown aggressive behaviour in the past, when you arrived at the detention centre.”

My eyes widen, and my mouth goes dry. When I first arrived at the detention centre, grief for Zayn turned me into a wounded animal, backed into a corner. As the youngest there, I was a lamb among jackals, an easy target for the bullies who prowled the halls. Anger made my fists burn every time someone picked on me. One fight landed me in the hospital, and that’s where I saw Ghost Zayn for the first time.

Please, God, please don’t send me back!

“You were prescribed a medication that seemed to help you feel calmer. Miss Angela contacted the doctor who prescribed the pills for you, and he suggested you start taking them again. Are you happy to do that, Samim?”

I nod timidly, holding my breath. Is that it? If I take the pills, will I be allowed to stay?

Miss Brown just gazes at me in silence.

My worries burst out of my mouth. “Are you sending me back to the detention centre?”

“No, of course not!” Miss Brown shakes her head, her eyes filled with pity.

I exhale.

“We’re hoping the medication will help you with your angry feelings. We all want to help you, Samim. I hope you know we’re all on your side.”

I don’t feel like anyone is on my side now, but I bob my head, relieved that I’m not getting sent back to hell.

I remember the medication I used to take there: it was awful, and I had to stay on it for months. It made my head fuzzy, and I was always sleepy and tired. How will I play chess if I take these meds? But then it hits me again: the Snake King won, I’m not competing any more. My eyes prickle. How did I let this happen?

Miss Brown pats my shoulder and walks out of the room.

Zayn throws his arms in the air. “So in the UK, not going to school is a punishment? Ha!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’d never behave a day in this place!”

I wipe my eyes and run to my room, choking with anger.

* * *

The next morning, I lie in bed, listening to Ayan and Rita getting ready for school in their rooms. Then someone slides a note under my door. It says:

We will always be on your side. R&A.

My throat tightens as I fight tears. Ayan and Rita are my friends. I have finally found a place where I can remember how to feel happy. What if this fight destroys my chance of asylum? It has already ruined my dream of winning the championship.

I grab the trophy from my desk, toss it into the bin, then bury my face in a pillow and scream into it.

After breakfast, I drag myself to the study for my interview, my head hung low in embarrassment.

I sit on the chair beside Miss Nadia, pulling the bracelet string so tight my fingertips tingle.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

I nod, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Hello, Samim,” Mr Higgins says, his hands clasped on the table.

“Hello,” I mumble.

“Miss Brown told us you’re suspended from school for two weeks.”

Blood drains from my face.

“For violent behaviour,” he adds, and my stomach cramps.

I glance at Miss Nadia, and she presses her lips together then says, “Try not to worry about that now, Samim. Just focus on telling us about your journey.”

Guilt is a weight on my chest, but I keep silent. What’s the point? Mr Higgins wouldn’t understand. None of them would. And I’m tired – tired of trying to prove I deserve a safe life, like it’s something I must earn. I’m just a kid! Shouldn’t every child be safe without having to prove they’re worth it?

“What happened after you and Zayn were rescued from the Aegean Sea?” Mr Higgins asks.

I look up, surprised he’s not scolding me.

His gaze meets mine, steady and waiting. “Samim?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I don’t remember.” There were times during my journey here – hours, days, weeks – that became a blur.

Mr Higgins puts down his pen and looks at me over his glasses. “Are you telling me you don’t remember anything after that night?” His voice sounds stern with suspicion.

“Not for a few weeks after Darya was gone, no.”

“Nothing at all?”

I shrug. “Maybe some stuff. Flashes of faces, smells, sounds. But not like everything before then.”

“Okay, tell me what you do remember.” Mr Higgins picks up the pen again.

I close my eyes.

I remember the woman who wrapped a tinfoil blanket around my shoulders after we got to dry land. Her brown hair smelled of soap, and she had tiny golden hearts pierced through her ears.

I remember the warmth of the hands that pressed my shaky fingers into ink-soaked sponges and then onto paper, to get my fingerprints.

I remember a bus journey to Athens. I stared at my sunken reflection in the window the whole time, and my father’s face gazed back at me.

But all those memories are foggy now, which is a good thing.

“Samim?” Mr Higgins is still peering at me over his glasses.

“Next thing I remember clearly is meeting Auntie Amina,” I say.

“Who was she?”

“She was the woman who brought Zayn back to life.”