Chapter 16: We Are All Different - My Name Is Samim

At the next chess club meeting, Mr Adams tells me all about the London Junior Championship qualifying contest. It has many rules, and I’m trying to remember them all. Then Rence and two other boys sit as my opponents. It’s three against one, and we are having a great time.

Zayn slumps on a desk, sulking, arms dangling between his legs.

“It’s at times like this I don’t even mind being dead,” he says with a loud sigh.

I know he wishes this was a football club instead.

Max’s desk is to my right, and I can feel the heat of his stare burning a hole in the side of my head.

“Max has never had real competition before. I think he’s worried,” Rence says, beaming.

It seems I’m not the only one who doesn’t like him.

Max approaches us, staring at our chessboard, arms folded. “Where did you learn to play chess?”

“My mother taught me.” I touch my bracelet.

Max notices. “Did she give you that bracelet, too?”

I nod and hide my hand under the table.

“Where is your mother now?”

“She died when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” Rence says.

“Thank you.”

Max stares at the board again, watching Rence move his knight. In the next move, I take Rence’s bishop.

“You really suck at chess, Florence!” Max snorts, and Rence’s face reddens.

Others at our table swap awkward looks.

“It’s Rence,” Rence says through his teeth.

“Well, I’m pretty sure your real name is Florence, so you’re not fooling anyone here with your short hair and a fake name.”

Rence jumps up from the table and grabs Max by his shirt. “It’s Rence,” he growls in Max’s face.

“Whoa! Calm down, everyone!” Mr Adams says, wedging himself between the two boys and pushing them apart. “What happened?”

Rence lets go of Max and drops his head.

“Are you alright?” Mr Adams asks them both.

Rence nods, and Max fixes his shirt.

Mr Adams watches them for a moment, then says, “Okay then. Let’s all behave, yeah?”

Someone from the other table calls his name, and he walks off.

The moment Mr Adams is out of earshot, Max leans in, hissing, “You’re a sore loser, Florence.”

Rence’s face hardens. He grabs his bag and storms out of the room.

* * *

At home, after dinner, everyone but Rita sits in the TV room and watches cartoons, this time about a foolish yellow sponge.

I tell Ayan about what happened at the club, and he listens to me with zero expression, staring at the TV and crunching on a green apple.

“Max is snake,” he finally says, taking another loud bite.

“I don’t understand, though. Why did Max say that Rence’s real name is Florence?”

“Because it was,” Ayan says, chomping.

“Then why did Rence get so mad?”

“Because Florence is girl name, and Rence not a girl.”

“What do you mean?”

Ayan stops chewing and sighs, his eyes still on the TV. “Rence was born girl, but he feels like boy.”

“How? Why?” I don’t understand.

Ayan shrugs, taking another bite. “Why you refugee? Why I speak bad English? Why Max snake? I don’t know why. Because we all different.”

Zayn is staring at Ayan munching away, and his eyes are full of admiration. “So much wisdom comes out of his mouth when it’s not busy chomping.”

Ayan is right. We all are different, and Max can’t stand that. Why do some people hate those who are different from them?

“As my sweet grandmother, who could charm a snake with her toothless smile, used to say, ‘You cannot teach a donkey to sing. It will only bray louder.’”

I chuckle. Zayn’s sweet grandmother was a well of wisdom.

Zayn lifts his chin up proudly. “Now you know who I take after.”

I give Zayn an eye roll and head to the study to practise chess before bed.

In the corridor, I hear whimpers coming from another room. I peek and see Rita curled up on the sofa with a book, rubbing her puffy eyes with the sleeve of her hoody.

Zayn crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Remember making fun of me for taking weeks to apologise to my sister?”

I drop my head.

“It’s hard, but it’s the right thing to do,” he says.

I take a deep breath and walk into the room. “Is the book sad?” I ask.

Rita quickly wipes her face and scowls at me. “No, why?”

“It’s just… it’s just you look sad.”

“It’s not the book.” She turns away and wipes her nose with a crumpled tissue.

“Is it the video of us falling?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t care about that.”

I look at Zayn, standing by the window, and he twirls his hand, signalling me to carry on and finally say it. I gulp and mutter the words that have been stuck in my throat for days.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry the other day. I thought I was protecting you, but you don’t need me to. You see, in my culture, we don’t see girls that way.”

Rita raises her eyebrow. “Which way?”

I sit on the sofa, leaving plenty of space between us.

“Strong. In my culture, we think girls always need our protection. And I grew up thinking that way, too. But I know it’s not true. I know because I met a girl who was smarter, braver and stronger than any boy I’d ever known. She taught me that being a girl is not much different from being a boy, and I was foolish to think that I knew better because I was a boy. I don’t know better than you, and I’m sorry. I just really didn’t like how your friends spoke to you.”

I sigh with relief as the words finally come out of my mouth. I look down and bite my lip, worrying whether I made any sense.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rita gazing at me with her big, beautiful eyes, and my pulse pounds in my throat.

“Maya didn’t invite me to her party,” she finally says, looking up and blinking rapidly to stop tears from running down her face. “She told me that her mum said only to invite the girls whose parents she knew.” Her voice cracks, and she takes a deep breath to hide it.

I look down. I don’t know what to say, so I just say, “I’m sorry.”

“You were right about Maya. But you were wrong to think that I didn’t know what Maya was like. I knew. I always knew. But I hoped it would get better with time, you know?”

I bob my head.

“Being part of that group made me feel both good and bad about myself. I’m not like them, and they liked pointing that out, but they let me in their circle, and I was thankful for that.”

“I know what you mean. It’s hard to always feel different.”

Rita looks at me, and I look at her. As our eyes meet, my face flushes. I panic and dip my head again.

“Tell me about that girl. The one who taught you that it’s not only boys who can be strong and brave.”

I peer at Zayn. I want his permission to speak about her.

His eyes are heavy, and my heart twists into a knot. Zayn is the strongest person I know, and I’m terrified of his sadness. We gaze at each other for a few seconds before he gives me a nod and disappears.

I drop my head and take a minute to gather my thoughts.

“You okay?” Rita asks.

I nod. “Her name was Darya,” I finally say, and my chest fills up with both warmth and sadness. “My friend Zayn and I met her in Turkey. But it’s kind of a long story.”

Rita shrugs. “I’ve got time.”

I smile as she closes her book and leans forward a little.