Ky!

By Clancy Tucker

Rida Khalid is a Muslim refugee from Iran. She is bullied by two girls at school for wearing a hijab (Muslim headscarf), reading books and wearing glasses, and seeks refuge in an old man’s garden after school. Rida meets an Asian girl at school, Ky, who also loves books, but Rida soon dumps her for a gawky girl, Carmen, who teaches her about fitting in. To be accepted, Rida removes her hijab at school, but she must wear her headscarf whilst competing in the inter-school sports. Her family will attend.
Rida deliberately loses the first race because Carmen says, “Only nerds do well in sports”. The sports master berates Rida for losing the race and points to Ky who’s made an extraordinary effort to get out of hospital to watch her run. Ky is battling leukaemia. Rida wins the next two races and gives her winning ribbons to Ky for good luck.
Rida enters the State Athletics Championships, but two athletics clubs lodge an objection to her hijab. Rida is shocked when a retired Queens Counsel (QC) represents her at the Equal Opportunity Commission. Who is he? Will Rida win the case? Will she run in the State Championships? Will Ky beat leukaemia, and who owns the garden that Rida has used as a sanctuary?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morris Publishing Australia
• Release date: Apr 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9780646932262

Clancy Tucker

Clancy writes young adult fiction for reluctant readers, but has also achieved success as a poet and photographer. He has lived in four countries, speaks three languages. He has been short-listed and highly commended in writing contests: 2006 & 2007 National Literary Awards, Raspberry & Vine (twice), Positive words, Australian Writers On-Line, Shaggy Sheep Tale, The Cancer Council Arts Awards (2005 & 2008), The Dusty Swag Awards (2010) and had ten short stories published in literary magazines (Page Seventeen, Branching Out & Positive Words), newspapers (The Standard, Mountain Views & The Advocate), written articles for Kid Magazine in the USA and won a poetry prize to name a life-size statue designed by renowned Belgian sculptor, Bruno Torfs. In 2010, he was awarded a two-week mentorship by the National Education & Employment Foundation. He is now a full time writer but has been a speechwriter, public servant, farmer, and small business operator. Clancy has worked with street kids and draws on life’s experiences to write entertaining stories for kids.

Book preview

‘KY’

By

Clancy Tucker

Smashwords Edition

First published in 2015 by Clancy Tucker Publishing

ABN: 70442136657

Copyright © Clancy Lawson Tucker 2015

Clancy Tucker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or be transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Illustrations and photography copyright © Clancy Lawson Tucker 2015.

Grateful thanks to Samara Brauman.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication (CIP):

Dewey Number: A823.4

‘KY!’ by Clancy Lawson Tucker ©

ISBN: 978-0-646-93226-2

1st Edition

Young adult fiction.

Books by Clancy Tucker

All books published as paperback and e-Book format, available via:

www.morrispublishingaustralia.com

www.clancytucker.blogspot.com.au

Gunnedah Hero

Winner of two awards in the Australian National Literary Awards: 2007 & 2011.

Pa Joe’s Place

A Drover’s Blanket (Sequel to Gunnedah Hero)

Dedication:

This story is dedicated to those who have been bullied; especially to those who did something about it. It is also dedicated to refugees and asylum seekers who, by whatever means, made their way to Australia.

Chapter 1

‘Rida!’ Mrs Perry shrieked, and everyone turned to gawk at the cause of her anger. ‘Are you still with us?’ the teacher jibed with pursed lips. Rida Khalid’s head snapped to the front of the class, and her face flushed when the teacher glared with a stare that could melt an iceberg.

‘Yes, Mrs Perry … Sorry.’ Rida wanted to poke her tongue at the crabby woman – a woman who knew lots about history, but one who always wore a sour face. She never said anything funny and never looked happy. Rhonda Perry was short and dumpy with blazing red hair. The red came from a bottle to hide grey hair. Everyone knew she had grey hair. Small wisps of grey could be seen if you looked hard enough.

‘Good,’ the teacher replied. Rida’s heart raced, and her face felt like it was on fire. Some of the other kids in her class were still gaping at her. Most of them looked at her as if she was someone from outer space. That’s why Rida kept to herself. Wearing a hijab, headscarf, was something they didn’t understand. The kids at her school had never seen a Muslim before.

When the teacher continued the lesson, Rida adjusted her scarf and smirked at the large wall clock that always looked crooked. The bell would soon ring to end a typical day at school. Typical, because two girls had bullied her and caused her so much misery. Their bullying began weeks before. It started with verbal abuse, but now the girls had become physical. They’d even spat on her. Rida hated them for doing that. It was filthy and mean. She didn’t mind being teased or being called a mossie or a terrorist. What she hated was the physical abuse. Spitting was the worst.

Gazing through the windows of her classroom, Rida gloated at what she planned to write on the lockers of the bullies. Every day she dreamed about scrawling some message on the doors of their lockers. It was one way she could get back at them; the only way. Rida knew exactly where their lockers were. She’d located them ages ago, and had thought of words and expressions to write on them. Some of them were harsh, Australian swear words; words she’d heard from grown men, or heard in movies. There was one expression she wanted to use, but she couldn’t. It was too crude. The expression contained two words, and it said exactly what she wanted to say to the two girls. The first word started with an ‘F’. The second word began with an ‘O’. It was a powerful expression, but not something she could use; not even write on the lockers of girls she disliked for being so mean.

Again, Rida glanced at the clock and grinned. There was another reason for her to be pleased. In eight minutes, she’d be sitting in her favourite spot, reading a wonderful book. The lady in the opp shop said it was old. She was right. The book was very old. It was The Royal Readers, book number four, published in 1885 in London, England. It was in awesome condition and full of interesting stuff: poetry, some black and white sketches of birds, people and old sailing ships; some short stories as well. Rida loved old books. There was something enchanting about them. Their musty smell made her wonder who’d owned and read them. She also wondered what old books had witnessed as they sat waiting to be picked up and read.

Reading books had always been the best way for Rida to learn, and to escape from reality. In the detention centre, she’d read to take her mind off the intolerable heat, the endless kilometres of red sand and the razor wire. Now, she read to avoid two bullies who didn’t like her. Rida was the only Muslim at her school, and wearing a hijab made her stand out. Wearing glasses didn’t help either. The two bullies had often called her a four-eyed nerd, a geek, and other horrible names.

The other kids stood up and moved noisily out of the classroom when the school bell finally rang. Rida waited until they’d all left before she packed up her things and strolled out. That’s what she did every day to give the two bullies time to leave school. Hoping it was safe, Rida headed for the lockers to grab her backpack. The corridor was almost deserted, and she was tempted to scrawl a menacing message on the lockers of the bullies. Instead, she moved off and was soon leaning against a big gum tree with an apple in one hand and her book in her lap. It was the location she always used to read after school. She called it The Great Escape after a book she’d once read. Rida loved that spot because the large tree looked healthy and happy, and it offered shade on the hottest days.

‘Hey you!’ a loud, angry voice broke the silence; almost shrieked, as Rida turned the page to read a story called The Swallow; a story she’d been dying to read. Frightened, she looked up to find two girls standing in front of her. The very two who’d been hassling her.

‘Hey, terrorist. Why do ya wear that stupid thing on ya head?’ the bigger girl asked, pointing to Rida’s hijab with an arrogant smirk. The loud girl was tall and chubby with a round, red, blotchy face. Rida had nicknamed her Pimples. Frozen with fear, Rida’s legs shook and her heart thumped when the shorter girl stepped forward; the one Rida had nicknamed Weasel. The girl grabbed her hijab and ripped it away. Rida’s head jerked to one side as her headscarf came off. Her glasses nearly came off as well, and her eyes started to water, stunned when the girl threw her hijab on the ground and deliberately stomped on it with her dusty, black shoes. Weasel was the skinny one. She had straight, black hair, white skin and dark, evil eyes. Rida disliked her most. She always looked angry and sounded mean.

Rida was still gawking at her trampled hijab when Pimples lunged forward, snatched her precious book and threw it away.

‘Ah!’ Rida gasped, wanting to gouge the girl’s eyes out.

‘What’s that crap ya readin’? Secret terrorist stuff, eh?’ Pimples sneered, and smiled at her accomplice. When Rida heard her precious book land on the ground with a plopping sound, her eyes flashed towards it. Fortunately, it lay on the asphalt pathway and was still in one piece. While Rida was distracted by her treasured book, Pimples shoved her hard against the tall tree. It hurt, and Rida could feel tears welling in her eyes.

‘I’ve got to run, but what about my book? I can’t leave my book,’ she murmured as Weasel stepped towards her to inflict some more damage. This time, Rida took a deep breath and angrily pushed the girl away with both hands.

‘Shit!’ Weasel cried, and fell against her friend. Feeling lucky, Rida grabbed her backpack and ran towards her book as both girls landed on the ground in a screaming heap.

‘Quick, get her!’ yelled Pimples. Rida bent down, grabbed her book in one lucky swoop and ran. Clutching her bag and book, she sprinted away like a bank robber.

‘We’ll get ya!’ screamed one of the girls.

Rida kept running, and it was a good minute before she felt safe enough to stop. When she did come to a halt, she glanced over her shoulder to see the two girls leaving by a far gate. One of them was limping. Leaning against the short, wire fence that surrounded the school, Rida scrunched up her eyes in search of her hijab. It was still on the ground. She could see it.

‘Phew,’ she muttered, knowing that she’d be in big trouble if she arrived home without it. With the book safely inside her backpack, she cautiously strolled back to retrieve her headscarf, constantly looking for the two bullies. Rida didn’t trust them.

Other than a few dirty marks, her hijab was fine. She placed it on her head, pulled her backpack on and ran towards home. However, tears welled up again and they crawled down her face. She stopped running when she turned into Benjamin Street, still looking over her shoulder to make sure she was safe. Pleased that there was no sign of the two girls, she stopped walking and leant against a fence. Covering her face with her hands, she let the tears flow. She felt awful, and sobbed.

‘Are you okay?’ came a voice from somewhere behind her. With tears running down her cheeks, Rida stepped back a few paces and turned. There, kneeling on a rubber mat was an elderly man, wearing a large, straw hat and leather gloves. He was holding a pair of silver cutters.

Rida wiped her tears with her hijab and sniffled. ‘Yes, sir,’ she muttered.

The man got to his feet, let out a gentle sigh and rubbed his back before he ambled over and rested both hands on the fence. ‘You sure, young lady?’ he softly uttered.

‘Yes. Thank you, sir,’ Rida replied, taking a few deep breaths to control her sniffling.

The old man wore a concerned look. ‘What happened?’ Once again, her tears started to flow, and the man must have seen them coming. He frowned and looked worried. ‘Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here.’

Rida immediately liked the old man. There was something about him. He spoke gently, and made her feel safe and comfortable. Looking into his face, she could see steel, blue eyes and the same parched wrinkles she’d seen on old people in Iran. The old man was solid like Uncle Raffi, but he was much taller, and had suntanned arms sprinkled with freckles. Rida loved his eyes. They were soft and kind, and they shimmered like a friendly mirage.

Rida sniffed and wiped her face with her hand. ‘It’s some girls at school, sir. They threw my book away, ripped my hijab off and called me an awful name,’ said Rida, touching her scarf to demonstrate what hijab meant.

The old man’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘That’s terrible behaviour. Hey, how’d you like my latest rose? Would that cheer you up?’ he added with a broad smile. Rida looked at him blankly, trying to work out what he meant. ‘Hold on,’ he said, took a few paces and studied a bush covered in beautiful red roses. She watched as he carefully selected