Dahling If You Luv Me Would You Please Please Smile

By Rukhsana Khan

Zainab is a thirteen year old facing a LOT of problems that threaten to overwhelm her: manipulation, bullying, the sexual exploitation of a friend and eventually an attempted suicide.

But when a teacher offers her the opportunity to direct a school house league play, Zainab thinks it might be the chance she's looking for.

If she can bring the most popular bully in school, in line, maybe she can prove she fits in.

Maybe...

Winner of the 2001 Manitoba Young Reader's Choice Honor Award
Nominated for the 2000 Ruth Schwartz Award
Nominated for the 2000 Red Maple Award

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456612672

Rukhsana Khan

RUKHSANA KHAN is an award-winning author and storyteller. Born in Lahore, Pakistan, she is an expert on books with international and Muslim themes. She has presented at schools and communities across Canada and the US, as well as at the 2006 ALA Conference in New Orleans and the 2008 IBBY Congress in Denmark. Her book, Wanting Mor won the Middle East Book Award. Rukhsana lives in Toronto with her family.

Book preview

www.rukhsanakhan.com

Chapter 1

I guess I’ve always wanted to fit in. But mostly, I can’t afford it.

Deanford, being a public school, doesn’t have an official school uniform, but nine out of ten kids wear Lucky jeans. They’re easy to spot because of the little red tag sewn into the seam of the right rear pocket. Stupid place to put a tag. In order to read it you have to look at someone’s bum.

They cost more than eighty dollars a pair. Just looking at them makes me sick. At least 450 kids at Deanford wear Lucky’s. What a waste. Especially when there are so many poor people going hungry. Why would anyone pay that much for a pair of pants? I can just picture people twenty years from now looking back at us, thinking what fools we are forking out that kind of money.

But if you want to be accepted, no other brand will do. And they have to have that little red tag, as small as your smallest fingernail, intact. If the tag’s not there it means you’re a cheapskate and you bought seconds, not first quality.

There’s a game where they try to rip off each other’s tag. In order to do that, they grab at each other’s bums!

I thought I was okay in my polyester pants. They look like Lucky’s, they have a zipper and pockets and belt loops, they just don’t cost that much. At least I dress better than Premini Gupta, the only other Indian in the school.

Even if I wanted a pair I would never ask my parents. They have me, my older sister and the twins to provide for. Eighty dollars goes a long way towards feeding us. I know, I’ve seen the grocery bill.

My polyester pants are scratchy, and when the static builds up, they cling to my legs, but it’s not until Art class one day that I realize they won’t do.

I’m intent on my picture when I feel a hesitant tap on my elbow, and hear a whispered, What’s that you’re drawing, Zainab?

I look up, straight into Jenny’s baby blue eyes, or at least as much of them as I can see through her long stringy bangs. She sits beside me in most of my classes. She’s one of the few girls that will. She’s pretty except for her acne. Her complexion is a mass of angry red pimples in different stages of ripeness. Maybe that’s why she lets her ash blonde hair hang half over her face like a screen between her and the world. But what makes the boys notice her are her breasts. They call her Jenny-big-jugs when she’s not around.

She steps a bit closer. That’s an interesting picture, Zainab. What is it?

I relax a little. She sounds sincere. It’s supposed to be hell.

Our art assignment is to draw a picture using silhouettes. I made a stencil of a man’s head in profile. It has a long sharp nose and a witch’s pointed chin. It’s supposed to be a devil. I cut out two rows of them from black paper, highlighting the edges with grey as if they’re charcoal turning to ash. I’m just about to glue the cut-outs to a background of red, orange and yellow flames.

Jenny pushes aside some of her bangs and says softly, It’s kind of neat.

I flush, mumbling thanks.

But maybe you could, I mean, why not make the chins and noses a little smaller? More human. It’ll mean we all can end up in hell.

Good point. I trim the noses and chins to a decent length.

Kevin appears. Why do you have flames going all the way to the top?

I think it says in the Quran that there’ll be flames above and below. No escaping them.

Oh. He watches me add some more white for a moment then says, You know, Zainab, I used to wear clothes like you.

I’m too intent on my picture to notice the change in the tone of his voice. I mutter, Really?

Yeah, then my dad got a job.

There’s a burst of laughter from Kevin’s friends. They just happened to be within earshot. I should have known.

At first I think Jenny’s in on it. But through her curtain of hair I see her face redden. She says, Oh Kevin. That wasn’t very nice.

Kevin’s face grows still. The laughter dies away. No one else could have said that to him and gotten away with it. Now Kevin looks as uncomfortable as I feel. His mouth is set in a grim line. He turns away. So do his followers.

What’s wrong with my clothes? I’m clean. I’m coordinated. I just don’t happen to be wearing Lucky’s.

Jenny has a pair. They’re so tight you could read the year of a quarter in the back pocket. And she has on a tight sweater. Every line, every curve of her body is clear from her slim hips and tiny waist to the dents in her shoulders where her straining bra straps cut into the flesh.

Premini Gupta sits across from me. When I look up at her she quickly looks away, flicking aside her long black braid. She heard the whole thing but she too hadn’t laughed, though for a different reason. She’s wearing a faded calico dress, pink knee socks and a yellow cardigan that gives her brownish-yellow skin an even yellower tint. The sleeves of her cardigan are too short, revealing bony wrists. If anyone dresses like her father is out of work, it’s Premini. Why do they pick on me?

The very next day, Premini comes to school in a brand-new pair of Lucky jeans that are so stiff she has trouble sitting down. There’s a smirk on her face, and a wrinkle in her hooked nose as she looks me over. Now I’m the only one in all grade eight who doesn’t own a pair of Lucky’s.

I’m standing in line to go in after recess when I overhear someone talking about why they’re ripping off each other’s tags. Apparently there’s a store promotion going on. If you bring in twenty-two Lucky tags, you get a brand new pair of Lucky jeans for free!

I, too, begin hunting Lucky tags.

At first, I stalk them openly, making a grab as Jenny walks by. Her label is hanging by a few threads, just begging to be torn off. But she turns on me. Zainab! You shouldn’t be ripping tags! It’s not fair. You don’t have a tag I can rip.

Her gentle reprimand is more embarrassing than if she’d yelled at me. And yet it’s not fair. I can’t get a tag unless I rip a tag, but I can’t rip a tag unless I have a tag. I’ll have to be sneaky about it.

During Gym, in the middle of a soccer game, I tell the teacher I have to go to the bathroom. Then I sneak into the change room and corral my prey. I’m not stealing. I’m just playing the game in a more efficient manner.

It gives me particular satisfaction to rip off Cheryl’s tag. She’s Kevin’s official girlfriend, though that doesn’t stop him from flirting with other girls. He calls them his harem and he’s constantly teasing them, pinching them, and touching them. He likes to spread himself around. He says in this age of women’s liberation it’s their turn to carry his books to school.

Kevin would never treat me like that. I’m not pretty enough. In a way I’m glad. If he looked my way, if he were to give me the attention he gives those other girls, I don’t know if I’d act any differently. There’s no denying he’s gorgeous with his platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes.

Anyway, I’m careful not to take all the tags. I’m tempted to take Premini’s but decide against it. It would be more logical to take the ones that are partially off, and Premini’s hasn’t had time to be torn at all. I’ll get it later. I don’t take Jenny’s either. Somehow it doesn’t feel right.

I harvest nine tags, tuck them into my sock and run back outside to join the game. But it’s hard to keep a straight face when my classmates go into the change room and rant about their lost tags. Jenny gives me a curious look. If she suspects anything she doesn’t say. At a time like this I find the speckled pattern of the ceiling tiles extremely fascinating.

By mid-October, the cold weather makes my polyester pants cling to my legs in a static haze, squeaking where the fabric rubs together when I walk. It would be nice to have the feel of stiff denim next to my skin. We’re doing track and field in Gym now and even when I’m the first to finish my laps, I can only harvest two or three tags before the others drag themselves into the change room.

By the end of October, I have twenty-one tags. I only need one more but they’re harder to come by. Everyone’s on the prowl for Lucky tags and they’re all walking with their hands across their butts, protecting their tags.

During Math, I see an unguarded tag. Someone left the closet wide open. Jackets and gym shorts are spilling out on the classroom floor. Mr. Weiss asks for a volunteer to clean them up. Nobody volunteers so he picks me. While I’m shoving the stuff back in the closet, I come across an old pair of cut-off jean shorts. They’re Lucky’s and they have the tag intact!

I tuck them into the very bottom of the pile and nonchalantly close the doors. I’ll be back.

I wait till recess and then, telling the teacher on duty that I have a stomachache, I creep back up the stairs.

I have to walk past the classroom several times because whenever I’m about to enter, a teacher or caretaker appears. They always show up when you don’t need them. Finally the hallway is empty.

Taking a deep breath, I slip inside. The shrieks and yells of the kids in the yard are muffled. I can barely hear them over the pounding of my heart.

The soles of my running shoes squeak across the linoleum tiles as I make my way to the closet. My polyester pants crackle with static when I kneel down and dig through the discarded hats, scarves, mitts and T-shirts, looking for the pair of cut-off jean shorts.

Ha! Found them. Soon, very soon, I’ll have the cool luxurious feel of stiff brand new Lucky jeans against my legs. Very soon, even Kevin will no longer tease me about the way I dress.

It’s so hot! My hands are too sweaty to get a proper grip on the tag. I keep hearing footsteps creeping up behind me.

The tag keeps slipping through my fingers, or else it’s sewn on tighter than all the rest. I take off my jacket. My long hair clings with static to the polyester lining like tentacles. Now my ponytail is glued across the back of my sweater. I try to ignore it. The clock is ticking away. After a few more tugs at the stubborn tag, I drop the shorts to free my ponytail. Hair clings to my fingers and the sleeves of my sweater. I’m hot from wrestling with my hair and the tag. What I need is water. Yes. Water would be wonderful. It’s so stuffy in here. I glimpse the white face of the clock. 10:18. I bite the tag with my teeth, tearing it away from the pocket seam just as I hear footsteps outside the classroom door.

I search the room for some escape. There’s only the closet. I duck inside, pulling some of the hats and scarves over me, just as the doorknob turns. Through the slightly open closet doors I see who’s come into the room. It’s Kevin and Jenny.

Chapter 2

I feel like they can see me even though the closet doors hide me well. I’m sure Jenny can hear the pounding of my heart. She pushes aside her bangs and peers around the classroom. Are you sure about this, Kevin? I don’t think Mr. Weiss would like us to be in here during recess.

Kevin takes a furtive peek down the hallway and quietly closes the door. Relax, he’ll never know.

Jenny digs her hands into her jacket pockets, hunching up her shoulders. I don’t like it. Maybe you could, I mean, just get your smokes and let’s go.

Kevin stiffens. Is this going to be a habit? You telling me what to do?

Jenny’s face is red. But I, I didn’t mean to.

Like when I was kidding Zainab?

What?

He twists his face and mimics her. Oh, Kevin. That wasn’t very nice.

Jenny says, But, it wasn’t.

Kevin roots inside his desk till he finds the pack of cigarettes. Jeez, I was just joking. You showed me up in front of everyone.

Jenny puts a hand on his arm. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that . . . Jenny looks down at the toe of her sneaker. I’m sorry.

Don’t let it happen again.

Jenny nods quickly.

He puts his arm around her waist.

She slips free and glances at the clock. Mr. Weiss will be here soon. We’d better go.

He pulls out a cigarette, puts it in his mouth and lights it, all in one fluid gesture, then letting out a cloud of blue smoke, he gives Jenny a look that would melt any girl’s heart. What’s your hurry?

He must have rehearsed that look, those gestures, the whole scene. It’s straight out of a corny western. But it’s working. Jenny’s practically drooling. Her baby blue eyes are large and fixed on Kevin as he glides closer.

The closet is getting hotter. The smell of moldy sweaters and sweaty gym shorts is nauseating. Recess will be over soon and the chance of making a clean getaway is sinking with every tick of the clock.

He’s feeling her