The Boy at the Back of the Class

I made a secret promise to myself right then and there that I would be friends with the new boy […] And I would ask Josie and Tom and Michael if they would be his friends too.

After all, having four new friends would be much better than having none. Especially for a boy who looked as scared and as sad as the one now sitting at the back of our class.

My dad used to say that if you really, really want something, you have to keep trying for it. And since he always used to say that he had everything he could ever want, I guessed he must have known all about trying for things.

It’s one of the things I love most about Mum. She always tries to answer my questions no matter how tired she is or how hard my questions are […] And Dad used to say that the more questions you ask, the smarter you’ll be.

“But my dad said Refugee Kids are dangerous and that they lie and steal things,” said Josie, looking confused. “He told me to stay away from the new boy and not to talk to him, because he was probably a criminal!”

“Because you should never be horrible to someone who’s being horrible to you,” said Mum. “Otherwise they win by making you just as bad as them.”

Then, slowly, the new boy reached out and took the pomegranate in his hands.

“Home,” he said quietly, his lion eyes getting very big. “I…have…home…”

[…] The new boy fell quiet. And then, for the first time since we had met him, he smiled.

When Brendan the Bully turned to look at me, he stared into my eyes so hard and for so long that he seemed to grow by at least two more inches. But I was feeling so hot and angry that I could feel my ears going red and I didn’t care. I took a step forward and tried to grab the pomegranate back.

I looked over my shoulder at Ahmet and wondered what pieces he was still missing before he could put his life back together again. It was like a jigsaw, I thought. […]

I sure hoped that when he was running away from all the bullies and the bombs, Ahmet hadn’t lost any of the important pieces on the way. And that, if he had, someone was helping him find new ones that were exactly the right shape and colors that he needed.

Brendan the Bully became even more horrible. He […] began to whisper, “Hey! Smelly Refuge Bag!” whenever he saw [Ahmet], and in class, he would throw spitballs whenever Mrs. Khan or Ms. Hemsi weren’t looking. When we told Ahmet to tell Mrs. Khan or Mrs. Sanders about it, he shook his head and said, “I not scared. Lots of badder people in camps. My dad say I fight them. So, I fight him.”

In fact, I didn’t think everything was going to be fine at all. Not if Ahmet didn’t find his family before the gates closed!

That afternoon, we told Tom what had happened and we all came to a decision. We were going to try to help instead.

I wondered what Dad would have said if he knew I was going on an adventure to try to meet the Queen. I think he would have put on a record and danced around the living room just like he did whenever he was really happy.

That last thought made all the worms and frogs and butterflies in my tummy settle down and helped me fall into a deep sleep, filled with dreams of my dad dancing with the Queen.

And when […] those gates were closed, there would be no chance of telling the Queen about Ahmet—and it would be all my fault.

I clutched the note tightly. I could feel my heart thumping in my throat and my fingers beginning to sweat.

And then, somehow, I began to move.

But it was okay. Because not even being able to have any chocolate ever again would be worth it if the Queen could help Ahmet find his mum and dad. That was all that really mattered.

[I wondered] how anyone could hate someone who was running away from bullies and bombs. Mr. Greggs had clearly never met someone like Ahmet before, because if he had, he could never have been so horrible about anyone who had to become a refugee.

I had never thought about how loud a whisper can be if there are lots and lots of them. So, all that day, I whispered “Help Ahmet” out loud, too, whenever I could. So did Tom and Michael and Josie. And whenever we did it together, our whispers made us sound like an ocean.

Maybe it didn’t matter if really horrible people like Mr. Fry or Mr. Greggs didn’t like Ahmet. Maybe they didn’t even deserve to know him. But people like Josie’s mum and dad did, because they weren’t horrible at all. They had just been nervous about making a new friend.

Wherever we went, Tom and Michael and Josie and Ahmet and I were waved at and smiled at and patted on the head and given thumbs-up by lots of people we didn’t know. People at the bus stop and on the street would run up to us and say things like “God bless you!” and “We’re all behind you, Ahmet!” and “I just signed the petition! Parliament’s gonna listen to us! You’ll see!”

Mum asked me what I’d like to take as a present for the Queen and I thought about it for three hours. In the end, I decided that, since she doesn’t really need anything, and I can’t afford to buy her real diamonds or a ruby, I would buy her a pomegranate from the man with the royal heart. Because I think the next best thing to wearing lots of jewels must be to eat lots of little ones instead.

My mum smiled but her eyes were watery too. “It means they can come and live here, darling. Ahmet’s mum and dad are coming to the UK! They’ve been found!”