Growing Yams in London (3 page)

‘That’s Laura.’

‘Why do you look so worried?’ Tanisha asked.

‘Look at her! She looks great and he’s enjoying her company!’

‘Oh puhlease! His body language is screaming “push off”!’ Tanisha said.

‘Who am I kidding? I don’t stand a chance if she gets her claws stuck in him.’

‘Ohmigod Makeeda, you can’t give up already! Haven’t you ever heard of a fight? So who is this girl?’

‘The one who kissed Nick’s exchange student, the French guy everyone knew I fancied.’

‘What, Parisian Pierre?’

‘Shh! That’s what Bharti and I called him. If anyone hears you, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

‘Sorry. It doesn’t mean that Mr DJ is going to . . . Don’t freak out, but he’s staring right at us. Quick, smile he’s looking our way,’ Tanisha said.

I didn’t have time to stretch my features into a smile, but I made an attempt.

‘Ohmigod, what was that?’ Tanisha asked, horrified. ‘You looked like you’d just swallowed a lemon!’

‘Shut up! Hi!’ I said, as Mr DJ was now standing in front of me.

‘Hi.’

‘Um, I’ve gotta . . .’ Tanisha said, quickly disappearing.

How obvious was that? I’m going to kill her later.

‘So are you taking another break?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, I think Stephen should be OK on his own for a bit,’ he replied.

‘Right,’ I said, noticing that the volume had increased sharply.

I looked at him. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him properly.

‘What?’ I shouted at the top of my voice, just as the track stopped abruptly. It suddenly felt like millions of eyes were burning into me. I knew that this moment would be repeated
to everyone at school, and end up being made into an e-mail. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tanisha cowering with embarrassment for me and Laura giggling with some boys.

Ohmigod, he’s definitely going to walk away from me now! I could barely look at him.

‘Do you want another drink?’ he said, whispering in my ear.

I nodded. I was stunned and too afraid to speak.

He smiled at me. We went to the kitchen and he poured me a drink. We stood around kind of smiling at each other and all I could think was, ‘say something, Makeeda!’ I heard another
song being played.

‘How long have you been DJing?’ I asked.

‘Um, about six months alone, but I used to help out my cousin.’

‘Makeeda!’ I spun round to see Mel’s mum, Auntie Angie, dressed in a black trouser suit and stilettos. She had long brown hair, immaculately manicured nails, and wore massive
hoop earrings. Auntie Angie owned a salon in Harrow, and one in Central London, so she always looked as glamorous as the American models in the adverts for afro hair relaxers. Mel had her looks
and, like her mum, was also tiny without her heels.

‘Hiya!’ I said, kissing her cheek.

‘Seeing as you’re here, can you help me with this?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ I said. I held the box as she lifted the cake out.

‘Young man, I don’t think I’m paying you to chat to my guests.’

‘Sorry,’ Mr DJ said. ‘I haven’t played a decent track for a while so . . .’ he whispered to me as he left.

‘Oh, right,’ I said, winking.

Great! I’m stuck in here with Mel’s mum and a birthday cake, exactly three walls and a door away from Mr DJ.

But within minutes I was back in the living room with everyone else, waiting for Mel to cut the cake. I was going to find her when she walked in from the balcony, reapplying her lip-gloss, with
a sheepish look on her face. It wouldn’t have been as bad if there hadn’t been a tall boy following her in, from what was now the designated kissing spot. Mel’s smirk soon fell
off her face when Auntie Angie shot her a harsh look. She cut the cake and Uncle Kevin took some photographs. I later saw him forcing Mel into one of his enormous cardigans in the corridor. Not
everyone could see them, but I could. After a minute of attempting to resist him, Mel finally gave up. She rolled the sleeves up and tied it at her waist, but Uncle Kevin made her wear it the way
he did.

‘Ohmigod, I think Mel’s in serious trouble tonight. Did you see the look her mum gave her?’ Tanisha said.

‘Yep and you won’t believe what’s happened now,’ I said.

‘What? Ohmigod!’ Tanisha exclaimed, on seeing Mel in the cardigan.

‘Makeeda, Tanisha, please sleep over tonight?’ Mel pleaded.

‘Um, sorry, but Dad’s coming to pick us up,’ I said, trying not to laugh as she adjusted the cardigan.

‘Just call him. Look, here’s my phone,’ Mel insisted desperately.

‘No can do,’ I said.

‘Nice cardigan, Mel,’ Tanisha said, and we both started laughing hysterically.

‘He made me put it on! A fantastic halter-neck hidden beneath a bobble-covered, grandad-style cardigan?’ she said.

I looked over at Uncle Kevin and realised his former relaxed expression had turned into one of mistrust when any boy came within a metre of Mel.

‘I hope you weren’t inviting them to stay; we haven’t got any more room as your cousins are staying over,’ Auntie Angie interrupted, from behind us.

‘No Mum,’ Mel said sulkily. ‘Come on, let’s request a song again,’ she added, dragging Tanisha and me away from her mother and towards the decks.

‘So what do you want to listen to now?’ Mr DJ asked me.

‘Council Crew’s latest?’ I asked.

‘Thank God!’ Tanisha whispered to Mel.

‘Sure, I’ll put it on after this,’ Mr DJ said, smiling at me.

‘Thanks,’ I said, returning his smile.

‘Wait, don’t go! Can you find it for me? It should be in that bag,’ he said pointing to a black record bag. ‘Do you mind picking out two more songs from there,
please?’

‘I thought that was Stephen’s job,’ I said, looking through the bag.

‘You’re better to look at than he is!’

I was gobsmacked. Was he saying that I was good looking? It didn’t help that Tanisha and Mel started silently mimicking kisses just out of his line of sight but definitely in mine.

‘Um, OK then,’ I said.

‘Cheers,’ he said, as I placed them near him.

‘Hey, are you going to dance or what?’ Tanisha said, pulling me to the centre of the room, as the intro for Council Crew’s latest track began.

We were still dancing three songs later, when one of Mel’s cousins told us that Dad was waiting for us downstairs. As Tanisha and I grabbed our coats and said our goodbyes, I noticed Laura
walking in from the balcony with Mr DJ. It took me a few minutes to speak. Mel and Tanisha simply followed my eyes.

‘Oh great!’ I said finally, and turned around.

‘No, wait! It’s not what you think, Makeeda, look!’ Mel said as another boy followed Laura and Mr DJ from the balcony.

‘Three is definitely a crowd,’ Tanisha added. ‘Go and say goodbye to him, then.’

‘Happy birthday, Mel!’ I said, hugging her. ‘He was probably just being nice to me.’

‘Makeeda, I don’t . . .’ Mel replied, but I was halfway out of the room before she finished.

I had a terrible feeling that it didn’t mean anything to him. I was feeling too weird about it, so I just continued racing downstairs.

‘Ohmigod, Makeeda, what is up with that?’ Tanisha said, chasing me.

‘What?’ I said. There was no way I was going to be shown up by Laura again.

‘Why didn’t you say goodbye to him?’ Tanisha asked.

‘Listen, high schools in England may not be as obviously segregated as the ones in America, but there is definitely that thing about cool people like him never looking at people like me .
. .’

‘Makeeda, you’re hardly a geek!’ Tanisha interrupted.

‘No, but I’m not like Laura or Mel. I know that boys like Mr DJ aren’t really interested in girls like me.’

‘That’s garbage, Makeeda!’

‘Hey, why are you two arguing in the cold?’ Dad said, interrupting us.

‘Uncle!’ Tanisha said, hugging Dad.

‘I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!’ Dad said.

‘It’s been five years, Dad,’ I reminded him.

‘I know, Makeeda, but I didn’t expect to see a beautiful young lady, instead of the scruffy teenager I knew!’ he said, making us laugh.

‘Oh, thanks, Uncle,’ Tanisha replied.

‘You know, you look more and more like Jennifer,’ Dad said gently.

I expected Tanisha to go quiet, with that blank expression she got whenever anyone mentioned her mother, but she didn’t. I was surprised to see her smiling broadly at Dad’s words.
She seemed proud.

‘How was the party?’ Dad asked, as we all got into the car.

‘Great!’ Tanisha said.

‘OK,’ I mumbled. My phone beeped.

I was feeling too weird to explain. Besides, Nick wouldn’t be interested. All he cared about was maths and smoothies; that’s why he did so well in his SATs, was my
maths tutor and had sold a load of smoothie recipes to a supermarket. Nick was a year older than me and never let me forget it. We grew up together as our mothers were friends. He reckons
we’re related, because our maternal grandmothers are from the same village in Ghana and are now neighbours in Kumasi. So, since we were little, he’s told people that we’re cousins
and has always acted that way. That’s probably why he switches off when I mention my love life.

I stared out of the window, and left Tanisha to tell Dad how English parties compared to the ones in America. I couldn’t shake the feeling that once again Laura had got the one guy I
fancied.

I looked up at the school gates. It was already four-thirty and most of the other kids were long gone, except for Bharti. Bharti and I had been friends since we met in primary
school. We called each other’s parents auntie and uncle. She was sitting on the wall reading another horror book, twisting her hair, and holding yet another chewy bar as part of her latest
diet. I never saw the point in depriving yourself of your favourite food, but Bharti always had some new idea for losing weight. She was a little bit chubby, but no way as obese as she
believed.

‘Finally! What took you so long?’ Bharti asked.

‘I had to help Mrs Hipman set up the Year Seven activities for tomorrow. It’s got really cold, hasn’t it?’ I said, doing up my jacket.

‘Tell me about it. Mr Burns kicked me out of the reception ten minutes ago! I thought you had detention?’

‘Not exactly,’ I lied.

The last thing I wanted was for her to know that I got detention for failing to hand in an essay plan for history. Bharti was always incredibly organised, so couldn’t understand why
everyone else forgot things like birthdays or essay deadlines.

‘She gave me an extension on that history project,’ I added.

‘Weren’t we meant to hand in the essay plans last week?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied.

‘We had ages to find a topic though!’

‘I know, but I couldn’t find the right one!’

‘I suppose it’s worth finding the right topic,’ Bharti agreed.

‘Have you done your science homework yet?’ I asked.

Bharti suddenly stopped walking. She crooked her head to the side and gave me a look of disbelief.

‘What’s up?’ I questioned, avoiding her gaze.

‘You liar! You weren’t helping Mrs Hipman – you had detention!’

‘Well . . .’

‘Makeeda, you’re such a poor liar!’ Bharti said, laughing.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, as she caught up with me. ‘Where’s Mel – netball practice?’

‘Nope, it got cancelled, so she’s gone to Laura’s house.’

‘Oh great!’ I said sarcastically.

I was annoyed. Mel had barely hung out with us since Laura started at our school.

‘It’s not like she stole your boyfriend . . . ohmigod, Parisian Pierre!’ Bharti said, clutching her mouth as she remembered.

Thoughts of Parisian Pierre floated into my mind. He was gorgeous, sophisticated and French, and had the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen on a boy. He had hung out with Nick and me most of the
summer, till Laura moved into the area.

‘Makeeda, I’m so sorry,’ Bharti added. ‘Oh well, you’ll always have me as your mate.’

‘That doesn’t make me feel better,’ I replied with a smirk.

‘Huh? After I freeze my backside off waiting for you . . .’ Bharti said, attempting to whack me over the head with her book as I ducked.

‘See, this is what I’m talking about!’ I said, laughing.

‘You’re too rude!’

‘I like to see it as being charming.’

‘Whatever! You carry on charming people with that mouth of yours, and you won’t have any mates left!’ Bharti said.

‘Cheers.’

‘Hey, you never finished telling me about that guy.’

‘What guy?’ I said, with a blank stare.

‘The one you met at Mel’s party?’

‘How could I forget? I don’t know his name, Bharti, but he’s gorgeous!’ I said. I felt a smile creep across my face.

‘Yeah, yeah, like Gary Parks?’ Bharti asked, giggling.

‘That was a mistake. He tricked me.’

This is why having an old friend can be a problem. Who else would remember that, when I was ten, I got asked out by Gary Parks, a boy I was working on a science project with? When I got to his
house, he was dressed really smartly and gave me a rose. It didn’t dawn on me what was going on until he gave me a Valentine’s Day card and tried to kiss me as we discussed
photosynthesis. I hadn’t clicked that our meeting was going to take place on Valentine’s Day.