Dishonour Read Online Free PDF Page A

have u done now?
    She waits for the answer, imagining her friend’s candy-pink fingernails dancing across the keyboard.
    Lailla says: I’ve told Ryan u fancy him and he should msn u.
    Aasha is about to send a stinging response when another box pops up.
    Ryan wants to be your friend.
    Aasha chews her lip. She knows full well what her dad thinks about her having anything to do with boys. And as for a boy like Ryan, well, he’d send her ‘back home’ on the next plane in forty-two pieces.
    ‘No nice doctor or lawyer will want to marry a girl who’s been running around the town with every Tom, Dick and Henry.’
    And he’s right. Take Lailla. It doesn’t matter how many times she insists that she and Sonny have never gone all the way, no one believes her. So even if it’s true, which Aasha very much doubts, no boy will want her afterwards.
    Then again, messaging isn’t exactly the same, is it? It’s not real life. No one can say you’ve done anything wrong, can they?
    The box pops up. Another message from Lailla.
    Lailla says: PMSL at u angsting over what to do!!!
    Aasha doesn’t know whether she’s more cross at Lailla for knowing exactly how she’d react or herself for being so predictable.
    Well, not this time. This time she’ll live a little. If you could call it that in virtual reality. With a nod to her own courage she accepts Ryan as her friend. Almost immediately she regrets her decision.
    Ryan says: Hi beautiful .
    Aasha says: Hi.
    Ryan says: What u doing tonite?
    Aasha says : Not much. U?
    Ryan says: U gotta guess. Is it a. thinking about Lindsay Lohan or b. thinking about Aasha Hassan?
    Aasha says: c. doing ur maths homework.
    Ryan: Ha ha. Ur a funny grrl.
    Aasha is breathless and pink and doesn’t know what to say next. Fortunately Ryan sends another message.
    Ryan says: Will u meet me after school tomoro?
    Aasha says: I don’t think I should.
    Ryan says: Come on. I’m nowhere near as bad as everyone says.
    Aasha considers what to say next and almost squeals at her own daring.
    Aasha says: That’s very disappointing.

Chapter Two
    September 2005
    ‘Our words are dead until we give them life with our blood.’
    I’m frozen in my place in front of the television, the breath literally sucked out of me.
    The man on the screen is so angry, as if he can barely control it. His eyes shine with fury, not fear, despite the fact that he filmed himself making this speech just hours before he strapped explosives to himself and led the most devastating attack upon London since the Second World War.
    The newspapers have spent every day since 7 July reviling this man: evil, murderous, insane. Now his picture stares out from every broadsheet, every tabloid. His words ring out from every TV and radio station.
    He is dressed in an Arab keffiyeh, an AK-47 slung, almost casually, over his shoulder. He spits his death message out, each syllable a poisonous bullet.
    ‘Until you stop the bombing, gassing, imprisonment and torture of my people, we will not stop this fight.’
    But it’s not what he is saying that cuts me to the quickbut his accent. Thick and strong, as Yorkshire as coal dust. This is a lad from Leeds. Born in this country. Died in this country.
    Yet each toss of his head, each challenge in his face, tells me this man did not consider himself British. He is a stranger here. Unloved. Unwelcome.
    His words ring so true, he could be me. It feels like coming home.
    ‘You’ve got to be having a laugh.’
    Lilly pointed at Sam’s plate piled high with chocolate digestives.
    ‘What?’ he asked.
    ‘That is not a proper breakfast,’ said Lilly. ‘Get some cereal.’
    ‘I don’t want cereal.’
    Lilly raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t slept well and her feet were still swollen. ‘I don’t have the energy to fight, big man.’
    ‘Then don’t.’
    She reached for a packet of Cheerios. ‘For me?’
    He licked the chocolate from a biscuit.
    ‘Just a few spoonfuls for your poor old mother.’
    Sam