You Changed My Life Read Online Free PDF

that we all live recklessly, we kids from
the projects. There was never any sign strong enough to let us know we were headed down the wrong path. The parents didn’t say anything because they didn’t know what to say, because even if they didn’t approve of our attitude, they were incapable of straightening us out. Most North African and African children experience things as they come, no matter how dangerous they might be. That’s the way it is.
    The lessons were only heard, not learned.
    â€œYou’re heading down a dangerous road, young man!” warned the teacher, the store manager, the police officer who caught us for the third time in two weeks.
    What did they all expect? That we’d cry out in fear, Oh God, I’ve done a bad thing, what came over me, I’m ruining my future! The future was a foreign concept, impossible to imagine. We didn’t think about time, or plan for the things we’d do and those we’d try to avoid. We were indifferent to everything.

    â€œAbdel Yamine, Abdel Ghany, boys, come and see. You’ve got a letter from Algeria.”
    We didn’t even bother to tell Amina that we didn’t care. The letter sat on the radiator in the hallway until Belkacem found it and decided to open it. He gave us a meek summary.
    â€œIt’s your mother. She asks how you are and if school is going well, if you have friends.”
    I burst out laughing.
    â€œIf I have friends? Papa, what do you think about that?”

    We were obliged to go to junior high, so we went occasionally. We got there late, talked loudly in class, helped ourselves to jackets, pencil cases, book bags. We did it for fun. Everything was for laughs. The fear we saw in the others’ faces excited us just like a gazelle’s taking off excites a lion. Chasing an easy target wasn’t fun. To see them hesitate, though, to see the signs that they’d realized the danger, to listen to them try to get away, to let them think we meant well before attacking . . . we were merciless.

    I got a hamster. A girl at school, where I was now in eighth grade, gave it to me (against her better judgment, but nobody else wanted it). Poor thing, she’d spent all her pocket money to buy herself a friend, and when she started to take it home, she was suddenly afraid of getting in trouble . . .
    â€œI shouldn’t have bought it. My dad has always said he doesn’t want animals in the apartment . . .”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll find him a new home.”
    This little rat’s funny. It nibbles on its cookie without complaining, it drinks, it sleeps, and it pees. My math notebook is soaked with it. For several days, I carry it around in my backpack. In class, it behaves better than me and when it decides to make noise, my friends cover for it: they squeak really well, too. The teacher is surprised.
    â€œYacine, did you get your hand stuck in the zipper of your pencil case?”
    â€œSorry, ma’am, it’s not my hand, and it really hurts!”
    Explosive laughter in the classroom. Even the little rich kids from the XVth appreciate our stunts. Everybody knows
the real source of the strange noises coming from my bag, but nobody tells. Vanessa—that girl again—is a softie and worries about the hamster. She comes to see me at recess.
    â€œAbdel, give it to me. I’ll take good care of it.”
    â€œHoney, an animal like this costs money.”
    Extorting funds didn’t work out for me the first time, so I’m looking to get my revenge.
    â€œToo bad. Keep your hamster then.”
    Crap, she didn’t bite, that bitch! I come up with a devilish idea: to sell her the animal—in pieces.
    â€œHey, Vanessa, I’m thinking of cutting off one of its paws tonight at the slab, to see if it can run afterward. Want to come see?”
    Her blue eyes roll around in their sockets like my underwear does in the washing machine.
    â€œAre you nuts?