Does My Head Look Big in This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah

Author:Randa Abdel-Fattah
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic UK
Published: 2014-04-11T04:00:00+00:00

21

We’re invited to Uncle Joe’s house for dinner tonight. It’s Aunt Mandy’s birthday. She’s turning “forty-three”, although I’ve worked out the maths and she’s dreaming if she thinks she had Samantha when she was twenty. When I point this out to my parents in the car on our way they tell me to stop being disrespectful, but I catch them glancing at each other, stifling laughs.

When we arrive Samantha opens the front door and kisses us hello.

“Full-on religious look now, hey?” she says playfully, looking me up and down. It’s the first time I’ve come to their house wearing hijab as a “full-timer”.

“Yeah, because a jean jacket and cargos are really Koranic injunctions.” She punches me playfully on the shoulder and laughs.

George approaches me and scowls. “Your face looks fatter in a scarf.”

“Shut up, you dork.” Samantha aims a kick at him. He sticks his tongue out at us and runs out before we can attack him. Aunt Mandy walks down the staircase in stilettos and tight Capri pants, her peroxide hair reflecting the spotlights in the ceiling. Uncle Joe follows, his gold chains hanging down his shirt, tufts of black curly hair finding their way through the gaps between his shirt buttons. He’s wearing flip-flops and jeans. He’s fifty years old and uses more New Wave Gel than the guys at school.

“Happy birthday,” I say as Aunt Mandy comes over and kisses me hello.

“Thanks, darling,” she says. “You look so . . . different wearing that thing, Amal. A lot older. . .”

I fight back the temptation to remind her that she was born a brunette and her ankles are too thick for stilettos.

“Don’t sound so disappointed in her, Mandy,” my mum says, coming to my rescue. I want to give her a massive hug. “And I think Amal looks lovely.”

Aunt Mandy gives my mum a fake smile. “Oh, of course she does,” she coos. “Would you like to take if off now, Amal, sweetie?”

“Nah, I can’t be bothered. My hair’s a mess. Bad hair day. I’ll just leave it on.”

“Hmm, OK, it’s up to you.”

Samantha grabs my arm and pulls me towards the stairs. But Aunt Mandy insists we join them in the lounge room for a drink before dinner is served. “You’re young ladies now. You should join the adults.”

Samantha makes a retching sound and we reluctantly shuffle behind our parents.

The lounge room is decorated with little stuffed toys, koalas and kangaroos wearing T-shirts in the colours of the Australian flag. There’s a holder on the coffee table that’s filled with toothpicks with miniature flags stuck to their ends. The coasters are green and gold with the words Sydney 2000 written on them. I’ve never dared to ask where the Crocodile Dundee beanbag came from. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s handmade. I don’t think any free market would have the nerve to sell something so lame. The hands-down most hideous item in the room is the large oval mirror on top of the artificial fireplace with the metal frame.

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