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Aug. 9th, 2016 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fry_sandhu"Can't believe we fell for it." Bexi grumbles, having told the other young people at the community centre about Fry being only seven and having escaped from Library club last week to join them in Skills Taster classes.
"Is he coming back this week?" one of the other students asks.
"Well he confessed to his Dad, who was cross that he'd lied about where he was, but then the librarian said that she actually did know where he was because they don't just lose kids from library club." Bexi says. "And then his Dad said that if he apologised to everyone and asked permission then he could do his punishment at home and come back, but he has to get his timetable approved by his parents. Like he's not to do any more hairdressing because they don't want him to cut someone's hair."
"Screw that!" Jordan, the boy who's parents had divorced during his GCSE years, glares. "He doesn't belong here, these are classes for people who need them, not for child prodigies."
There is a murmuring of agreement from some of the other students. Then Burhan, the refugee, speaks in his low, but clear, voice.
"I do not understand. Why does little Fry not belong?"
"Because he lied about his age." Bexi says. "He said he was a thirty year old man in a seven year old body, but he's actually only seven."
"I knew he was not thirty." Burhan says. "He did not know what Daesh was, by any of its names."
There is an awkward pause. Then Jordan tries to explain it again.
"He shouldn't be allowed in our class because he makes us look bad."
Burhan gives this some thought.
"If tomorrow war came here, and your schools were bombed, would you be happy that you had stopped him learning something today because it made you look bad?"
They are all quiet. Then Jordan rolls his eyes.
"Oh... bum. He's got a point, I guess."
***
At the end of the week, the students have more or less stopped noticing Fry's age. But Fry finds himself approached instead by tutors offering all manner of courses and coaching.
"I could get you through GCSE maths in three years at my twice a week evening class." the maths tutor offers.
"You'd be able to pick up Level 1 British Sign Language easily." the sign language tutor signs.
"I think..."
"Thank you, but he's not taking evening classes." Mum says firmly.
"Why not?" Fry complains.
"Because firstly, they're expensive." Mum says. "Secondly, if you want to do extra studying, you can do things Mr Irons set you first, to help with comprehension and language."
Even Fry has to admit that she has a point.
Just as they are about to leave, Fry catches up with Burhan. Something has been bugging him.
"Burhan, what will you do now?" he asks.
"I will study every day." Burhan says. "To get my GCSEs and A levels. And I will get a job, so that I can try to go to university." He thinks for a moment, then adds. "Fry, you will hear many things about refugees. But most of us just want to lead a normal life, like you."
Fry nods. "Good luck."
"And you." Burhan smiles, turns to go, then remembers something. "Oh, you said you live on London Road, yes? There was a refugee boy from my foster home about your age, Joram, he goes to the playground down there. He is very shy. Please be kind to him if you meet him."
"I'll try." Fry promises.
As they go, he wonders if what he learned this fortnight was more than he signed up for.
"Is he coming back this week?" one of the other students asks.
"Well he confessed to his Dad, who was cross that he'd lied about where he was, but then the librarian said that she actually did know where he was because they don't just lose kids from library club." Bexi says. "And then his Dad said that if he apologised to everyone and asked permission then he could do his punishment at home and come back, but he has to get his timetable approved by his parents. Like he's not to do any more hairdressing because they don't want him to cut someone's hair."
"Screw that!" Jordan, the boy who's parents had divorced during his GCSE years, glares. "He doesn't belong here, these are classes for people who need them, not for child prodigies."
There is a murmuring of agreement from some of the other students. Then Burhan, the refugee, speaks in his low, but clear, voice.
"I do not understand. Why does little Fry not belong?"
"Because he lied about his age." Bexi says. "He said he was a thirty year old man in a seven year old body, but he's actually only seven."
"I knew he was not thirty." Burhan says. "He did not know what Daesh was, by any of its names."
There is an awkward pause. Then Jordan tries to explain it again.
"He shouldn't be allowed in our class because he makes us look bad."
Burhan gives this some thought.
"If tomorrow war came here, and your schools were bombed, would you be happy that you had stopped him learning something today because it made you look bad?"
They are all quiet. Then Jordan rolls his eyes.
"Oh... bum. He's got a point, I guess."
***
At the end of the week, the students have more or less stopped noticing Fry's age. But Fry finds himself approached instead by tutors offering all manner of courses and coaching.
"I could get you through GCSE maths in three years at my twice a week evening class." the maths tutor offers.
"You'd be able to pick up Level 1 British Sign Language easily." the sign language tutor signs.
"I think..."
"Thank you, but he's not taking evening classes." Mum says firmly.
"Why not?" Fry complains.
"Because firstly, they're expensive." Mum says. "Secondly, if you want to do extra studying, you can do things Mr Irons set you first, to help with comprehension and language."
Even Fry has to admit that she has a point.
Just as they are about to leave, Fry catches up with Burhan. Something has been bugging him.
"Burhan, what will you do now?" he asks.
"I will study every day." Burhan says. "To get my GCSEs and A levels. And I will get a job, so that I can try to go to university." He thinks for a moment, then adds. "Fry, you will hear many things about refugees. But most of us just want to lead a normal life, like you."
Fry nods. "Good luck."
"And you." Burhan smiles, turns to go, then remembers something. "Oh, you said you live on London Road, yes? There was a refugee boy from my foster home about your age, Joram, he goes to the playground down there. He is very shy. Please be kind to him if you meet him."
"I'll try." Fry promises.
As they go, he wonders if what he learned this fortnight was more than he signed up for.
