Free Shadow Sister by Simone Vlugt

to teach that next morning. News of what happened with Bilal is buzzing through the school and during my first lesson, everyone wants to vent about it. Hafid and Jeffrey shout that we should get tough on him, Yussef makes a couple of philosophical comments and Niels punches the air, pretending it’s Bilal. Abdel is the only one who doesn’t engage; he’s turned away, looking outside. That doesn’t surprise me –Bilal is his cousin, which is another reason I’d rather not spend too much time talking about it, but the class has other ideas.
    ‘Bilal is scum,’ Elvan says. ‘He’s not a good Muslim, Miss. He’s always doing bad things, like drugs and stuff.’ Her friends and a couple of the boys back her up.
    Abdel gives them a dirty look.
    ‘It’s time to move on, now,’ I say. ‘It happened, it’s been resolved.’
    ‘We think it’s horrible for you! We want to know how you are!’ Funda calls out, her eyes large.
    I’m sure they do, but I also know that they’ll clutch at anything to turn a boring Dutch lesson into a juicy conversation, and the minutest details will be spread through the school afterwards. I begin the lesson.
    After that I’ve got Bilal’s class, the final year students. They are older and less unruly. They don’t seem to need to talk about the incident so much. Only a few students, mainly girls, have something to say.
    ‘Bilal always feels insulted, Miss,’ Naima says. ‘You can’t do anything about it. You only have to blink for him to think you’re making fun of him.’
    ‘It’s true.’ Mohammed is a quiet student and the sound of his deep voice is so unexpected that I look up at him in surprise. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Miss. We’re all really impressed that you stayed so calm.’
    The rest of the class agrees and I’m moved.
    ‘Thanks, Mohammed. I appreciate you saying that.’
    We set to work. I’m so pleased I started teaching again right away. The support of my colleagues and students does me a world of good.
    I write everything to be copied down on the board. From time to time I look over my shoulder at the bowed heads behind me and feel warm inside. This is the reason I teach: it doesn’t just require energy, it also gives me energy. I love my students, well, most of the time I love them. When it’s Ramadan and they’re hungry and thirsty, I feel for them. I do my best to help them get good grades, a good report and, ultimately, a qualification. Nobody can take away the joy I feel when the future of an apparent no-hoper looks promising. Not even Bilal can take that away.
    I bump into Jan on my way to the staffroom afterwards. Rather than ask me how I’m doing, he says that telling everyone my story is causing unrest and suggests I be more discreet.
    I ignore him. Telling it over and over again reduces the chaos in my mind. But during the lunch break, I do feel the need for some quiet time.
    ‘I’m off for a wander,’ I say to Jasmine. ‘Do you want to come?’
    She shakes her head and points at her pile of test papers. ‘I still have to get through these.’
    ‘Can’t they wait?’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘All right.’ I put on my coat and get an apple from my bag.
    Jasmine turns to the test papers again, but then looks up and says, ‘You’ll be careful?’
    The note of concern in her voice touches me. We look at each other. ‘I’m only going to walk round the school.’
    It’s wonderful to be outside. It’s always so stuffy in the staffroom during the breaks. As I cross the playground, I toss my hair back and take a bite of my apple. Students nod shyly at me here and there or wave and come over.
    ‘Miss! Miss! Have you marked the tests already?’
    ‘I can’t do my talk today, Miss. I didn’t get much sleep and I don’t feel very well.’
    I keep the conversations short, promise to give their tests back this afternoon and tell Fatima that she simply has to give her talk, whether she’s got her period or not. I up my pace and walk around the