Bhangra Babes Read Online Free Page A
Author: Narinder Dhami
welcoming.
“Oh, look,” Chelsea said snootily, “it's our so-called mate, Amber.”
“You mean the one who always tells us
even/thing”
twittered Sharelle with a sanctimonious glare.
“Give me a break,” I groaned, sliding into a spare chair. “Besides, if we're talking about hypocrites …”
“I don't know who you could possibly mean,” Chelsea said, very unconvincingly
“Of course you do,” I said. “I saw the two of you flirting with George Botley on the way in. When I think of all the times you've made fun because he's got a thing about me—”
“We
weren't flirting”
Sharelle said with an attempt at dignity. “We were just chatting. He told us he spent the summer working on his uncle's farm.”
“Nice try,” I said, “but your eyelashes were fluttering hard enough to power the national grid.”
Chelsea and Sharelle blushed rosily.
“Well, what do you care?” Chelsea demanded. “You never liked him anyway.”
“And it looks like he'll leave you alone from now on, Amber,” Kim pointed out helpfully. “He's got so many girls after him.”
We glanced at George. Last year he'd trampled half the class underfoot to try to get a seat just behind me. Now he was sitting on the other side of the room, and Marcia Grant had bagged the chair next to him. She'd had to elbow Victoria Kwame out of the way to get it.
“Good,” I replied coolly. “I'm very happy for him.”
Chelsea and Sharelle smirked. Kim frowned. I was seriously annoyed. I simply could not understand why nobody believed me.
A welcome diversion occurred when the door opened and Mr. Arora walked in. The class erupted into cheers and whoops, and George Botley yelled, “Nice one, sir!”
Mr. Arora turned pink. Trying not to smile, he ushered in a tall, lumpy-looking girl with a skinhead haircut.
“Oh, my God,” I muttered.
Kim looked puzzled. “What is it?”
I shook my head. Geena got Golden Boy, and my class got Tank Girl. Isn't that just my luck.
“Nine J,
please.”
Looking highly embarrassed, Mr. Arora held up his hand.
“Don't worry,” Mr. Hernandez whispered loudly to him. “Your secret's safe with me.”
The rest of the class chuckled. I didn't. I was fixing the new girl with a stony stare to remind her that I hadn't forgotten about the
Daily Telegraph
she'd shoved down my sweater. A spark of recognition
flared in her eyes. Then she grinned. Yes. She
grinned.
Can you believe it? How rude.
Mr. Arora cleared his throat several times. “I'm pleased to welcome Kirandeep Kohli to the lower school,” he said briskly. “She's going to be joining this class, and I hope you'll all make her feel very welcome. But I'm going to ask one particular person to keep an eye out for her and help her to settle in…”
Oh no. Please. No.
I sank down in my chair and hid behind Kim.
“Amber?”
By this time I was practically under the table. Sulkily I hauled myself upright. “Yes, sir?”
“I'd like you to look after Kirandeep,” Mr. Arora said, smiling at me. “Or Kiran, as she prefers to be called. I know you'll do a good job.”
“She can sit here, next to Amber,” Kim said assertively, moving to the next chair.
“Oh, thank you,” I said, but my sarcasm went over everyone's head, except possibly Kiran's. She dragged her heavy rucksack across the room, looking as pleased as I felt.
“Do sit down,” I said silkily.
“Aaaargh!”
“Sorry.” Kiran heaved her bag off my foot. “I didn't mean to drop it on you. It was an accident.”
“Really?” I said through gritted teeth, massaging my throbbing toes.
“Oh, yes,” Kiran replied cheerfully. And she had the nerve—the
nerve
—to grin at me.
There was no doubt that this was war.
“K iran delivers your newspapers?” Kim beamed at me as we lined up for assembly. “So you already know each other. Isn't that great?” Her smile faltered a little as she took a look at my face. If I were a cartoon character, I'd have had steam coming out of my
“Oh, look,” Chelsea said snootily, “it's our so-called mate, Amber.”
“You mean the one who always tells us
even/thing”
twittered Sharelle with a sanctimonious glare.
“Give me a break,” I groaned, sliding into a spare chair. “Besides, if we're talking about hypocrites …”
“I don't know who you could possibly mean,” Chelsea said, very unconvincingly
“Of course you do,” I said. “I saw the two of you flirting with George Botley on the way in. When I think of all the times you've made fun because he's got a thing about me—”
“We
weren't flirting”
Sharelle said with an attempt at dignity. “We were just chatting. He told us he spent the summer working on his uncle's farm.”
“Nice try,” I said, “but your eyelashes were fluttering hard enough to power the national grid.”
Chelsea and Sharelle blushed rosily.
“Well, what do you care?” Chelsea demanded. “You never liked him anyway.”
“And it looks like he'll leave you alone from now on, Amber,” Kim pointed out helpfully. “He's got so many girls after him.”
We glanced at George. Last year he'd trampled half the class underfoot to try to get a seat just behind me. Now he was sitting on the other side of the room, and Marcia Grant had bagged the chair next to him. She'd had to elbow Victoria Kwame out of the way to get it.
“Good,” I replied coolly. “I'm very happy for him.”
Chelsea and Sharelle smirked. Kim frowned. I was seriously annoyed. I simply could not understand why nobody believed me.
A welcome diversion occurred when the door opened and Mr. Arora walked in. The class erupted into cheers and whoops, and George Botley yelled, “Nice one, sir!”
Mr. Arora turned pink. Trying not to smile, he ushered in a tall, lumpy-looking girl with a skinhead haircut.
“Oh, my God,” I muttered.
Kim looked puzzled. “What is it?”
I shook my head. Geena got Golden Boy, and my class got Tank Girl. Isn't that just my luck.
“Nine J,
please.”
Looking highly embarrassed, Mr. Arora held up his hand.
“Don't worry,” Mr. Hernandez whispered loudly to him. “Your secret's safe with me.”
The rest of the class chuckled. I didn't. I was fixing the new girl with a stony stare to remind her that I hadn't forgotten about the
Daily Telegraph
she'd shoved down my sweater. A spark of recognition
flared in her eyes. Then she grinned. Yes. She
grinned.
Can you believe it? How rude.
Mr. Arora cleared his throat several times. “I'm pleased to welcome Kirandeep Kohli to the lower school,” he said briskly. “She's going to be joining this class, and I hope you'll all make her feel very welcome. But I'm going to ask one particular person to keep an eye out for her and help her to settle in…”
Oh no. Please. No.
I sank down in my chair and hid behind Kim.
“Amber?”
By this time I was practically under the table. Sulkily I hauled myself upright. “Yes, sir?”
“I'd like you to look after Kirandeep,” Mr. Arora said, smiling at me. “Or Kiran, as she prefers to be called. I know you'll do a good job.”
“She can sit here, next to Amber,” Kim said assertively, moving to the next chair.
“Oh, thank you,” I said, but my sarcasm went over everyone's head, except possibly Kiran's. She dragged her heavy rucksack across the room, looking as pleased as I felt.
“Do sit down,” I said silkily.
“Aaaargh!”
“Sorry.” Kiran heaved her bag off my foot. “I didn't mean to drop it on you. It was an accident.”
“Really?” I said through gritted teeth, massaging my throbbing toes.
“Oh, yes,” Kiran replied cheerfully. And she had the nerve—the
nerve
—to grin at me.
There was no doubt that this was war.
“K iran delivers your newspapers?” Kim beamed at me as we lined up for assembly. “So you already know each other. Isn't that great?” Her smile faltered a little as she took a look at my face. If I were a cartoon character, I'd have had steam coming out of my