Homeroom ended soon after and Happy packed and left while Saad was still plying Sweety. He had been in high school for two hours and was already on the principal’s shit list. It’s what he deserved for thinking he could act cool. What was he thinking making that crack at Saad? He’d gotten excited to have that time with a hotty like Sweety and let him get in his head. He’d deposited his backpack in his locker and pulled out his thermos and foil-wrapped roti for lunch. He walked to the cafeteria. He had negotiated a toonie from Mummi to buy a first-day treat so he stood in line with the kids buying a full lunch to see what they had at the end.
As he took a place in line he stared at the gold coin core with silver rimming. In middle school it had been enough for ai subsidized school lunch - grilled cheese, pita pizza. This wasn’t how school was supposed to go. In middle school all the misbehaving kids had been swiftly sent to places Happy had never seen - the principal’s office, detention hall. Now he had been marked with that filthy brush and it would take some effort for the ink to rub off. The establishment seemed resigned to the corrupting influences of this place. They let the mould of the surrounding neighbourhood grow inwards without scrubbing at it. All they would do is protect the truly righteous from infection and isolate them from the apostates.
“Yo Singh,” said another sikh boy in a kesri orange turban wrapped tighter and higher than Happy’s. He was beside Happy, with an insulated lunch pail over his shoulder that kissed Happy’s shoulder.
“Yo,” Happy responded. The other Sikh boy was shorter, with a rounder belly that extended out past a full chest built thick by daily milk consumption.
“Yo, I seen you somewhere right?”
Happy was mindful of his own headdress in comparison, a white ramaal that was juvenile compared to this boy’s adult turban, a seven meter clothes meticulously rolling into a rope each morning and then wrapped tight around the head like gauze for a head wound. At the end of each day it was unwrapped, unrolled and hung to dry off its head sweat. Too delicate for washing machines, it was handwashed in the tub, it’s colour leaking out and reddening the wash water.
Happy still had to graduate to a patka, the intermediate step where his entire head was covered in a single thin later of cloth that was tied up clothes on the top of his head over his bun. Mummi had suggested she tie one on him for today but he had declined due to the time required as he sat getting restless.
“I went to Smithfield,” Happy said, hoping to help the boy narrow down his mental search.
“Which gurdwara do you go to?” the boy said, referring to the church of the Sikhs. Happy spotted the strap of his kirpan poking out the collar hole of his hoodie. The religious dagger and scabbard was only worn around the necks of baptised Sikhs, those most devout of them. They who’d sworn off meat and drugs and said the lord’s name with each inhale and exhale.
“I don’t go…” Happy said.
“Fuck you mean you don’t go?” the boy said. This guy was a religious nut and Happy should be wary. If he wasn’t careful this boy would whip his out and start stabbing everyone.
The line moved forward and Happy took it as an excuse to take a few longer steps forward, but the boy kept pace.
“My dad doesn’t wear a turban and my mum just prays in her room all day man. I know I look super religious but my nahnee just made me stop cutting my hair the last time I went to India,” Happy said, asking for pity.
The boy softened.
“I’t’s OK, but yo, you can’t be walking around with your gutti out at this age. Come to the Rexdale gurdwara with me one day and I’ll get you sorted. Ask the younger gyanis for Shera,” the boy said, walking away to a table with other Sikhs.
This was Happy’s curse. To be seen as someone he’s not just for dressing the part. He liked rap and sexy HBO shows but at first glance everyone thought he was a zealot who wanted to enslave a young wife and lead a separatist movement.
But Happy didn’t have to choose between thug life and Khalistanism. He had Ram, his best friend from middle school. He would be the constant in this changing algebra formula, although Algebra wasn’t on the curriculum until grade 10.
Happy stepped forward in line and looked at the rack of options. Everything cost three-to-five dollars and the kids were loading their trays with poutines, burgers and spaghetti. Happy had only eaten a burger a handful of times, and it seems too festive for a regular schoolday meal. These ones smelled differently from the ones he dreamed of as he ate his mayo in front of the TV at night. He stepped further and was now close to the register with nothing to pay for. He stepped out of line and out the door. The line to get back into the caff was now out the double doors. He spotted vending machines and spent half his allowance on a can of coke and the other on a bag of nacho cheese chips. He held his home-paxked lunch and storebought snacks tight in between both hands at his chest. He regretted dropped the tray.
Happy scanned the tables and spotted Ram sitting at one in the corner near the emergency doors on his own. He sat slouched, mushroom cut ending abruptly in shaved sides, a new haircut. His full cheeks gave away his chunky thighs which had made him be picked only second last before Happy in team sports. Ram wore his new jersey. It was a Lakers black and yellow joint that Happy had seen on the back wall at the mall store so it was harder to swipe. Happy gave Ram the upwards nod of a friend. Happy had learned that this was meant to expose the neck and this convey trust. Ram tipped a gentle nod back, scanned him up and down and refixed his eyes on whoever he was watching across the room. In his tray was a barely touched burger. The rest of the plate was 90% fries with a squirt of mayo, blemished with the first few swipes of fry greese. Beside his tray was an open workbook with scribbled notes and a loudly-coloured gel pen.
“Fuck you did grow over break. What kinda roids is your mom sprinkling in your sabji?” Ram said. His Phat Farm t-shirt was cripsy white like snow. Happy sat down across from him, obstructing his view.
“You know I don’t eat sabji bro,” Happy said with a tinge of pride. He pulled the tab on the coke can to hear its carbonic belch.
“Yes god forbid you eat a vegetable, or buy new shoes. So, what have you learned?” Ram said
In his quick survey he had apparently noticed Happy’s retired shoes. The outer heels were worn to the nub from repeated hard use. Happy put his legs forwards and rested on those heels. He could feel the cool concrete floor through the remaining material.
“I got fire shelltoes at home. I’m saving them for tomorrow. I got Sweety in my class, and this guy Saad, who’s older brother is Moose. He’s a dick though,” Happy said.
“That’s it?” Ram said.
Happy nodded confidently, unwrapping the crumpled foil to reveal a room temperature roti, spotted with burn marks like a jaguar. Ram marked something down in his notebook before speaking.
“You gotta start buying your lunch here. Can’t be getting haldi stains on your pants before fourth period. I’m just trying to look out for you. Listen, we’re on our own out here. We need each others backs. I can’t be seen alone at lunch again. We gotta meet up ahead of time. I tried calling you this morning. Now, I’ve been set up here since before the bell rang to see what’s happening. On the gang side, the 12s run shit, which seems obvious. Moose, Billa and the rest of the Blitz are in Grade 12, but they don’t come here. They’re at the mall. Now, after the 12s there’s no one else until the 9s, where their younger brothers are coming in. You met Saad, but Billa’s younger brother Amit is also around. On the smart side there’s no real clique in the 12s. The likely valedictorian is a gori. In the 10s and 11s there’s a lot o smart kids but they’re not super popular,” Ram said before taking a giant bite out of his burger.
Happy busied himself unscrewing the lid on his blue stout thermos to reveal his dahi, keeping the slightest cool since morning. Soggy boondhi floated at the top. The yellow contagion of tumeric was a chronic risk when eating sabjis. Happy hated sabji, but still had turmuric, or haldi, stains on him since he was in Daddi’s pants. He couldn’t escape the image of the ref.
“I got that new number. We were moving yesterday,” Happy said.
Saad flashed a look apologetic.
“Of course. Did your uncle spazz out?” Ram said, looking over Happy’s shoulder. He had thought ahead and sat with his faces towards the savannah. Happy looked over his shoulder too.
The cafeteria was divided on race lines even more pronounced than middle school. It reminded Happy of the nature docs he got on the antenna at home. The main dividing line was black vs indian - kala vs desi. The few gora mingled with the kala like barnacles on whales. The guyanese - coolies were swing assets, sitting with a group of either side based on their racial mix.
Even amongst the main races, subraces further decided friend groups. From the kala, Jamaicans and Somalis each stuck to their own. From the desi, Lankans, Punjabis and Pakis all sat apart. The two races also factored on another line. There were the born heres and the refs (short for refugees). There were more refs amongst the desis as they’d been in Canada couple decades less than the other groups, and were still coming in hordes.
“Nah, it was whatever,” Happy said.
Happy did another obvious sweep over his shoulder. He saw Saad chatting with the Somalis and then moving onto the religious muslims. He seemed to be in, or making himself in, with every clique that had a little danger to them. Then he spotted that Sweety had finally sat down with a group of girls.
“We need an in with the chicks. We’ll get a chance at the asian dance if we’re lucky” Ram said.
“I’m not trying to get a girlfriend right away. Gotta focus on grades. Girls will come later,” Happy said.
“You can have both if you’re not gay. Walk to my place tomorrow and we’ll come in together,” Ram said.
Happy swung back around. Ram had mayo below his bottom lip.
“But you live the other way from school,” Happy said.
“That’s what we did all through middle school,” Ram said.
“But you were closer then. Now I’m closer,” Happy said.
“Come on, don’t be counting everything. We gotta have each other’s backs,” Ram said.
Happy’s bottom lip trembled before he reigned it in.
“Saad invited me to a party in my building. Sweety and other girls are going to be there,” Happy said, enjoying the sting it arose in Ram’s expression. He had stopped chewing his food and started chewing Happy with his squinted eyes.
“Why would he do that? You said he was a dick,” Ram said.
“I don’t know. I checked him at the beginning of class and I think he recognized,” Happy said.
“I’m having trouble believing that. You gotta get me an intro tomorrow,” Ram said.
“Yeah I will,” Happy said.
“So you’ll ring me tomorrow?” Ram asked.
“Sure,” Happy said, wrapping up his roti, only half eaten.