A Change is Gonna Come Read online

  ‘This anthology […] is much-needed and long overdue.’

  Fiona Noble, Editor’s Choice, The Bookseller

  ‘One day I want to take the representation of BAME voices in YA for granted. I want every young person to find their reflection in a book and discover themselves through fiction. Bold and inspiring, this book leads the way.’

  Mariam Khan, blogger and host of #feminisminya

  ‘Eclectic in genre, emotion and style, but united by theme and brilliance, A Change Is Gonna Come is one of the best anthologies for young adults out there.’

  Wei Ming Kam, contributor to The Good Immigrant and co-founder of BAME in Publishing

  ‘[…] a veritable treasure trove of talent, featuring both present and future YA stars. […] by turns heart-warming, thoughtprovoking and unsettling, A Change Is Gonna Come has something for everyone. I highly recommend this book.’

  Cat Clarke, author of Girlhood

  ‘This is an essential collection for young people, and all readers who feel other, to realize they are not alone.’

  Sarah Shaffi, Online Editor and Producer at The Bookseller, and books previewer at Stylist

  ‘[…] an inspirational collection of voices – all of which are bound by the same energy and vigour, the same desire to bring about something new.’

  Pooja Puri, author of The Jungle

  ‘This lyrical and timely collection offers readers mirrors to feel a sense of belonging and opens a wider window on to a world of stories and storytellers who are writing the change.’

  Sita Brahmachari, author of Tender Earth

  ‘[A Change Is Gonna Come] is a must-read this summer.’

  Sonya Lalli, author of The Arrangement

  A Note on the Stories

  The purpose of this anthology is to give creative space to those who have historically had their thoughts, ideas and experiences oppressed. As such, we have not censored the topics covered by our writers. If you’re worried about coming across something that is particularly upsetting to you, see page 320 for the list of topics covered. We have included some resources that might help if you are affected by any of the issues raised or would like to find out more.

  Contents

  Title Page

  A Note on the Stories

  Foreword by Darren Chetty

  Introduction

  The Elders on the Wall Musa Okwonga

  Marionette Girl Aisha Bushby

  Astounding Talent! Unequalled Performances! Catherine Johnson

  Hackney Moon Tanya Byrne

  We Who? Nikesh Shukla

  The Clean Sweep Patrice Lawrence

  Iridescent Adolescent Phoebe Roy

  Dear Asha Mary Bello

  A Refuge Ayisha Malik

  The Unwritten Future of Moses Mohammad Shabazz Banneker King Irfan Master

  Fortune Favours the Bold Yasmin Rahman

  Of Lizard Skin and Dust Storms Inua Ellams

  About the Authors

  About the Illustrator

  Acknowledgements

  Topics and Resources

  Copyright

  Foreword

  I was delighted to be asked to write a foreword to this book. It features some of my favourite authors, as well as authors I strongly suspect will become new favourites. ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ is, as you probably know, the title of a song written by Sam Cooke that became an anthem of the 1960s Civil Rights struggle in the USA. It’s a song that captures the pain of racial injustice but also the determination and optimism required to change things for the better.

  Some changes are inevitable – night and day; the seasons; birth, ageing and death. Some proverbs – ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks’, ‘A leopard never changes its spots’ – suggest that change is impossible. But many changes are neither inevitable nor impossible. That’s what makes ‘change’ such a fascinating topic.

  The tension between changing to ‘fit into’ the world and changing the world to be more like we want it to be is present in so much storytelling. We can think of change as the space between who we are and who we want to be – between being and becoming – as individuals and as communities. Change is not inevitable or impossible; it requires imagination to picture how things might be, as well as courage and tenacity to work to make the imagined a reality.

  As a teacher, I want those I teach to believe that the stories they write can be about people like them. Yet many don’t, and indeed one child in my class announced that he thought ‘stories have to be about white people’. I think children’s writing often imitates their reading and there is plenty of evidence available that the range of books for children and young people being published is still too narrow and doesn’t reflect the country or the world in which we live. But, although it’s been a long time coming, this is beginning to change.

  Writers, like teachers, need to have optimistic views on change. You could say that both are in the business of ‘changing minds’ in some sense – not just their own minds but also the minds of other people. ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ is no mere prediction. It’s an expression of hope and intent. As James Baldwin wrote, ‘Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.’

  Thank you to Stripes for facing the situation in children’s publishing. Thank you to the writers in this book for their imagination, their optimism and their determination. May we all be inspired, emboldened and yes, changed, by reading their words.

  Darren Chetty – May 2017

  Introduction

  A Change Is Gonna Come has developed from a determination to convert hope into action, desire into intention. We know there is a wealth of talented writers of colour out there and we know their voices aren’t reaching readers as often as they should. Each of the twelve writers in this collection has brought their own individual take on the theme of ‘change’. The stories are inspiring but not all of them are stories of success and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  As Musa Okwonga’s poem, ‘The Elders on the Wall’ expresses, change is difficult, not least for those who are leading the way. The second poem in the collection, Inua Ellams’s ‘Of Lizard Skin and Dust Storms’, encapsulates the inescapable tension between change as both loss and gain.

  The stories gathered in this book take the reader from a past filled with prejudice and bravery of spirit, as in Catherine Johnson’s ‘Astounding Talent! Unequalled Performances!’ to a future where prejudice still exists but spirit has not been extinguished either, in Patrice Introduction Lawrence’s story ‘The Clean Sweep’. In both, it is clear that the people we love are central to everything.

  First love is the focus of Tanya Byrne’s ‘Hackney Moon’, a vision of hope for what is possible that should be held close at heart by anyone who has felt lost; Irfan Master, by contrast, reaches for the seemingly impossible in a mind-bending journey through time. The anchor, of course, is love.

  None of the writers here are afraid of taking on big questions, of looking at the world we live in and asking us to think a little harder and a little deeper at why things are the way they are. Why don’t things change? Why can’t they? Nikesh Shukla’s ‘We Who?’ and Ayisha Malik’s ‘A Refuge’ both take up this cry.

  And as change is, without doubt, about the future, I must make special mention of the four new voices included in the collection. Talented writers who are just at the beginning of their writing careers and whose names I am sure you will see adorning the covers of novels and story collections of the future. The publishing industry is changing and the incredible writing produced here is evidence of that. Discover a world where the mythic and the everyday intertwine in Phoebe Roy’s ‘Iridescent Adolescent’, glimpse the struggle of a girl trying desperately to maintain control in Aisha Bushby’s ‘Marionette Girl’, share in the sadness of losing someone and the joy of gaining unexpected new friendships in Mary Bello’s ‘Dear Asha’ and see what impact a chance encounter can have in Yasmin Rahman’s ‘Fortune Favours the Bold’. I, for one, cannot wait to read more from each of these talented writers.

  May the writing in this book be an inspiration and a statement of fact: a change is gonna come.

  Ruth Bennett, Editorial Director

  Stripes Publishing – May 2017

  Working on this anthology has been an incredible experience. Not only does it represent an important step forwards, it also showcases outstanding talent. Every teen deserves to be their own protagonist and at long last here is a book to reflect that.

  Aa’Ishah Z. Hawton

  A Change Is Gonna Come Editorial Mentee

  THE ELDERS ON THE WALL

  •

  Musa Okwonga

  I wish to change the world, and the elders smirk

  Since all I see before me is this:

  Their thousand-mile-high wall

  With no visible places to grip.

  Even if I climb it,

  I’ll have to leave so many behind

  While I rise towards these elders, who yell

  That they made it up there without help.

  “You youths can reach where we are if you toil,”

  They say, pouring oil down that wall’s face.

  They didn’t build this edifice,

  But they don’t seem aggrieved that it’s complete.

  What to do? The wall extends

  In either direction and out of view.

  My choices are two:

  Either I stand here,

  Chip away at each brick,

  Or, more d
angerously, turn and run from the crowd

  Till I no longer hear their anguished shouts,

  And somehow tumble forwards over those roughest roads,

  Those loneliest hills, and sprint, convinced

  There’s better out there, for all of us.

  I run, raging and so afraid,

  Joyfully and terrifyingly uncaged,

  To lands that even maps dare not touch,

  Through thoughts that scream I’ll not amount to much,

  Through dry-throated mornings, tears of regret,

  Fevers of loneliness, migraines of lost faith;

  And all that time, there’s no cloak

  Round my shoulders, no warm arm, because all

  Of those I love are chipping at that wall,

  Wishing for its fall.

  I lurch on, beyond self-doubt,

  Then further still, till I black out –

  And find myself atop a cloud,

  Looking down towards that wall,

  Behind which the elders are scurrying and scared.

  I call, though unsure I may be heard:

  “Change is hard; still, maintain the charge.

  They may have the safety,

  But the bravery is all ours.”

  I fear my message may not have drifted down

  Since the wind up here is strong,

  But then a friend raises a hand to hail me,

  And they press on.

  MARIONETTE GIRL

  •

  Aisha Bushby

  Ask me anything about Harry Potter. Seriously. I’ve done twenty-three quizzes online so far and got one hundred per cent on all of them. I’m a Gryffindor, apparently, although I don’t feel brave most of the time. Usually I feel scared when things don’t go to plan, but that’s for another conversation.

  My wand is seven inches, maple, unicorn hair, bendy.

  The bit about the unicorn hair is my favourite.

  Maple is supposed to mean I’m a natural traveller and adventurer. That made me laugh. On a scale of adventurousness, I don’t even register.

  Oh, and my patronus is a cat. That I can believe because cats thrive on routine. Did you know that if you try and disrupt their routine it messes with their mental health?

  I did, because I’ve researched it.

  A lot.

  FRIDAY

  12.01 p.m.

  Maths is my favourite subject. I like the certainty of it. We spend the first half of the lesson learning a new formula and the second half applying it to a worksheet. Also, unlike in English, we aren’t asked to contribute our opinions. That terrifies me.

  But today is different.

  I go to sit at my usual spot: third row in, by the wall. I don’t sit right at the back where Callum and his minions cluster, nor do I sit at the front.

  But today someone else has taken my seat and I freeze, actually freeze, by the door when I see her. A few people who had been following behind bump into my heavy rucksack and swear at me, but I don’t care. Eventually they squeeze past while I stay glued to the spot.

  “A problem, Amani?” Mr Delacourt asks. He has a stern-looking face with a thick greying moustache and he always sounds sarcastic, even when he’s being sincere.

  “Um…” I pause. I want to say someone is in my place but it’s a girl who’s just visiting for the day before deciding whether to join our school next year. Milly Wilkinson. Our form tutor, Ms Yates, introduced her to us this morning and she looks terrified.

  Plus it’s petty, isn’t it?

  Even so, I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll have to move around during my other lessons. Mr Delacourt’s drawl interrupts my worries.

  “Well, then, take your seat,” he says, shuffling through his papers. Everyone is starting to stare. I take the only seat left, which is right in front of Mr Delacourt’s desk, and already I feel exposed.

  I drop my bag to the floor, sit down and pull the chair forwards. As I do I feel something pliable beneath my fingers. I cringe. Someone has stuck a piece of used gum under the chair and I’ve just touched it.

  My uncontaminated hand shoots up.

  “Yes, Amani?” Mr Delacourt sighs.

  “Please may I go to the toilet?” I ask. Please, please, please. My heart beats in time with the request. I can feel the germs dancing across my fingers – it makes them tingle.

  “Has someone put you up to this?” He sounds irritated now.

  “What? No, I—”

  “You had plenty of time to go to the toilet during break. I’m sure you can hold it until lunch.” Without a pause he launches into the lesson, but I can’t concentrate.

  All I can think about is washing my hands. I can’t touch any of my things, either, so I flip through my book one-handed.

  Mr Delacourt’s words float in one ear and out the other. My mind is too full of worries to absorb anything.

  Instead I sit and watch as the clock tick-tocks closer to 1.00 p.m.

  1.03 p.m.

  I’m in the girls’ toilets before most people have even made it out of their lessons. I let the tap run extra hot and stick my hand under it for as long as I can bear.

  I feel the anxiety slip down the drain as I wash.

  But once isn’t enough.

  One, two, three.

  Some girls walk in and I have to speed up my ritual.

  They can’t know.

  1.27 p.m.

  “Chicken and sweetcorn again?” Gabby teases.

  I look up from my lunch in time to catch the amused expression on her face.

  “And, let me guess.” Efe joins us at the table. “Salt and vinegar crisps?” She grins. “And…”

  “A Mars bar!” they both finish together in a fit of giggles.

  “You are a weird one, Amani,” Gabby says, smiling at me fondly.

  Whenever we get into this sort of territory, I clam up. “Ha, yeah,” I mumble, swallowing half of my sandwich in one go. It hurts as it goes down – too dry.

  But they’ve already moved on to discussing their summer plans, barely registering as I sink further into myself.

  They don’t mean to be unkind.

  They just don’t understand.

  3.45 p.m.

  The bell rings, signalling the end of the day, and I rush out to meet Dad, who should be waiting in the car park.

  Or, at least, I try.

  On the way out Callum intercepts me. “Hey, Amaaar-niii,” he says, standing in my way.

  I hate the way he stresses the vowels in my name, drawing them out. He always likes to point out how ‘foreign’ my name is.

  Callum’s the popular guy at school and he loves to exercise his power by getting a few laughs from his friends. Unfortunately tormenting people like me will do it.

  I don’t say anything, just keep my head down and try to push past. We do a little dance as he matches his steps to mine.

  Eventually I mumble a request for him to move.

  “What was that?” he asks exaggeratedly.

  I glance at the clock. 3.51 p.m. I’m officially late. We won’t make it home in time.

  Callum still doesn’t move and my hands start shaking. I know he’s taunting me but all I can hear is the blood pulsing in my ears as the clock ticks on and on.

  Eventually I shove him aside, adrenaline fuelling me. I hear him yell after me, “Oi, you bit—” but I’m already out of the door before I can hear the rest, my breath coming in heavy pants as I race to Dad’s car.

  I’ll pay for this on Monday but right now I don’t care.

  “We have to hurry!” I cry as soon as I get in.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Dad remarks, but he starts the car quickly after he sees my face.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Five minutes,” I say, glancing at the clock.

  “Don’t worry,” Dad says, determined. “We’ll make it in time.”

  I wonder what would happen if we didn’t make it in time. I don’t find out as Dad speeds to get home and we step through the front door at 3.59 p.m. I know this because I set an alarm to go off at 4.00 p.m. It vibrates in my pocket just as I rush up the stairs to my room.