‘And you won’t get any better at judo unless you practise!’
said her dad.
Fizza sighed deeply. It was always the same thing. Her
mum thought she used her computer too much and her dad
thought that she should be an Olympic judo champion.
Fizza’s dad thought that judo was the most important thing
in the world. When he wasn’t practising it, he was talking about
it. He had taken up judo as a small boy and eventually he had
become National Champion of Scotland. However, Fizza did
not love it as much as her dad.
‘Actually Fizza, I think you’re really making progress now,’
he said. ‘You’ll be a champion yet! But I’ve told you before, you
should join a judo club!’
Once again Fizza sighed. She didn’t mind practising in the
garden, but she didn’t want to join a judo club because judo
wasn’t ‘cool’. Her best friend Babs didn’t do judo and nor did
any of the other ‘cool’ girls.
‘Dad! Are you crazy?’ she said.
‘I’m sorry?’ said her father.
‘You teach me everything. What else can a club teach me?’
said Fizza.
Imran laughed at this sweet talk and Fizza jumped up
from the table.
‘Come on, old man. Let’s have a race to the garden – and
I promise I’ll be gentle with you!’
* * *
At about six thirty, the doorbell rang.
‘Fizza!’ her mum called up the stairs. ‘Babs is here!’
Fizza ran down the stairs. Her friend was waiting for her
in the hall.
‘Hi, Babs!’ she said.