So are you looking forward to our holiday, Fizza?’ asked
her dad.
‘No—,’ thought Fizza.
‘Yes, she is!’ interrupted her mum. ‘Aren’t you, darling?’
Fizza smiled falsely through a horrible mouthful of curry.
‘I can’t wait! I love the Channel Islands, but this will be the
first time I’ve been to Sark,’ said Fizza’s dad as he greedily1 took
another big spoonful of food from the bowl. ‘It’s the smallest
of the islands, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, and no cars are allowed there, so it’s going to be quiet!
Fresh air and no pollution!2’ said her mum.
‘How wonderful!’ said Imran.
‘How boring!’ thought Fizza.
Fizza’s mum, Rubel, worked for Birmingham Council3 in
the Environmental Offi
ce. It was her job to make Birmingham
cleaner and ‘greener’, but it was a diffi
cult job with so many
cars and factories in the city. Th
ere was also too much rubbish.
So a holiday on an island with no cars was her idea of a perfect
holiday. However, it was not
Fizza’s idea of a perfect holiday.
She loved the city. She loved Birmingham! It was busy! It was
loud! It was home!
‘Right!’ said Imran, as he fi
nished his meal. ‘Come on,
Fizza – let’s practise some more judo.’
‘But I wanted to go on the computer,’ said Fizza.
‘Felicity
,
’ said her mum, ‘you’re always
on that computer.’
It was true. Fizza loved her computer. She spent hours
working on diff
erent programs and she was the best in her
class at information technology. It was the one school subject
that she knew
she was good at.
‘But I want to talk to my friends,’ she replied.
‘Can’t you use the phone?’ said her mum. ‘Or better still,
go and visit them – like I did when I was a girl