Bindi Babes by Narinder Dhami Page A

up, Eight A.” Mr. Arora swept through the classroom door like a whirlwind, his arms full, dropping books and folders as he went. He was lookingpale and tetchy, as all the teachers were, and he was getting paler and tetchier every day as the inspectors' visit approached. “I expected you all to be sitting down five minutes ago. Get your books out. Who left that chewing gum on the bookcase?”
    We all rushed smartly to our seats, even people like Darren Bell who thought they were hard (and actually
were
hard). In the mood Sleeping Beauty was in, you could get sent straight to Mr. Grimwade for putting a foot wrong. And the mood Mr. Grimwade was in, you could end up painting the outside of the school or repairing the roof.
    Mr. Arora chucked his books and files down on the desk and grimly attacked the register. “George Botley.”
    “Here, sir,” Botley called. He followed up with a loud burp, which made the lowlifes in the class snigger.
    “Ambajit Dhillon.”
    “Here, sir,” I called. And then, absolutely from nowhere, I got this blinding idea.
    The solution to our problem was sitting straight in front of me.
    I grabbed my rough book and scrawled,
Mr. Arora!
on a clean page. Then I pushed it across to Kim.
    She looked at it blankly and wrote,
What about him?
    I've found Auntie a husband
, I scribbled triumphantly.
Mr. Arora! What do you think?
    Kim looked nervous.
I think I'm having a panic attack.
    “Line up for assembly, please,” Mr. Arora called as the bell rang. “And Botley, don't stand behind Amina
    Khosla. It took us ten minutes to untie her plaits yesterday morning.”
    “You're not serious?” Kim gasped, as we put our books away. “Mr.
Arora?”
    “Why not?” I replied. “He's perfect in every way.”
    “But you don't know if he's married already” Kim said. “And there's no way you can possibly find out.”
    I was amused. “That's what you think.” I went over to Mr. Arora, who was standing by the door on Botleywatch. “Sir, can I ask you something?”
    Mr. Arora nodded. “Of course, Amber.”
    “Are you married, sir?” So it was a bit cheeky, but I reckoned I was enough of a favorite to get away with it.
    Mr. Arora's handsome face crinkled into a smile. “No, I'm not, Amber,” he replied. “Why? Are you offering?”
    The rest of the class sniggered and I blushed daintily. George Botley even looked jealous, the fool.
    “I'd never have had the nerve to do that,” Kim said weakly as I joined her at the back of the line. “I'd have dropped down dead. I'd have shriveled up and died. I'd have—”
    “Yes, well,” I said victoriously. “Now we know.”

    “Mr.
Arora?”
Geena shrieked. “You've got to be joking!”
    “Why?” I asked. Jazz was pulling faces too. I'd rushed to tell them my idea at break time, and this was the annoying result.
    “Because he's
gorgeous
, that's why,” Geena groaned. “He's a boy babe. He's much too good for Auntie.”
    “Anyway, isn't he younger than she is?” Jazz asked.
    I scowled. “Only a couple of years, I think.”
    “He'd never fancy her,” Geena scoffed.
    “Why not?” I argued.
    “I suppose she
is
quite pretty,” Jazz said grudgingly.
    “Whoever marries Auntie is going to be our uncle,” I reminded them. “Do you really want someone with a wooden leg or a sad specimen who collects bus tickets?”
    Geena nodded. “That's true.”
    “Can you imagine how jealous all the girls would be if Mr. Arora was our uncle?” Jazz added, beginning to warm to the idea. “We could sell photos of him and locks of his hair and stuff.”
    Geena and I did not reply.
    “Oh, all right,” Jazz muttered. “It was just an
idea
.”
    “Right,” I said. “We're going to have to do our best to get them together.”
    “And how exactly are we going to do that?” Jazz asked.
    Geena looked encouragingly at me. “Yes, Amber, how?”
    That was a question, all right. I had absolutely no idea. “Why do you always expect
me
to come up with all the