‘Thanks for coming to my rescue, Zain,’ she said, turning around. ‘That buffoon is always intent on giving me detentions.’

Zain shrugged off her thanks. ‘Saba told me you’re trying out for the tape-ball league matches,’ said Zain. ‘I’m just trying to ensure you don’t miss practice at the nets. It’s this afternoon, right?’

Inaya nodded. Most of Inaya’s knowledge about cricket and its finer points came from covertly watching Zain’s cricket coaching sessions. In the beginning, Zain had been quite flattered by the attention, thinking that Inaya had taken a shine to him. It was only later that he discovered that she was far more interested in how he was being trained to read the ball, hold the bat, square his shoulders and never to hit across the line.

‘Abba doesn’t know about any of this, Zain,’ said Inaya. ‘Please don’t say a word to your parents either. If anyone asks where I am, say you saw me going home with Saba.’

Zain hung his head back in mock exasperation. ‘The reams of lies I’ve told for you over the years, Inaya; I’m going to burn in hell.’

‘There’s no guarantee of those promised virgins in jannat either,’ grinned Inaya. ‘Hell may not be that bad a deal.’

Zain shook his head at her. ‘Inaya Haider, you are incorrigible.’

‘Hmm. One thing is for sure, however. There isn’t a chance in hell that anyone there will have a better vocabulary than you, Zain,’ she chortled, seeing Zain scowl. ‘Wish me luck,’ she shouted over her shoulder.

‘Not a chance in hell,’ Zain shot back, a reluctant smile on his face.

In a makeshift cricket pitch, Inaya did warm-up stretches along with the dozen or so other girls who were also trying out for the tape-ball league.

‘Will we really get to play in a league tournament if we’re chosen, Inaya?’ asked Fariha, breathless with both excitement and exertion.

‘Yes,’ Inaya grunted, between stretches. ‘But we . . . only have . . . one chance . . . to impress . . . the selectors . . . We need to . . . give it all . . . we’ve got . . . in the next few weeks . . . ’

‘That’s the easy bit, Inaya. But if we’re selected, will we have to go to Karachi for the actual matches?’

‘No, not Karachi . . . London . . . The league matches . . . are in the UK . . . ’ she wheezed.

Fariha’s face fell.

‘I can’t try out then,’ she stopped halfway through a deep squat. ‘I’ll never be allowed to travel abroad on my own—and that too to play tape-ball.’

‘I felt that way too, at first,’ panted Inaya, continuing her sit-ups without missing a single beat. ‘But then I thought . . . if everyone else was going to be writing my life’s story, what was I even doing in that book?’