Fans of Fidan Meikle’s debut, My Name Is Samim, which won the Jhalak Prize, the Federation of Children’s Book Groups Book Award and the Hampshire Book Award, will be gripped to hear wise-cracking Zayn’s side of the story in this highly anticipated follow up.

Thirteen-year-old Zayn is a loyal friend, a gifted football player, and a refugee. In this extract from My Name Is Zayn, Zayn has just arrived at his room in an asylum hotel. Between 2021 and 2024, over 400 asylum-seeking children like Zayn disappeared from hotels in the UK. In November 2023, the High Court ruled that it was unlawful to house children in hotels. Zayn’s story is inspired by those children. 

My Name is Zayn
By Fidan Meikle
Published by Floris Books

The boy sat hunched on one of the beds, hugging his knees, clutching a thick, bright book with the number 1,000 on the front. I couldn’t read the words, but I liked the pictures: animals, mountains, and one creature that looked exactly like the boy himself – a startled grasshopper ready to leap. 

‘Zayn, meet Musa. Musa is from Afghanistan, too. Musa, this is Zayn,’ Miss Rose said, and surprisingly I understood her words.  

What a relief it was to share the room with another boy from Afghanistan. ‘Salam, Musa.’ I reached my hand out to the boy.  

‘Salam, Zayn,’ he replied. 

Pale and skinny, he looked like the kind of kid who’d keep to the corners, hoping no one would notice him. Musa wore an old Spider-Man cap that was too small for him, and when he shook my hand, I noticed a Spider-Man watch on his wrist. 

 Peter said something and looked at Musa, expecting him to translate.  

‘He says he will be back tomorrow to take you to school.’  

Peter smiled, then added, ‘Blah blah blah Miss Rose blah blah.’ We both turned to the grasshopper boy for translation.  

Musa’s eyes widened. ‘This man has a majestically scary smile,’ he mumbled in Dari. 

Peter, satisfied with the translation, flashed us a thumbs-up and left. 

Miss Rose said something to Musa in a soft voice, and he smiled and replied, ‘Okay.’

She turned to me and gave me a long look. 

I dropped my head, staring at my shoes.  

When the door shut behind her, I exhaled, slipped off my jacket, and flopped onto the bed. I looked around: two beds, two bedside tables, a small desk, a corner wardrobe and a window facing the car park. 

I am safe. There are walls around me and a roof above. I don’t have to look for food and shelter. I’m going to school.  

The last part made my stomach turn a little, but I let it slide. There is always something, I guess. As my sweet grandmother, who once chased a wolf from our yard with a slipper, used to say, ‘You can’t have a good walk without a stone sneaking into your shoe.’ 

I turned to the grasshopper boy. ‘Do you know if a boy named Samim is staying here?’ 

Grasshopper scratched his head. ‘Don’t know anyone by that name. Unless…’ He paused. ‘Unless he’s one of those kids who went missing.’ 

‘Missing?’ I sat up straight. ‘From here?’ 

‘Yes. I got here ten days ago. There were police in the lobby asking everyone questions. People looked worried, talking about three other children who’d gone missing.’

‘Three other children?’ I couldn’t believe it!  

Grasshopper nodded. ‘That’s why I don’t go out much. School and this room are all I know.’ 

Grasshopper’s words made something in my chest screech like an old gate on rusty hinges.  

‘Where do these kids disappear to?’ I asked. 

Musa shrugged. ‘I don’t know. When I asked Miss Rose, all she said was not to talk to strangers, told me to be careful on the streets.’

‘So, they think strangers are taking them?’  

‘Maybe. But some say the kids ran off on their own. So no one really knows.’ 

My mind spun with questions. I thought this place was supposed to be safe.  

‘If you don’t go out much, where do you meet friends? Where do you play football?’ 

Musa lifted his book. ‘Books are my friends. And football…’ He chuckled, shaking his head. ‘Not for me. I prefer reading to sports.’ 

My face fell.  

He doesn’t play football… What’s next? He doesn’t like sunshine?  

I flopped back onto the bed.  

So, Samim isn’t here. But there must be other places like this for refugees in England. Or maybe he found Uncle Jalal? 

‘Who is Samim?’ Musa set his book aside. 

‘My friend. We got separated, and I don’t know what happened to him.’ 

Musa dipped his head. ‘It’s really hard to lose people you love.’

I glanced at Grasshopper. Of course he knew the feeling. He wouldn’t be here, in this hotel, if he hadn’t lost someone, or everyone, too.  

‘Don’t worry, Zayn. You’ll find Samim.’ He smiled at me. 

‘How do you know?’ 

Musa shrugged. ‘I just know. I have a special feeling.’ 

I heaved a massive sigh. ‘I hope so.’ 

Musa reached for his bedside drawer and pulled out a small triangular cardboard box with a sandwich inside. 

‘Want some?’ He held it out to me. 

Of course I wanted it. I was always hungry. Back home, my mother would laugh and tease, ‘Zayn, your belly’s a bottomless well! You could swallow a cow and still ask for a goat to go with your tea.’

But since it was my first day with my new roommate, I decided to show some manners and forced a polite smile. ‘I am not hungry, thank you.’  

My stomach grumbled and cursed at me in response. 

Musa took the sandwich apart and started eating the plain bread. I propped myself up on my elbows, a puzzled look on my face. 

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Musa said. ‘Why is he eating a sandwich before dinner?’ 

This was not what I was thinking.  

‘I get hungry between meals sometimes,’ Grasshopper explained while chewing. 

He shoved the last piece of bread in his mouth and shook a floppy cheese slice in front of his nose. ‘Mmm, my favourite part!’ 

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. ‘Why are you eating like this? Why destroy a good sandwich?’  

Musa snorted. ‘I just like to eat my food in order.’  

‘What order?’  

‘Alphabetical order.’ 

He must be joking. 

‘You see, bread starts with B, and so I eat the bread first. Then cheese because it starts with C.’ He shook the cheese slice again. ‘Then chicken. Then lettuce. Then tomatoes.’  

The English words made no sense to me. 

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Musa chuckled. ‘Why am I following the English alphabet and not the Dari one?’  

Again, this was not what I was thinking. 

‘You see, I figured since I live in England and follow English rules, it is only fair that I follow the English alphabet, too.’ 

I stared at him owl-eyed for a few seconds, then sighed and flopped back on the bed. 

Why do I always get stuck with melon-heads?  

Stay out of trouble. Auntie Farida’s words echoed in my mind.  

That was my plan. Stay out of trouble and get my refugee status. Then I’d travel to every city in the UK if I had to and knock on every hotel and foster-home door until I found Samim. 

My Name is Zayn by Fidan Meikle, is published by Floris Books, priced £7.99.