Hey wats up? You ok?
It was Danial, sending him a message through Scratch’s interface.
Yusuf: Im fine
Danial: Told you middle school was the worst
Yusuf: Stop
Danial: You looked like you saw a ghost in your locker.
Yusuf: I gotta go
Danial: Wait. Tomorrow’s the robotics club. Are u ready???
Yusuf had forgotten all about the robotics club. He scrambled through his backpack for the flyer, which had a permission form on the back. He filled it out neatly, then went in search of a parent.
Abba was sitting in front of the television, dozing. The news was on, showing a hospital in some African country with wailing children and flies everywhere. Yusuf had never seen anything good on TNN. Even the animal stories were horrible.
Abba opened his eyes and looked at him. “Isn’t it bedtime yet, son?”
Yusuf nodded, then said, “Can you sign this, please, Abba?”
Abba sighed. “What is this?”
“Robotics club after school.” Yusuf gulped and tapped the frame of his glasses. “It’s free, don’t worry.”
Abba read the flyer slowly, lips moving as he took it in. “Is this the year you compete in TRC?”
Yusuf was surprised his father knew what TRC was. Had Danial and he ever talked about their obsession in front of their parents? He couldn’t be sure. “It’s a statewide robotics competition,” he said, just to be sure they were both on the same page.
Abba gave a tired smile, as if he already knew. “So, you’re going to take part in that?”
“If we get enough kids to join.”
Abba narrowed his eyes. “And will this help you in high school? Or college? I don’t want you wasting your time on something that’s not going to make you succeed.”
Yusuf tried to push the form closer to Abba’s face, but it was too late. Abba was on to his favorite subject. “You know, I struggled very hard when I came to this country. I was already in my twenties. I didn’t have any of the opportunities that young people who are born here do. Like your mother. Like you.”
“I know, Abba.”
“If I had gone to college here, taken all these science subjects, I’d be sitting in an air-conditioned office somewhere like the Khans, instead of in my shop where the AC doesn’t even work most days.”
“You like your shop,” Yusuf protested. “Where would everyone in Frey get their . . . stuff . . . if you didn’t have your shop?”
Abba was silent, staring down at the form. “There are other shops. So many of my customers have left me. Gone to the shopping center across town.”
Yusuf wasn’t sure he believed this. “Really? Why? You have the best things, and they’re always on sale!”
Abba shrugged. “This town is changing, beta. Slowly, slowly, like a wind that’s blowing through.”
Yusuf frowned. “What are you talking about? Changing how?”
Abba shook his head. “Never mind. I just want a better life for you and Aleena, you know that.”
Yusuf nodded. “Then can you sign the form, please? Kids who win regional science competitions get into good colleges.” He didn’t even need to base this claim on actual research. He was using all the buzzwords. Science. Good college.
Abba signed his name and went back to watching television, still muttering about his youth.
Yusuf returned to his room and typed on his computer.
Yusuf: Robotics club here I come!!!!!
Danial: Good, at least one thing is going right
9
Tuesday was supposed to be an excellent day. A restart. The first day of robotics club. Yusuf had decided he would be happy about the club no matter what happened with TRC.
He stood for a second outside his locker, hand on the cold metal. Then he turned away. Better not to open it and find another mean note. What could even top the last one? He didn’t want to know, and he definitely didn’t want his mood to be shattered so early in the morning. He could get a copy of his schedule from the front office.
His mind was wrestling with a question, though. What if the notes weren’t meant for him? Nobody knew which locker belonged to which student, after all. And if they were indeed meant for Yusuf Azeem, how did the person sending them know which locker to push them into?
Danial had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, so Yusuf walked the hallways alone, frowning. It was like wandering the desert, trying not to bump into a cactus. Danial was always talking about something, and Yusuf never really paid attention to his surroundings this early in the morning.
Today was different. There were still six and a half minutes until the first bell rang, so he could drag his feet and look around at the bulletin boards that lined the hallway. There was a big poster for football tryouts in the summer—the date had already passed—above the water fountain. The Frey Coyotes, only the most important team in town.
Right next to the football flyer was a long white paper with two columns. Names and locker numbers. Yusuf stared and then gulped. The mystery was solved. Everyone knew which locker belonged to which student. It was right there in black and white. Anybody could be sending him the notes. And they were definitely meant for him.
The air around him felt hot. He turned quickly and started to walk away from the bulletin board.
“Watch it, nerd!”
A big blue backpack that seemed to be stuffed with bricks hit Yusuf in the head. His breath whooshed out of him. He looked up. A chest covered in plaid. Big shoulders. A bushel of curly blond hair on a very white face. Or rather, angry pink.
“Ow, sorry!” Yusuf stammered. His head felt tender.
“You wear glasses, but still can’t see?” The boy’s tone was low, taunting.
Yusuf took shallow breaths and fiddled with his glasses. “Sorry,” he said again, not entirely sure he needed to be apologizing so many times, since the boy didn’t seem hurt. But he dipped his head and tried to move past.
“You better be, nerd,” the boy growled. “I don’t want the likes of you touching me. Or my backpack.”
The likes of him? Did they know each other? Yusuf squinted at him, trying not to stare. Ethan Grant. He’d moved to Frey in third grade, but hadn’t been in Yusuf’s classroom. He’d seen him after school a few times, but that seemed like ages ago. He’d grown at least a foot over the summer, while Yusuf had grown only a quarter of an inch.
Something about this injustice made Yusuf stand taller. “You’re the one who smacked me with your backpack.”
Ethan’s pink skin grew a darker shade of red. “Are you kidding me?” He leaned forward and growled, as if he couldn’t believe somebody would talk back to him.
Yusuf’s knees quivered, but they were covered with thick gray corduroys from the Walmart in Conroe, so he was sure Ethan couldn’t tell. “No.”
Ethan turned around and looked at the row of lockers on either side of them. “How come you’re carrying all your stuff? Which one’s your locker?” He gave Yusuf a mocking look. “Let me guess. It’s all the way near the gym.”
Yusuf couldn’t get the white paper on the bulletin board out of his mind. “How . . . ?”
The bell rang, and a group of students hurried past, talking loudly. Yusuf dipped his head and followed them, trying to blend in. Ethan howled a sudden burst of laughter at his back, but Yusuf didn’t turn around.
Classes passed in a blur. In social studies, they watched a video about Alexander the Great, then answered questions about his leadership style. Yusuf couldn’t stop hearing Ethan’s mocking laughter in his ears. He must be the person who’s been writing the notes, Yusuf thought. There was no other explanation.
“Yusuf Azeem, did you have breakfast this morning?” Miss Terrance asked loudly.
“Ma’am?”
Miss Terrance waved a hand with bright red nails at him. Her hair was green today, with silver barrettes holding up the right side. “You’re eating your pencil as if you’re starving, boy.”
A few kids giggled. Jared, sitting next to him as usual, threw him a sympathetic look. Yusuf didn’t really care. Ethan was the only thing he could think about.
He told Danial about the encounter at lunch. Danial shook his head sadly. “Ethan’s a bully. He used to sit behind me in third grade. He’d kick my chair in class every single day. Once he did it so hard, I fell and hit my head.”
Yusuf put down his orange juice. “You never told me this before.”
Danial shrugged, chewing slowly on a cheese stick. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Yusuf wanted to shout that it was definitely a big deal when a bully made you fall out of your chair. Then he remembered that Danial still didn’t know the full story about the notes in the locker. So he drank the rest of his orange juice in silence, still stewing over the incident in the hallway that morning.
Danial wasn’t done. “You better stay away from Ethan,” he warned. “He’s one of the Coyotes now, not someone you can mess with.”
Yusuf was hardly listening. “Coyotes?”
“The football team? Weren’t you listening to the morning announcements? They announced all the team members’ names.”
Yusuf stared at his half-eaten lunch. Growing a foot over the summer wasn’t bad enough, this guy was also on the football team? “Ugh. Some people have all the luck.”
Danial grinned a little. “And some people don’t have any,” he said, pointing at Yusuf.
Yusuf wanted to say “Shut up,” but Amma always told him that was rude. He stuck his tongue out at Danial instead, and went back to his juice.
Mr. Parker sat on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles. “Welcome to robotics club,” he solemnly told the kids assembled in the science lab.
There weren’t many of them. Yusuf looked around. There was Danial, of course, sitting right next to Yusuf with a huge smile on his face. There was a boy who looked older, with an easy grin and dark hair. Madison Ensley from science class sat in the far corner, looking bored. He wondered why she was there. He’d never met a girl who was interested in robotics.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker.” Danial continued to beam, as if he’d won the TRC already. Yusuf nudged him to tone it down a bit.
“Alrighty,” Mr. Parker continued, reviewing the signed forms on his desk. “We have four students so far. Danial, Yusuf, and Madison from sixth grade, and Tony Rivera from seventh grade.”
“That’s it?” Yusuf blurted out.
Mr. Parker nodded. “That’s it. Told you, son. Robotics isn’t too popular around here.” He looked a little sad, as if this fact pained deep inside him. He turned to write something on the whiteboard.
Danial leaned into Yusuf’s side. “I knew Cameron wasn’t going to show. He’s a liar.”
Yusuf jumped as the door opened slowly. “Maybe that’s him now.”
But it wasn’t. The door opened all the way and Jared entered slowly. “Is it too late to join the club?”
Mr. Parker turned back to face the class. “Not at all, Jared. Come in and find a seat. There are plenty to choose from.”
Jared sat on Yusuf’s other side. They nodded at each other, then looked away.
They settled in and got to work. Mr. Parker had written Welcome to Middle School Robotics on the board in slanted handwriting that looked like it was dozing off with boredom. “What’s she doing here?” Danial whispered behind Mr. Parker’s back.
Mr. Parker turned and frowned. “Really, Danial . . .”
Madison leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have four brothers,” she said loudly, arching her eyebrows. “I’ve always loved playing LEGOs with them. My mom used to buy me dolls when I was younger, but I never played with them.”
“Dolls are fun,” Danial replied in a normal voice, making everyone laugh. But it was a kind laughter, and Yusuf found himself relaxing despite everything that had happened that day.
And despite knowing they didn’t have enough team members to enter the TRC competition.
“Robots are machines that can be programmed to carry on a series of actions automatically, even make decisions based on their environment,” Mr. Parker continued. “We use them in conjunction with computers, which act as their . . . what?”
“Brain!” Yusuf answered quickly. This was easier than the alphabet.
“Correct.” Mr. Parker grinned. He seemed to be different from science class Mr. Parker, more relaxed. “Give me some examples of robots in the real world.”
“The assembly line for car manufacturers,” Yusuf replied, remembering the documentary from last week.
“Yup. What else?”
They all thought about this. Finally Tony the seventh grader raised his hand. “Bionic legs for disabled people.”
Jared said very quietly, “Vacuum cleaners? Like Roomba or something. My grandmother would give her right arm for one of those.”
Then Madison raised hers. “Oooh, I know! Amazon uses robots in their warehouses. For packaging orders and stuff.”
They were on a roll. The ideas came fast and furious. Yusuf couldn’t stop grinning at Danial. This wasn’t TRC, but it was robotics. It was something.
Journal entry 3
September 11, 2001
Something happened today that I don’t think I’ll ever forget, even if I live to be a hundred years old. My hands are shaking as I write, but Mrs. Clifton tells us that journaling helps process emotions, whatever that means.
So here goes. Our country has been attacked by terrorists. It seems so weird to write this, like I’m playing a part in a movie. But it’s true. Also awful and horrifying and scary.
We were doing history lessons in first period when an announcement came over the PA system. “Planes have hit the Twin Towers in New York City. Planes have hit the Twin Towers in New York City.”
I knew that voice—it was Mrs. Jahangir, our vice principal. She kept repeating the announcement over and over, and her voice sounded shaky, like she was crying. The kids kept looking at one another, puzzled, but I knew something serious had happened. Mrs. Jahangir is the strictest person at school. Nothing but the worst could make her cry.
It was definitely the worst. Mr. Jasper stopped teaching history and switched on the television in the corner of the room. It’s a big one—thirty-two inches—that we take out only for special occasions like watching a history video. Today is history in the making, Mr. Jasper whispered as he stared at the screen in horror.
We watched the news the entire morning. Nobody switched classes like we usually do; nobody even stirred from their chairs. My eyes ached, but they were glued to the TV. The Twin Towers are—were—two tall buildings in New York, and they’d been hit by airplanes. Not by accident as I first thought, but on purpose. We watched as the smoke poured out from one tower, and flames from the other. Red, angry flames licked the windows and concrete. The class next door came into our room at some point, because they didn’t have a television. Our teachers stood like statues, their faces full of horror and worry.
Finally Mr. Jasper switched the television off and made us go back to our textbook. But his hands kept trembling and finally he excused himself. I think he went to the bathroom to cry. That’s okay. Sometimes when things are really bad, I lock myself in the bathroom and cry too.
They decided to let us go home early. In the school bus, everyone was quiet. Confused. I couldn’t get the pictures out of my mind. The flames and smoke. The stunned faces of people covered in white ash.
Amma and Abba were watching the news when I got home. Sarah and Farrah baji were both crying, holding hands. They saw me and opened up their arms for a hug. I haven’t ever hugged anyone tighter than that, not even Abba when he gave me Silky as a birthday present last year.
We watched the replays of the morning together. I realized something even worse had happened after Mr. Jasper had turned the TV off in our classroom. The burning buildings had collapsed. “Like they were made of paper,” Sarah said, staring at the screen.
How is that eve
n possible? Don’t they make buildings out of really strong concrete?
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I whispered in Farrah baji’s ear.
She hugged me again and whispered, “I don’t either.”
We just have to take one day at a time.
10
“What do you mean 9/11 was terrible? Of course, I know. The whole world knows.” Danial kicked a pebble with his shoe as they walked to school. There were lots of kids on the sidewalk around them, some with parents, others without. “That’s like saying spinach tastes gross. Talk about stating the obvious.”
Yusuf shrugged. “I guess you’re right. But there’s still a big difference, because nobody really wants to talk about it. If you ask anybody about spinach, they’ll be happy to give you their opinion. But ask them about 9/11 and they get all quiet.”
“Maybe that’s how adults deal with tragedy. Our neighbor’s son was killed in Iraq and she never talks about it. If you ask her, she shakes her head and a vein pops in her forehead.”
Yusuf imagined a gigantic blue vein throbbing in the center of a white forehead. “My abba loves talking about the shooting in his store.”
“There wasn’t really any shooting,” Danial pointed out. “Only a guy waving his hands around. Who knows if there even was a gun in his pocket?”
Yusuf glared at Danial. “You better not say that in front of my parents. Abba will be heartbroken.”
They were almost at the gates of the school, on a little stretch of El Paso Street where an old, abandoned warehouse stood. “Why are you talking about 9/11 anyway? It happened two whole decades ago.”
Yusuf didn’t want to tell him about the journal. Not yet. He finally replied, “Rahman mamoo said history informs our present and affects our future.”
“What does that mean?”
Yusuf looked around, then stopped. He pointed to the old building in the distance. One crumbling white wall carried the words NEVER FORGET in deep black graffiti. “Look, that wasn’t there yesterday. It’s new.”
They stopped and inspected the graffiti. It was so fresh the paint glistened in the early sunlight. Many kids around them were pointing to it, murmuring loudly. Mayor Chesterton was very strict about graffiti. He’d called it a sign of the devil in a news conference last year, when graffiti had appeared overnight next to the courthouse. “That will be gone by tomorrow,” Danial offered in a small voice. “It always is.”
Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero Page 5