“I don’t even understand what the group wants.” Abba sounded bewildered. “What Trevor wants.”
“Some people . . . are just troublemakers,” Officer Strickland replied. “They want things to remain the same, like it was hundreds of years ago. They don’t want change, especially if that means they lose their place in life.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Tell me about it. Change is the best part of life, my wife always says.”
The men went into the store, still talking. Yusuf sat on the sidewalk with Danial, trying to breathe. Rusty wove in and out of their legs, meowing. For once, Danial said nothing. He kept staring at the paint on the wall, his lips moving soundlessly. “Say something,” Yusuf finally begged.
“What is there to say?” Danial pointed to the wall. “That says it all, doesn’t it?”
“Do they really feel this way about us?” Yusuf whispered. “I thought this was our home.”
Danial patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, dude. The truth hurts.”
By the afternoon, the entire town had heard about the incident. A reporter from the Frey Weekly asked Amma and Abba questions. Amma answered tersely, while Abba stood at her side. “Do you have any enemies, Mr. Azeem?” the reporter asked.
Abba looked up, bewildered. “Enemies? Everybody loves Azeem from A to Z, don’t you know that?”
Amma looked straight at the reporter with a grim face. “Yes, we do have enemies, unfortunately. People who want to divide us. Who want to spread bigotry and prejudice.”
Abba just sighed. It was like his positive attitude had been crushed along with the bottles and cans at the front of his store.
Cameron, Madison, and Jared came by at lunchtime. They sat on the sidewalk with Yusuf and Danial, watching Officer Strickland and his team taking photographs of the spray paint like it was a clue in a murder investigation. “You guys are famous again.” Cameron grinned. “First the robber with the gun, now this.”
“Shut up,” Madison told him.
“Don’t let my parents hear you say that,” Yusuf warned her.
“You okay?” Jared asked Yusuf quietly. “We missed you at TRC club today.”
Danial gave him a dirty look. “He’s been busy.”
Madison discovered the box of cold doughnuts on the sidewalk and passed it around. She said: “Since you didn’t bring the robotics design, Mr. Parker made us watch videos of past TRC events instead.”
Yusuf had forgotten all about the robotics club. Funny how he’d been obsessed with TRC for years, but now he couldn’t stand to think about it, with everything else going on. “Sorry,” he told Madison. “I’ll bring the design next time.”
She shrugged and ate a doughnut. Yusuf watched his parents. They were now standing alone, leaning against the car, holding hands silently. The image brought tears to Yusuf’s eyes again. He blinked rapidly before anyone saw.
Jared whispered in his ear, “It’s okay to be sad.”
“Thanks,” Yusuf whispered back, and stopped blinking so hard.
Journal entry 8
October 26, 2001
We watch the news together as a family now, something we’ve started doing every evening. Most days it’s news of the war. Words like “Taliban” and “ground offensive” are seared into my brain. I can’t sleep at night anymore. I lie awake in my room, watching the shadow of the tree outside my window sway in the breeze. What if the war comes here? What if we’re bombed by our enemies in the middle of the night?
Sarah says that’s not possible. I bet the people of Afghanistan also thought the same.
Today, there was something else in the news. President Bush signed a new law called the Patriot Act. It’s supposed to help stop people from doing bad things, but I don’t really understand how. Abba had a worried look on his face as he watched the news, and then later, when the neighbors all gathered in our living room for prayers, they discussed it. Secret surveillance. Wiretapping. Search warrants. It all sounded very confusing to me.
Abba said, “This is going to be misused by the police. Anybody can be arrested, even if they did nothing wrong. Anybody can be secretly recorded.”
The neighbors agreed. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” they asked each other sadly. “What is happening to our nation of laws?”
Later, I asked Farrah baji about the Patriot Act. She’s been so quiet since 9/11, hardly going out or talking to her friends on the phone like she used to before. She shrugged and said, “It means Muslims can be treated like the worst scum on earth and nobody will care.”
I was shocked. Farrah baji has never talked like this before, all hard and angry.
In the evening, after dinner, Abba and I went for a walk. Silky followed us for a little while, then meowed and jumped into some bushes. I wasn’t worried. She always went for adventures, but she always came back.
Abba and I walked some more, not talking. We left our subdivision and reached the little shopping center near our house, the one with the day care and the dentist. Everything was closed now, and the parking lot was empty.
“Isn’t this nice?” Abba sighed. “I like being alone sometimes.”
I sat down on the curb and looked up. The stars twinkled like little gems on black velvet. Yes, definitely nice.
Next thing I knew, a police officer was standing right in Abba’s face, shouting, “What are you doing here? Do you have any identification? What are you planning?” My heart thumped in my chest like a big rock rattling about, but Abba calmly took out his wallet and told him we lived just down the road.
“I’m just taking a walk with my son, Officer,” he said.
The officer returned Abba’s wallet and told him, “We know that neighborhood; we’re watching it carefully.”
We walked back home as silently as we’d come. I came up to my room and I’m at my desk with my journal, and Muhammad Ali is looking down at me from my wall. From the window I could see Abba sitting on the front steps for a long time, his head bowed, his shoulders heaving.
25
October 2021 was the longest month in the history of Yusuf Azeem’s life. Things slowed down until they resembled sugar-laden molasses on a hot summer day. Every day felt like ten, and every week felt like twenty. He’d put up a calendar on his wall with the TRC dates, reminding himself that this was the Build Month, as Madison called it. The team worked hard, meeting almost every day after school in Mr. Parker’s science lab to build their robot.
Cameron was in his element with the LEGO Mindstorms parts. Slowly the robot took shape, with big wheels, a compact squarish body, and an arm for picking up trash.
“What’re you kids going to call her?” Mr. Parker asked.
Madison made a list of names in her binder, and the team voted on Miss Trashy. “Perfect.” Madison grinned.
Yusuf’s sadness weighed him down; he just couldn’t share the team’s excitement. He stayed in the background while the others took turns admiring Miss Trashy. Mr. Parker gave him some sharp glances but didn’t ask questions.
It was strange how everyone else in Frey went about their business without any worries. The pumpkin patch at St. Mary’s got daily visitors who took hayrides and dunked Father Robbins until he was blue in the face. The library on Wicks offered countless story times attended by all the little boys and girls of the town, including Aleena Azeem. Hordes of parents and siblings crowded the bleachers on Friday nights to cheer on the Coyotes as they played against other local teams. It was a typical fall in Frey, Texas.
Yusuf, though, felt like Coraline after she went through the door in the wall. Things felt strange and unusual. He felt strange and unusual. Every night he had the same dream: of a masked man with tattooed arms, bearing down on him with spray paint in both hands.
Jared nodded wisely when he told him. “Yup. You’re going through some emotions. You need to paint it out. Or get a pet.”
Yusuf wasn’t interested in painting, but the pet was a good idea. Rusty was always up f
or a snuggle and a hug, as long as you fed her. He began spending more time at A to Z, going there after school to keep Abba and Rusty company.
At least Abba was doing well. Not completely back to his cheery self, but with straight shoulders and the smile back on his face. There’d been a flood of customers after the vandalism, all wanting to show their support by shopping at A to Z. “Don’t you mind those delinquents,” Mrs. Raymond told Abba as she bought way more soil than was necessary. “They don’t scare us.”
Yusuf didn’t want to tell her it was probably her son who was the delinquent in question. He kept his mouth shut, because Officer Strickland had come by the day after the incident and told them they had zero evidence of who the perpetrators were. “Sorry we couldn’t be of more help, old pal,” he’d said. “Maybe expand your security system to the outside too, eh?”
Abba had just nodded. What else was there to say?
A week after the vandalism, the city council sent a formal letter to Mr. Khan saying that the Patriot Sons’ petition had been denied, and that they were free to continue building their mosque as planned. “We were always free to build it,” an old uncle grumbled as they sat around on chairs near the construction site. “Last I checked, this was America.”
Mr. Khan was also smiling again. His reputation rested on the mosque being built. “Back to work, then,” he told everyone, slapping the old uncle on the back.
The construction resumed as if it had never stopped. So did Sunday school. On the last day of October—Halloween—Sameena Aunty talked about perseverance. “The Quran says that God doesn’t burden any human being beyond their capacity,” she told them. “What does that mean?”
The kids thought about this. “That we’re strong?” a boy guessed, flexing his muscles.
She gave him a withering glance. “What else?”
Saba tapped a pencil to her hijab-covered head. “Maybe it means that we are stronger than we think? That we can do things we didn’t think we were capable of?”
“Very good.” Sameena Aunty looked around with hawklike eyes. “Yusuf, you’re being very quiet these days. We know your family’s been through a lot. Do you agree with this statement?”
Yusuf gulped. Everyone was looking at him now. “Um, not really. Sometimes God gives us more than we can bear.”
He’d whispered, but everyone heard him. Sameena Aunty’s mouth dropped open. “How dare you question God’s word!”
“But . . .”
“Stop it!” Amma interrupted loudly. “Sameena, this isn’t the right way to teach kids.”
The two women eyed each other, and then looked away. After class ended, and the kids left, Amma approached Sameena Aunty with Yusuf behind her dragging his feet. “Don’t say anything, please!” he begged.
Amma’s mouth was an obstinate line. “It’s about time someone said something to her.”
The women argued for a while. “You have to let the kids say what they’re feeling,” Amma insisted.
“Not if they’re saying things that are wrong!” Sameena Aunty shot back.
“How else will they learn?”
“You can’t tell me what to do! You don’t even follow the commandments yourself!”
Amma’s face turned red. “It’s my choice whether or not to wear hijab!”
Yusuf tried to ignore them. He wished the train would show up and drown out their voices. Finally Mr. Khan came by and asked about lunch, because everyone was waiting. They gave each other dagger eyes and walked away, leaving Yusuf sadder than ever.
“Man, that’s rough.”
He turned to see Cameron laughing at him. “Go away,” Yusuf grumbled.
Cameron put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been through all this stuff as well.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Whatever.” Cameron paused. “I have the perfect solution to your problems. Be ready tonight at six thirty. Dress in a costume or something.”
He walked away before Yusuf could ask what he was talking about.
Danial was aghast. “You’re going trick-or-treating with Cameron? What is wrong with you? It’s literally haram!”
Yusuf rummaged through his closet. It was past six o’clock and he had no idea what to wear. “It’s not haram,” he corrected. “It’s frowned upon.”
“So you want the whole community frowning at you?” Danial sighed. “Look, dude, I know you’re upset about your dad’s store, but this is ridiculous.”
Yusuf didn’t reply. The doorbell rang, and he went to open the door, followed by a nervous Danial. “Where are your parents, anyway?” he asked, noticing the empty living room.
“Abba’s store is always busy on Halloween night,” Yusuf explained. “Amma and Aleena are helping out. They’ll bring dinner for us on their way back.”
He swung the door open. It was Jared and Cameron, parking their bikes in the front yard. “Ready?” Cameron asked with a devilish grin.
“Um, I’m not sure what to wear?” Yusuf mumbled, suddenly scared. What if everyone found out a bunch of Muslim kids were out celebrating Halloween? Sameena Aunty would eat them alive.
Jared held up a big bag. “I have costumes!”
Danial’s eyes popped. “Where did you get these?”
“Pastor Nielson’s personal stash.”
Thirty minutes later, four slim, nervous Santa Clauses walked out of the Azeem house and headed toward the neighboring homes. The sun had already set—Danial had insisted on offering maghrib prayers before leaving, just to beg for forgiveness for what they were about to do—but the streets were busy. A steady stream of little kids was already out, holding hands with parents.
“Guys, I think we’re too old for this,” Jared noted.
“Too old for Halloween?” Cameron scoffed. “Don’t be silly.” He led them to the end of Yusuf’s neighborhood and across the street to the next one. “Nicer houses,” he explained. “Better candy.”
Jared and Yusuf walked side by side like quiet soldiers. Yusuf kept an eye out for familiar faces, but all he could see were shadows in the darkness. A strange sort of fear bubbled in his chest, mixed with excitement. He looked at his fellow Santas-in-disguise. Danial seemed to be a different person now that he was hidden under the costume. “Nobody will guess we’re Muslim!” He laughed and did a little tap dance. “Woo hoo! This is fun!”
They knocked on door after door. Jared held out a big plastic bag that gradually filled with goodies. Almost everyone who opened their door had a big smile on their face, open and friendly. One man looked at their costumes, puzzled, and called out, “Is it Christmas already?” Then he shrugged and gave out snack-sized chocolate bars. Yusuf briefly thought about disguising his voice when he said thank you, but then he realized he didn’t know these people, and they didn’t know him. He was just a random kid in a Santa suit, enjoying the evening with his friends.
Back home by eight o’clock, they lounged on Yusuf’s bed and ate their candy. Amma and Abba came back with a sleeping Aleena and two large cheese pizzas. “Everything okay here?” Amma asked as she peeked in, smiling.
Yusuf smiled back at her, the sadness in his heart gone for now. “Yes, everything’s okay.”
Danial waved at her. “We had the best time, Aunty!” he shouted, and Cameron threw a pillow at his head before he spilled the beans.
Amma’s smile turned into a surprised laugh. “I’m glad,” she said. “Eat pizza and go home, please. You have school tomorrow.”
26
On Monday, Yusuf felt like a new man. It wasn’t every day he got to sneak out of the house and masquerade as a hidden figure begging for treats. The thrill of the previous evening, along with the mystery of what would happen if his parents found out—if Sameena Aunty found out—was the perfect balm his tortured soul needed. For the first time in weeks, he’d slept the whole night through. No nightmares. No insomnia.
“What are you smiling about?” Danial grinned at him in the hallway.
/> Yusuf’s eyes widened. “The bigger question is, why are you smiling?” He couldn’t remember the last time Danial had looked happy on a Monday morning.
Danial shrugged happily. “Last night was epic!”
A few kids turned to see what the fuss was about. “Shh!” warned Yusuf, but he was nodding. “It was pretty awesome, wasn’t it?”
“That Cameron is a cool guy.” Danial seemed equal parts happy and surprised.
Yusuf stopped. “You sure about that? I seem to remember you saying you’d eat your shoe if Cameron was anything but awful.”
Danial raised his leg. “That’s why I’m wearing these sneakers. They’re soft.”
Yusuf couldn’t believe it. A joke out of Danial Sourpuss? This was an even bigger miracle than Muslim Santas out on Halloween.
The day flew by as if it had wings. On Tuesday, in after-school club, Yusuf passed out Amma’s homemade sugar cookies, then sat down with his teammates to work. Miss Trashy sat on a table, ready to be examined. “We still need to make minor adjustments,” Cameron said. “But she’s mostly ready for the challenges.”
“She’s beautiful,” Madison breathed, making a sketch for her binder.
“Let’s talk about programming today,” Mr. Parker interrupted, taking out his dry-erase markers and stacking them on his desk. He scribbled on the whiteboard. “We need to figure out how to best code this thing to win the challenges.”
“This thing?” Madison frowned. “She. It’s a she.”
“Sorry,” Mr. Parker replied. “We need to figure out how to program her.”
“Thank you.”
Yusuf looked at the board. Which coding program is the best? He exchanged grins with Danial. This was the best part of robotics. Soon the group was talking heatedly about the various programs they’d used, and why. “Scratch is for kids,” Cameron declared. “I like LEGO’s brick programming better.”
Danial nodded. “Yup. I agree.”
Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero Page 14