Amma sipped a cup of chamomile tea. “Sometimes we should treat ourselves.”
“Look, tree!” Aleena pointed. Yusuf turned around. The Christmas tree in the town square was up, and people walked around, taking pictures. It was taller than all the downtown buildings, and covered head to toe with brightly colored ornaments.
“Christmas is coming,” Amma told her. “It’s a holiday some of our neighbors celebrate, and we’re happy for them.”
Yusuf was still staring at the tree. Next to it stood Mr. Grant, surrounded by his motorcycle friends. They were laughing and joking, but their faces were angry. How was that possible?
Amma tapped Yusuf’s arm. “Don’t look at them. We don’t want any trouble.”
Yusuf gritted his teeth and looked away.
In the afternoon, Danial and Cameron came to wish Yusuf a happy birthday. “Your mom said there’d be cake,” Cameron said, looking around the kitchen.
Danial slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Be nice!”
“I’m being very nice. Please can I have some cake?”
Yusuf didn’t know what was more painful: the fact that Danial had apparently found a new best friend, or that Jared was missing from this little impromptu party. Amma put out chips and soda, plus a chocolate cake with strawberry ganache they’d bought on their way back home from lunch. The three boys sat down at the kitchen counter and ate like they were starving. “This cake is amazing!” Cameron exclaimed.
Danial paused to take something out of his pocket. “Here’s your gift,” he said. “Happy twelfth.”
It was a small Best Buy box. Yusuf ripped it open and dumped the contents on the counter. “A micro:bit! Thank you!”
Danial grinned at him with chocolate-covered lips. “Only the best for my best friend!”
Yusuf grinned back. He’d read about micro:bits online and had been dying to program one. “Wanna code with me?” he asked the others.
Danial shook his head. “Later. First, I brought some games to play.”
In Yusuf’s room, Danial set up his PlayStation while Cameron inspected the photos hanging above Yusuf’s desk. “Your sister is hilarious,” he remarked, pointing to a picture of Aleena dressed as a monkey.
Yusuf was looking through the micro:bit box for instructions. “I guess,” he muttered.
“Sorry I don’t have a present for you,” Cameron continued. “I don’t really get an allowance or anything, like Richie Rich here.”
“Hey!” Danial protested. “I’m not that rich.”
“You’re the only kid in sixth grade who has a phone,” Yusuf pointed out.
“Yeah, but I hardly use it.”
Cameron moved some papers around on Yusuf’s desk. “Anyway, just meant to say I wish I could give you something, but my parents don’t have any cash for nonessential things.”
Yusuf put down the box slowly. He remembered how Cameron had agreed to join TRC for the computer prize. Was Cameron poor? “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Your friendship is enough.”
Danial chortled as if that was a joke.
Cameron was still playing with the papers on Yusuf’s desk. “What are these?” he asked, his voice suddenly hard.
Yusuf leaned forward, alarmed. Cameron was holding the notes from his locker in his hand. “Stop going through my stuff!” he yelled.
Cameron waved the notes above his head. “Are these the notes you were talking about at the Urooj Diner?” he demanded.
Danial put down the PlayStation and came over to them. “I want to see too.”
Yusuf groaned and flopped down on his bed. “Ugh, go ahead. See all you want. I don’t care!” he lied.
The other boys spent long, silent minutes reading the notes. There were six in all, written on the same lined notepaper, in the same loopy cursive handwriting. “Dude, this is messed up,” Danial finally whispered. “I didn’t know there were so many.”
Cameron sat down on the bed next to Yusuf. “Did I ever tell you about the notes I found in my desk all through fourth grade?”
Yusuf opened one eye. “What are you talking about? Elementary school was awesome!”
“Maybe for you.” Cameron scoffed. “For me it was awful. Ethan isn’t the only bully in this town, you know.”
“What did your notes say?” Yusuf whispered. He should have been happy he wasn’t the only one being harassed, but something in Cameron’s face made Yusuf want to hug him. Hard.
Cameron shrugged. “Pretty much the same thing. I can’t really remember. I threw them away.”
“Smart man,” Danial said. “Yusuf, you should throw these away too! Why are you keeping them?”
Yusuf wasn’t sure why. “They’re evidence, I guess.”
Identical looks of alarm crossed his friends’ faces. “Evidence?” squeaked Danial. “For what? Against who?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m tired of everything that’s happening in this town. It’s like I don’t even recognize the place anymore.” He remembered what Abba had said the night he’d signed the robotics permission slip. “A wind that’s blowing through Frey.”
Danial crossed his arms across his chest. “It’s not just Frey. It’s everywhere. All of the U.S. All of the world.”
Yusuf hadn’t known that. But it didn’t make a difference, anyway. “Doesn’t make it all right.”
Cameron leaned closer. “Listen to me. There’s only one way to survive this. To assimilate. That’s what your dad and my dad are doing. That’s what we all are doing.”
Yusuf thought of Saba and her red hijab. Of Sameena Aunty and her sad face. Of Mrs. Levy and her Jewish ancestors. “I don’t like that word,” he whispered. “Assimilate. It sounds like you have to give up everything that makes you, you.”
“What other choice do you have?” Danial demanded. “Have you seen those Patriot Sons? Even our parents are scared of them.”
Yusuf got up and took the notes from Cameron. Carefully he folded them up and put them inside a drawer at the bottom of his dresser. “That’s what they’re counting on,” he told them grimly. “And that’s what we can’t allow to happen.”
32
A package arrived from Uncle Rahman in the evening: a rolled-up poster of Muhammad Ali with the words FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY, STING LIKE A BEE across the bottom. Yusuf tacked it up on the wall over his desk, just like he’d seen in Uncle Rahman’s room. Then, smiling, he went to work on the micro:bit Danial had given him.
There were hundreds of different projects online for this sort of tiny computer, and he wanted to try them all. He played around a bit, coding and deleting, then coding again. He finally found a program for a virtual cat, complete with beeping reminders for feeding and washing it. With a little glue and card stock, he could even make the micro:bit look like a cat. Aleena would be so excited!
It took longer than he’d thought. The next day was Sunday, so he had to wait until he got back from the construction site to begin programming. He was still working past midnight.
On Monday, Yusuf pushed everything into his backpack when he went to school. He wanted to show Danial how much he’d programmed over the weekend. Just before he left home, Amma gave him a big hug. “Take care, okay?”
Amma never hugged him before school. She was always busy making breakfast and running after Aleena. “Love you,” he said as he hugged her back. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon.
Mondays were always chaotic at Frey Middle. Kids walked around bleary-eyed. Yusuf felt a yawn coming, and then another and another. He was late, so he decided to keep his backpack with him instead of depositing it in his locker. He couldn’t find Danial anywhere, which meant Danial had overslept and would be arriving at school in his mother’s Jeep.
Mr. Parker went over science notes from the week before. “Anybody remember how earthquakes are caused?”
Yusuf racked his brain. Something about plates. His eyes were drooping and he blinked to stay awake. This was what happened when you stayed up all night making a toy for yo
ur little sister.
Mr. Parker was looking right at him. “Yusuf?”
“Um . . . tectonic plates?”
“Good.” Mr. Parker went to the whiteboard to write something. Yusuf closed his eyes in relief. He’d never blanked on a science question before. He really needed to catch up on his sleep tonight.
By gym class, Yusuf was yawning nonstop. Danial stared at him. “You look exhausted, dude,” he said.
Yusuf opened his backpack and showed Danial the micro:bit. “It’s going to be a virtual cat when it’s finished,” he bragged.
“A virtual cat?” Danial’s eyes popped. “How old are you, five?”
“For Aleena, of course.”
“Of course. Do you ever do anything for yourself, like ever?”
Yusuf rolled his eyes at him. “You can’t understand. You’re not a big brother.”
Coach Boston blew his whistle and shouted, “Change, everyone. Then laps!” Yusuf closed his backpack and groaned. “If I do laps now, I’m going to collapse.”
Danial motioned to the door. “Go to the nurse or something. You don’t look too great.”
The nurse’s office was at the other end of the school. He made a detour through the cafeteria, where a group of parent volunteers sat making banners for the Christmas concert. He walked slowly, his backpack on one shoulder. By the time he reached the nurse’s office, he felt better. Maybe if he just leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a second, he’d be well enough to go back to class.
The seconds were longer than he imagined. The next thing he knew, there was a ringing sound around him, followed by rising chatter. He opened his eyes wearily. The bell had rung, and gym class was over. Kids streamed out of their classes and surrounded him. He saw Ethan and Sammy in the distance, bearing down on him with dark, gleeful faces. A faint beeping sound emanated from around him like a warning signal.
Beep-beep-beep.
When Ethan and Sammy were just a few yards away, Yusuf realized something. The beeps were coming from inside his backpack. He fumbled for the strap, but it was too late. Ethan reached him and slapped a beefy hand on his shoulder. Ethan’s face loomed close enough for Yusuf to smell his breath as he opened his mouth wide and yelled, “BOMB!”
Yusuf was bewildered. Who has a bomb? he wondered. He looked around at the other kids’ faces. They were all looking at him with . . . fear and anger. Him? Yusuf Azeem had a bomb? What were they talking about?
Everything happened with lightning speed after that. Ethan continued to yell, his piercing voice drowning out all the other voices. Kids started to run away from Yusuf, but Ethan stood like a statue, still clutching his shoulder. Then Mel, the school security guard, rushed up, panting, and dragged Yusuf and Ethan with him. The hallway ahead was long and narrow, filled with kids who were staring, turning away, running. Running.
Yusuf wanted to run too, wanted to sleep forever, but Mel held on to his right arm and Ethan to his left shoulder. “BOMB! BOMB!” Ethan kept shouting, until Mel growled, “Shut up, kid!” at him.
Ethan shut up, but kept his gleeful eyes trained on Yusuf like a hawk. Yusuf wanted to punch him, but he knew something serious was going on. If only his brain would cooperate. If only he could think clearly. Why, oh, why had he stayed up all night?
It was only when the trio reached the parking lot outside that Yusuf caught his breath. His backpack was still beeping, and finally he realized what it was.
The half-built virtual cat inside was begging to be fed.
33
The first thing Mel did was throw Yusuf’s backpack far away in the field next to the parking lot. The field was used for football practice by the Coyotes most days, but now it was empty, and muddy from rain the night before. Yusuf stared at the black lump of his backpack. He could still hear the beeping, so faint he wondered if it was just his imagination.
Beep-beep-beep.
Mel gave him a grim look, said, “Don’t move,” and stomped away with Ethan, back into the school building.
Yusuf couldn’t help it. He ran to the field—to his backpack—until he was standing right next to it. Still, he didn’t dare pick it up. The beeping was stronger now, more insistent. Beep-beep-beep. “Shut up!” he whispered in a furious tone.
The next second, the shrill sound of a fire drill blasted into the air around Yusuf. He whirled around and watched with miserable, bleary eyes as students streamed out of the school building, asking frantic questions.
“Is this for real?”
“Where’s the fire?”
“It’s a bomb this time!”
“No kidding? Oh my God!”
Yusuf turned away from them. A police car screeched to a stop near the kids, and Officer Strickland got out. He ran straight to Yusuf, eyebrows meeting grimly in the center of his forehead. “So . . . what’s this about a bomb, eh, Yusuf?”
Yusuf tried to smile. “It’s all a mistake. Of course it is. My backpack—” He reached down, but Officer Strickland put up a quick hand.
“Don’t. Touch. That!”
“What? You don’t really think . . . ?”
With slow movements, Officer Strickland picked up the backpack from the ground. It was muddy now, and bits of leaves stuck to the bottom. “What’s that beeping?”
“My virtual cat.” Yusuf tried to explain. “It’s not really a cat, just a computer. A toy. It’s beeping because it’s time to feed the cat.”
Officer Strickland gingerly opened the zipper and peered inside. “Looks like a computer chip to me. Not a toy.”
“But it is . . . you can code this thing to be anything. A remote control for a vacuum, or a guitar player, or even a counting device.”
Officer Strickland continued to stare inside. “Can you code it to be a time control for a bomb?”
“What? No!” Yusuf paused, horrified. “I mean, I don’t know. . . .”
Officer Strickland held up one hand. “Better not complete that sentence, son.” He sighed heavily and closed the zipper. “It’s not a cat, I can tell you that. And it’s still beeping.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s not coded properly yet.”
“I’d be happier if you’d hidden a real cat in there.”
“But . . .”
He pointed to the parking lot. “Go back there and don’t move. I have to discuss this with the police chief.”
The police chief? Yusuf looked back to where Officer Strickland was pointing. A row of police cars were now parked helter-skelter, and at least ten police officers walked around with hands on their belts, looking grim. A fire truck and ambulance waited with flashing lights on the road outside the school.
Yusuf tried to make sense of this situation. Why on earth did anybody need a fire truck or an ambulance? Then he remembered Ethan’s angry, gleeful face, and the way his mouth opened wide to shout “Bomb!” over and over. He followed Officer Strickland slowly back to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other. Everyone was staring at him. Students. Teachers. Police officers.
Yusuf sank down on the ground at the edge of the field, where the parking lot began. This was all a misunderstanding, he told himself. They would look inside his backpack and see for themselves what a micro:bit was. Nothing special, just a tiny computer.
He squatted and hugged his knees. Eyes downward, no need to make eye contact.
“Don’t move,” Officer Strickland said again. He strode away, and two other officers came to stand near Yusuf. They both had blank faces, and they didn’t look down at Yusuf even once. But he knew why they were there: to guard him. To make sure he didn’t move or run away.
That’s what nobody in Frey seemed to understand. This was his home. Where else would he go?
The noise around him continued. Voices. Sirens. Shouts. He didn’t look up. What was the point? They were all probably staring at him. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.
“Are you okay?” It was Jared, his face haggard. He sat down next to Yusuf.
Yusuf wanted to say yes, but he
wasn’t sure if that would be a lie. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry about everything.”
“I don’t have a bomb, you know that, right?” Yusuf whispered. “This is nuts! I don’t know why I’m still sitting here.”
“Officer Strickland tried to say something, but Uncle Trevor and his friends are here, yelling at everyone.”
So that was what all the commotion was. Of course. The Patriot Sons. Everything made so much more sense now. In a way, Yusuf was glad. At least he wasn’t losing his mind. “It doesn’t really matter. There’s no bomb. It’s just my micro:bit.”
Jared gave a ghost of a smile. “I got one for Christmas last year. I programmed it to play Christmas songs I could send to my mom overseas.”
“I made a virtual cat for Aleena.”
They sat together in silence, clasping their knees. Jared slipped a hand in his pocket and took out a card. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your birthday party,” he said. “I made this for you.”
Yusuf opened the card. It had a small painting of two cats sitting together in a garden full of roses. Underneath them, he’d written Happy birthday to my friend.
Yusuf stared at the writing on the card. The curl of the Y was so familiar, as if the person who’d written it had tried cursive but given up halfway.
Who even wrote cursive anymore?
Something niggled in Yusuf’s mind. The handwriting . . .
His breath caught in his throat.
The handwriting was just like the writing on the notes in his locker.
Jared was looking at him nervously. “You don’t like it?”
Yusuf blinked hard, and then scrambled up with a quick push of his legs. “You? It was you?” he almost shouted.
Jared stood up too. “What do you mean?” he asked faintly.
“The notes in my locker. You wrote them!” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. A horrible, painful fact that Yusuf could hardly wrap his head around.
Jared nodded, looking defeated. “It was before I knew you. Ethan made me. He said we needed to send a message to our country’s enemies. He said I was being a patriot!”
Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero Page 18