Yusuf kept thinking about Principal Williamson’s powerful message for the rest of the day. When Abba came home, they sat together in the living room and watched a documentary about space. “Do you agree, Abba,” Yusuf asked during commercials, “that love overcomes hate?”
Abba nodded slowly. “The Prophet certainly taught that. You’ve heard the story about the woman who’d throw garbage on his head every day, but he went to inquire about her when she was sick? The Quran uses the words ‘mercy’ and ‘forgiveness’ over and over again.”
“Yes, but the Quran also asks us to punish bad people so that they can’t harm others.”
Abba gave him a push with his arm. “Not us, the government. Punishment must come through laws, not you and me.”
“That’s not fair,” Yusuf said. “What if the laws favor the bullies? Like during the Holocaust? Or after 9/11?”
“Then the people must unite against hatred, and choose love.”
Yusuf tossed the television remote on the couch and stood up. “You sound just like my principal,” he cried. “What power does love have?”
Abba gave him a gentle smile. “It’s got the same power as hate. If one can do a lot of harm, then the other can do a lot of good. You just have to get your head out of the robot world and think like a human being for a change.”
Amma came in and sat down on the sofa’s arm. Her fragile look was gone, and in its place was determination. “That’s why I think we should talk to the reporters who keep calling,” she said.
Abba stared at the television screen for a while. Finally he nodded. “I’ll call them back in the morning.”
Yusuf groaned. He didn’t want people to ask him more questions. He definitely didn’t want to advertise the fact that he’d spent all day and half the night in the police station. But he could tell from his parents’ faces that they’d made their decision. They’d talk to anyone who would listen. They’d tell his miserable story to the world, or at least to everyone in Frey.
The problem was, ugly, hateful voices were always louder than nice, loving ones. The reporters could only share his story. They couldn’t guarantee anyone would listen.
There had to be another way to bring the Patriot Sons down. Yusuf went back to his room and signed on to Scratch’s group messaging. Jared had sent twenty-five messages, all variations of “Sorry” and “Please talk to me.”
Yusuf deleted all the messages and pinged Danial and Cameron. Then he remembered Madison and added her to the group chat.
Yusuf: Guys and gal, we need ideas.
Madison: For what? A new robot?
Yusuf: Nope. We need ideas to get our town back.
Cameron: What are you talking about, dude?
Danial: Yusuf, you need to focus on getting better. And TRC.
Yusuf: Sorry, Danial. We need to defeat the enemy.
Danial: What enemy????
Yusuf: You know. A certain boy and his dad. Plus his posse.
Danial: Wow, okay. You’re officially nuts.
Yusuf: No, I’m not. My dad says love overcomes hate. Personally, I don’t believe it, but I’m willing to try.
Danial: This guy is too optimistic for his own good. Cameron, tell him.
Cameron: No, he’s right. We’ve tried everything else and failed. Let’s try love too. What’s the harm?
Danial: Are you serious? We could end up in jail like him.
Cameron: That’s okay with me. People think I’m a gangster anyway.
Danial: Unbelievable
Madison: I’m in too!
Yusuf: Awww . . . Love you guys!
Danial: Shut up, dude, don’t be a hero.
Yusuf: Too late.
36
It was Cameron who stated the obvious. “We need Jared. We need his church to help us.”
The three boys and Madison were squeezed into a booth at Dairy Queen, munching on jalapeño fries and drinking peppermint shakes. They were supposed to be strategizing for TRC, but the topic always seemed to turn to the Patriot Sons. “How to defeat them and win Frey back,” Madison had said laughingly the other day.
“Don’t say his name,” Yusuf said with gritted teeth.
“I don’t get it.” Danial frowned. “I thought he was your friend.”
Yusuf swallowed his nausea. “He was, until I found out he’s the one who left those notes in my locker.”
Danial’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
Yusuf nodded. He’d thought it would feel good to tell everyone about Jared’s betrayal, but he just felt sad.
Cameron took a sip of his shake thoughtfully. “I bet Ethan forced him. He’s really hard to ignore, that guy.”
“I doubt that,” Yusuf said, but his voice was uncertain. Could it be?
Cameron put down his shake. “Ethan had originally asked me to send those notes, offered me money, but I refused. I guess he found Jared easier to manipulate.”
“That’s why you kept asking about it,” Danial guessed. “Wow, that’s messed up.”
“Yeah.” Cameron nodded. “Plus, Jared is really scared of his uncle. I’ve seen how he gets all pale in his presence.”
Yusuf scowled. Was he supposed to forget that his friend had turned out to be the one sending him mean, slightly threatening notes? Was he supposed to forgive and forget?
Abba would say yes.
He groaned and slammed his half-empty shake on the table. “Okay, fine. Ask Jared to help. But I’m not going to talk to him. Someone else do it.”
Madison raised her hand. “I’ll do it. He lives down the street from me.”
“Can we get back to TRC now?” Yusuf begged.
A man around Abba’s age walked past, smiling. “You kids ready for Christmas, eh?” He saw Yusuf and stopped. “Wait, you’re the boy . . .”
Yusuf hung his head. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. His face had been on the TV news on Monday and Tuesday, and on the front page of the Frey Weekly on Wednesday morning.
The man came closer, his face angry. “Listen, I hope you’re doing okay. I have two boys your age. I was worried sick when I heard the news that you’d been hauled to jail. My entire family was.”
Yusuf looked up. He realized he recognized the man. He was one of the city council members at the mosque zoning meeting. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. What do you think we are, son? Monsters?”
Yusuf managed a small smile. “No, sir.”
Cameron cleared his throat and waved a fry in the air. “Well, maybe you should let the police know that what happened to my friend was wrong.”
They all looked at Cameron, awed by his boldness.
The man looked thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I can write a letter or something.” The man’s order was called, and he turned. “Take care of yourselves, kids.”
They looked at one another in stunned silence. “You know what this means, right?” Madison finally said, grinning.
“Yes,” Yusuf agreed, thinking about the man and his angry face. He wasn’t angry at Yusuf, but at Ethan and the Patriot Sons. At Frey Middle School. At the police. This was incredible. “Maybe we actually have a chance.”
They went home with little smiles. Later, Madison sent a message on Scratch.
Jared’s in. He’ll call Pastor Nielson tonight.
On Sunday, the construction site was busy. Cameron’s dad had brought more men this time, and they looked to be professionals. The frame of the building was complete, and the drywall was ready to be hung. Men walked around with ladders and tools, talking as they worked. After their lunch break, the New Horizons Church farther up the road opened its doors, and people streamed out. Pastor Nielson was with them, a happy look on his face.
“Howdy, neighbors!” Abba gave them his usual greeting as they passed.
“Hello, Mr. Azeem!” Pastor Nielson stopped right in front of Abba, and so did all the other churchgoers. Some carried hammers and saws, others wore tool belts. “May we come in?”
“
Of course!” Abba cried and opened the gate wide. “Welcome, my friends!”
Jared slipped in and headed toward the kids who were sitting on the roots of the big tree. All of them smiled and waved, except Yusuf.
“Guess the pastor worked his charm, eh?” Cameron nodded toward the group of adults.
“Pastor gave such an amazing sermon!” Jared said, his face glowing. “He reminded us about Jesus’ commandment to love our neighbors, and how we need to stand strong against hateful elements.”
“Did he actually say ‘the Patriot Sons’?” Danial asked, gaping.
“Not really.” Jared shrugged. “But everyone knew what he was talking about. My uncle walked out of church during the service.”
Yusuf hadn’t known Mr. Grant attended church right next door to them. He shivered and looked around, trying to change the subject. “What are all these people here for?”
Jared’s grin was as wide as a beam of wood. “To help, obviously.”
They all turned to watch. The men from the church and the mosque—even a few women—went to work on the construction site as if they’d been doing so for months. The sound of nails being hammered into studs, of electric screwdrivers whirring quietly, filled the afternoon air. The Muslim aunties sprang into action, bringing water and snacks to the workers.
Pastor Nielson stood with a hammer in hand, smiling at the scene before him. “Perfect. This is what being a Christian is all about.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Mr. Khan began.
“You are all too kind, really!” Abba agreed.
“We should have done this a long time ago,” the pastor replied, putting up a hand to stop them from continuing. “I’m sorry it took a child to remind us of our duties as Christians.”
“A child?” Mr. Khan frowned.
“Yes, a boy from my parish came to me a few days ago with the most passionate speech.” The pastor smiled sideways at Jared. “I believe he is friends with your children.”
Abba nodded. “Ah yes, Jared is a good boy. His grandmother told me he’s been worried about my son ever since . . . the incident.”
Yusuf stared at Abba. Incident? Was that all that had happened this past week? Why did his heart hurt so much then? Why did he have the most terrible nightmares and wake up screaming then? Why was he unable to look any of his friends in the eye any longer?
Pastor Nielson gripped Abba on the shoulder, his face etched with grief. “Listen, Mr. Azeem, I’m really, truly sorry about what happened to your son. A few other pastors around town and I will be speaking about it the next few Sundays. Why don’t you come visit us one day at our church? Maybe around Christmastime? They would love to hear from you.”
Abba’s back straightened, and his face lit up in a way it hadn’t all week long. “Me?”
“Of course. You and your friends are welcome at my church anytime.”
Abba told Yusuf that his new “church friends” were coming by every day to help with construction. In a few days, their number had swelled to three times the regular crew, and many of them actually knew what they were doing. The drywall was hung, and they’d started laying bricks on the exterior. It was hard work, but they told a lot of jokes and sang a lot of Christmas songs. “‘Jingle Bell Rock’ is my favorite,” Abba said, smiling. “Although I know a lot of the older songs too, like ‘Silent Night.’”
Yusuf blinked behind his glasses. “How come?”
“I went to St. Patrick’s School in Karachi,” Abba told him. The same abba who hardly ever talked about his childhood. “All the students sang Christmas carols at our annual concert, and we spent weeks memorizing those lovely melodies.”
“What else do you remember about school?” Yusuf asked. “Did you have lockers like me? Gym class? Pizza for lunch?” They were sitting at the breakfast table, a rare thing for Abba. Since the “incident” a week before, Abba had started leaving for work later. He said he was training his assistant to open the store, but Yusuf knew the real reason: him.
Abba smiled as he ate his eggs. “Lockers are a very American thing, I believe. I only knew about them from movies like Back to the Future. Ah, what a movie! And yes, we had PE every week, where I was the volleyball champion. But lunch? Never from the school shop. My mother, your dadi, would pack the most delicious lunch for me every day for school. Shami kebab and pulao and cucumber salad . . . mmm!”
“Sounds nice,” Yusuf told him, and it was true. Life in a Pakistani school did sound better than Frey Middle School at the moment.
“It was okay. I had my fair share of bullies, you know!” Abba’s smile faded. “There was this one boy, Imtiaz, who’d flick ink on my uniform when the teacher wasn’t looking. Once he pulled my chair from under me just as I was sitting down, and I fell on the floor with a big crash!”
Yusuf knew all about ink from a Pakistani television show set in the eighties. Ink could get very messy if you weren’t careful. “Really? Did he get into trouble?”
Abba shook his head. “No. His father was some government minister. Imtiaz could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. I, on the other hand, would get punished for offenses like wearing an ink-streaked uniform to school.”
“That sucks.” Yusuf paused. “I mean, I feel bad for you.”
Abba shrugged. “Life is full of all kinds of people, son. We just have to learn to avoid the bullies and stick with our friends.” He scooped up the last of his egg with a bite of toast and opened the Frey Weekly. “Well, look at this!” he said, his smile back, brighter than ever. “Farrah, come here quickly!”
Amma came running from her garage office, coffee mug in hand. They read the headline on the front page of the paper together. City Council Opens Investigation On Local Boy Locked in Jail without Charges. There were two pictures with the story. One of Yusuf from his fifth-grade yearbook, and the other of the city council members looking seriously at the camera. Right in the middle of the group was the man Yusuf and his friends had met in DQ last week.
Journal entry 12
December 25, 2001
Yesterday evening, our family dressed up and went to Sacred Heart Church at Pastor Hancock’s invitation. Amma wore her favorite green shalwar kameez, and Abba put on a dark gray suit. “It’s Christmas Eve,” Amma protested. “Surely the priest wants to spend time with his friends and family.” Abba told us it was a special gathering for the entire neighborhood.
“Everyone in the neighborhood doesn’t even celebrate Christmas,” Sarah said. Abba told her to be patient and see.
The church was filled with people, but they weren’t all Christians. I saw many of our Muslim neighbors there, and a few of my classmates’ parents. People who looked like me, and those who looked nothing like me. Father Hancock welcomed us with a big smile and took us to a table so full of food I worried it might fall down under the weight. We piled our plates high and sat down, and then the music started, a soulful sound that filled the air and made everyone quiet. I thought of Silky and realized her death didn’t hurt as much as it had before. Maybe Amma was right. Maybe time would make me not miss her as much.
Father Hancock came up to the stage and made a little speech, then a rabbi spoke, and then it was Abba’s turn. He looked nervous, but he read from a note card and hardly made any mistakes. “The only way to fight bigotry and hatred is through accurate information,” he told everyone. “Human beings fear what they don’t know, so the best thing is to get to know each other.”
When he finished, I stood up and clapped and clapped. After a few minutes, everyone else did too. Amma beamed at the crowd, and even Farrah baji was smiling. Abba almost dropped his note card in surprise.
37
Christmas arrived quickly and without warning. Yusuf and his family didn’t celebrate, but it was difficult to miss the season in a town like Frey. Every house on Yusuf’s street and beyond was decorated with lights and nativity scenes, as well as reindeer and inflatable snowmen. Winter break officially began on the Monday before Christmas, and Mr.
Parker threw a party for Team Freybots in the gym after school on the last day. “Here’s to TRC!” he said, holding up his apple juice box. “May we have a place of honor in the records of the contest!”
Yusuf munched on a bag of Cheetos and looked around. He’d sat as far away from Jared as possible. He knew they’d have to talk to each other at some point, but he wasn’t ready yet. Being back on school grounds wasn’t as scary as he’d thought it would be, though. It reminded him of how much he’d once wanted to be part of TRC. How much Mr. Parker still wanted it. “Let’s take Miss Trashy for a practice run?” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans and standing up.
“Let us eat first, at least!” Cameron told him sternly.
“Yes, we’re celebrating the holidays here, not your robot.” Madison laughed.
“Correction, our robot,” Yusuf told her.
After eating, they cleaned up and put Miss Trashy through the challenges. “Three minutes exactly,” Mr. Parker announced. “It’ll be harder with the competing team stopping you at every turn, but this is an excellent time.”
The team members cheered and high-fived one another. “Less than a month to go,” Danial said.
Mr. Parker nodded. “Let the countdown begin.”
On Christmas Day, Abba packed his car with items from the dollar store. They weren’t exactly toys, but practical items for everyday use. Yusuf saw paper plates and cups, hair accessories, diapers, notebooks, baby food, and much more. The entire back seat overflowed with boxes. “What’s all this for?” he asked. Abba had taken him to the store that morning, saying he needed help with a special project.
“Our friends, of course,” Abba answered as he locked the door, then started the car and backed out of the parking space.
Yusuf didn’t know Abba had so many friends. They drove out to the construction site, which was empty for once. Yusuf was amazed to see how the building had transformed in just two weeks. The outside was covered with pretty grayish-brown bricks, and the sidewalk was laid with cement. “We’ll be working on the inside next week,” Abba told him. “Doors and windows and such.”
Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero Page 20