by Sabina Khan
“You know when my father found out about Abbu, he threatened to kick me out of the house.” Ammi’s eyes glisten a little. My grandfather passed away a few years ago. After all the drama about my parents’ marriage, he was the one who was closest to me of all our extended family in Pakistan.
“I wish Nana was still here,” I say. “Remember how he taught me to play carrom?”
Ammi nods mournfully. She hadn’t seen him for years and didn’t get to go when he was dying.
“Ammi, don’t be sad. Isn’t it good that he was happy for you after all?”
“I just wish he could see you so grown-up,” she says wistfully. “He would be very proud.”
“At least Nani will get to see us soon.”
I love visiting Pakistan. I’ve only been twice since I was a baby, but each time it was like getting a giant hug. I was spoiled and pampered, and it was wonderful.
“Hopefully we’ll get called for our green card interview soon,” Ammi says. “Once we have those, we won’t have to worry about going back and forth to Karachi.”
“Are you worried about Nani?”
“She’s not doing so well, and your dada and dadi are also getting older. We may not have too many years left. I’d like us to go and see them soon.”
“It’ll be fine, Ammi.”
The hospital where Abbu works is sponsoring him, and the lawyers have told him our application for permanent residence is at the last stage and that we won’t have to wait much longer. It’ll be a huge relief for all of us once we have green cards. With things the way they are, there’s always this fear hanging over us that something will happen to mess up the process. It’s no way to live.
To distract Ammi, I suggest watching another episode of Zindagi Gulzar Hai. We’ve been watching the TV drama for a while now, but lately it’s been hard finding the time.
Fawad Khan is totally worth staying up late for.
A few days later, I’m standing in the principal’s office, my stomach all twisted up in a knot. Abbu didn’t waste any time calling for a meeting with Tyler and his dad, but the principal took his time setting it up. Now there’s only one problem: Tyler’s dad isn’t here.
I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I do, however, regret telling Abbu anything, because I knew this would happen. Now Abbu is going to go all Amrish Puri on the principal, and I have a bad feeling that this will not end well. Because this is not a Bollywood movie and Abbu is not a villain.
Our principal, Mr. Trevino, is bent over some forms, probably the incident report for today’s meeting. He looks up over his reading glasses, which sit halfway down his nose.
“We were expecting to see your father here as well.” Mr. Trevino addresses Tyler, who is sitting in one of the four chairs arranged in a semicircle on the other side of the desk.
Tyler shrugs. “Something came up,” he says nonchalantly, not bothering to look at any of us.
“Dr. Hossain, would you like to reschedule this meeting for another day?” Mr. Trevino asks.
My father is usually a pretty mild-mannered individual, but I can tell that he is as furious as I am. Tyler’s dad not showing up is a blatant show of disrespect toward us that Tyler isn’t even trying to hide. I can see a vein throbbing at Abbu’s temple.
“No, Mr. Trevino, I don’t want to reschedule,” Abbu says. “I think it’s clear that Mr. Benson doesn’t think this is a serious issue at all.”
“I assure you that the school is taking this very seriously, Dr. Hossain. Our students’ safety is a priority here.”
His words ring hollow and rehearsed. I would find him more believable if he just told us that Tyler’s dad was too big a donor to the school to warrant any real consequences for his son.
I can tell that Abbu is thinking the same thing. He stands to leave, then pauses. I hold my breath.
“Mr. Trevino, I send my daughter to your school to get a good education,” he says. “I expect that you will do everything you need to do to make sure that this kind of behavior is not repeated.”
Abbu then looks pointedly at Tyler—and I can’t believe it, but it looks like Tyler is squirming under his glare.
“This will not happen again,” Abbu pronounces.
That’s it.
End of meeting.
* * *
The ride home is uncomfortably silent. I dread facing Tyler at school tomorrow. He might have squirmed for a moment, but I have no doubt that right now he’s making fun of us to his friends.
Ammi has dinner waiting for us when we get home.
“So, what happened? Are they going to do anything about this boy?” Ammi spoons portions of murgh cholay on two plates and sets them on the table.
“Nilufer, I don’t think they will be able to do anything,” Abbu says, washing his hands at the sink and wiping them dry. “That principal seems quite useless.”
“So, then what are we going to do about it?” Ammi flips the last roti and brings an entire batch to the table.
“Honestly, Ammi,” I say, “I don’t know. Tyler’s dad is very connected, and Tyler is on the football team. I really don’t think he’s going to get in trouble for this. I’ll just have to deal with him.”
Ammi scowls at Abbu. “Iqbal, what is this? I thought you were going to take care of things.”
Abbu frowns and slams his fist on the table. Ammi and I both flinch as the dishes clatter. Abbu’s face is dark with anger.
“What do you want me to do, Nilufer? Do you think I should have punched that arrogant boy in the face?” Even though I know his anger is not directed at us, I’m still shocked that he’s raised his voice at Ammi.
Ammi’s eyes widen for a moment before softening. She puts her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Iqbal, of course I don’t want you to do anything like that. But we have to do something to stop this, hai na?”
“Haan, Nilufer, lekin main kya karoon? What can I do? I have to be careful that I don’t make things worse for Zara.”
My stomach is in knots. Despite Abbu’s height and glowering, mustachioed appearance, he’s just a big softie on the inside. The patients in his pediatric practice love him, as do their parents. There’s just something so comforting about him that children gravitate toward. But none of that changes the fact that, to people like Tyler and his dad, my father is nothing but a Muslim immigrant, always “the other.”
I know that feeling well. It’s a sense of encroachment on someone else’s space, an unbelonging that never goes away, no matter what you do to fit in. And although I love my life here, it takes just one person like Tyler to make me feel I can never fully belong. I don’t want to believe that the color of my skin, my beliefs, and my native tongue will forever brand me an outsider, but Tyler makes that seem like a real possibility.
“Zara, maybe it’s best to lie low and let the administration do their job,” Abbu says. “Hopefully, Tyler will stop, now that we’ve formally complained.”
Ammi nods. “You know, beta, our green card process is still going on and who knows how long that will take. The way things are these days, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
After all these years, they still have no peace of mind when it comes to their lives here.
“Don’t worry, Ammi,” I say in what I hope is a reassuring tone. “It’ll be fine. Now that Mr. Trevino is aware of all this, I’m sure Tyler will back off.”
“Yes,” Abbu says, leaning over to rub Ammi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry too much, Nilufer. It will all be okay.”
“I’m going to go do my homework,” I say, picking up my plate and carrying it to the sink. “Do you want me to do the dishes?”
“Nahin chanda, you go and study,” Ammi says.
Abbu’s already clearing up. “I’ll do the dishes. Nilufer, why don’t you go and put on that new Fawad Khan movie? I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here.”
Back in my room, my mind swirls with the thoughts I can’t say out loud to my parents. The worry about
our immigration status always sits just below the surface, tarnishing everything good in our lives. We try to remember that our lives are so much better than many others and we are grateful, but it’s hard sometimes, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
My father is a pediatrician, and that affords us certain luxuries. I go to an expensive private school and hope to go to an Ivy League school after I graduate. But beneath all that positivity is the shadow of still being on an immigrant status. It means everything can be taken away from us. Anger surges through me at the thought that it may only take one phone call from Tyler’s dad to Homeland Security to put us all at risk of being deported.
I try to shake off the frustration of knowing that I have to be the one to back off when it’s Tyler who’s being a racist jerk. Right now, the only thing I can do is focus on school and hope that we get our green cards soon. It’s been eight years since we applied, and it’s taking a toll on us all.
Priya and I are eating lunch together in our usual spot under the trees on the edge of the baseball field. Nick’s away for a game again, so it’s just the two of us and I’m glad because I need to vent.
“Why is Nick being such a brat lately?” I ask.
“What do you mean? What’s he doing?” Priya asks. She tears open a bag of chips and holds it out to me.
I’m on my period and jalapeño chips are my staple. Well, technically they’re my staple all the time, but especially today. My lunch consists of a bag of sour gummies, a Mars bar, and Priya’s chips.
“He’s being so weird,” I say. “Ever since that night we watched Khoobsurat at your place.”
“Weird how?” Priya says. She grabs a handful of sour gummies and pops a couple in her mouth.
“I don’t know. I think he’s just sulking because I’m spending so much time with Chloe.” I let out a big sigh.
“I like Chloe,” Priya says. She picks out all the green gummies and gives them to me. “Are you sure Nick doesn’t have feelings for you? Because it sounds to me like he’s jealous.”
I hold my head in my hands. “I swear I’m going to get Nick and I are just friends tattooed on my forehead.”
“Wait, what … you’re getting a tattoo,” Priya says, her eyes wide. “And your parents are letting you? They’re so cool.”
“Shut up. You know what I mean,” I say, snatching the bag of chips from her hands. “Just for that, I’m finishing the rest of these.”
* * *
This week at SJC we’re planning to go to Victoria to show support to a Muslim community organization there that’s holding an event to combat Islamophobia and stand together against terrorism and hate. Predictably, right-wing groups began filing complaints and protesting the event as soon as it was announced.
“So, it looks like a local patriot group has created an event on Facebook,” I tell the group at the meeting. “They’re planning to hold a rally on Saturday, right on the school grounds.”
“At least they won’t be able to bring guns,” Chloe says. “Unless they’re willing to break the law and bring weapons onto school property.”
“Somehow I doubt that they’re terribly concerned with the law,” Ms. Talbot says, her tone sarcastic but her face showing concern.
“I read the comments,” Meghan says. “They’re saying someone should bring a pig. It’s ridiculous. I mean, I know Muslims don’t eat pork, but what do they think will happen if they bring one to the rally?”
Meghan’s from my school and has traveled around a lot with her parents and hates how things are just like I do.
“Maybe they think all of us will spontaneously combust at the mere sight of a pig,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Do we have a plan in case things get out of control?” Jake asks. He’s a student from another school but has been coming here since the beginning of the semester.
“Well, the event organizers have said we’ll be behind the fence,” Ms. Talbot says. “But at the first sign of trouble, we’re to go into the building. Plus, I’ve been told that there’s going to be a lot of security.”
After the meeting, Chloe and I stay behind to help break down chairs. It’s become sort of a routine now, and I like having this time with her.
We’re just sharing our love for The Good Place, when the door opens and a woman’s head appears.
“Melissa, are you just about ready to go?”
Ms. Talbot, who’s just writing something in her thick SJC binder, looks up.
“Sylvia … I’m so sorry, I lost track of time,” she says, waving the woman in. “Come in. You have to meet the girls.”
The woman walks in, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. She’s wearing a dark gray blazer and pants paired with a light pink blouse. Her dark hair is tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. She approaches Ms. Talbot and pecks her delicately on the cheek.
“Girls, this is my wife, Sylvia. You may have seen her at the open house. Sylvia, this is Zara and Chloe. They’ve been kind enough to clean up after meetings.”
We exchange greetings and then resume cleaning up while Ms. Talbot and her wife talk softly by her desk. I catch Chloe throwing glances in their direction and wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking: That the two of them are the coolest couple and so cute together.
Later Chloe and I go for froyo again, which is becoming another one of our routines. It’s a weeknight and I have homework to finish, but I don’t get to see Chloe that much outside of SJC these days. Her parents have been all over her for going out too often, so it’s been hard for us to spend much time together.
“How cute are Ms. Talbot and her wife?” Chloe says as soon as we slide into our usual booth at Scoopz. She’s convinced me to try the caramel pretzel, and I have to admit that it’s really good.
“So adorable,” I say, my mouth full of caramel goodness. “I wonder what their story is.”
“Maybe they met in college and then went to law school together,” Chloe says. She stirs her froyo before taking a spoonful.
“Ms. Talbot did mention once that she briefly practiced law but then decided that teaching was her real passion.”
“Wow, that must have been hard,” Chloe says. “But good for us that she made that choice.”
I agree. Ms. Talbot is an incredibly positive presence in our lives, always pushing us to fight for what we believe is important. And she’s sort of the reason Chloe and I met, so there’s that. I’m still not sure what this thing is between me and Chloe or where it’s going, but I do know that she’s someone I want by my side.
I’m thinking about Chloe the next day after school as I walk across the school parking lot toward my car. Things with her parents are stressful right now, and she’s having a tough time. I want to do something to cheer her up. I’m trying to come up with something fun to do, when I see Tyler and two of his friends by a car a couple of rows over. My first instinct is to keep my head down and keep walking. I’m almost at my car, when I hear a voice that doesn’t belong to any of the guys. I look over and realize there’s a girl with them. It’s Maria, a student who just recently emigrated from Colombia. She’s a senior like us and quite shy from what I’ve seen. She’s still not quite fluent in English, so she’s pretty quiet in class. What’re these guys doing with her? I hesitate for a second, but then my gut tells me I need to go over there. My stomach churns as I walk toward them, but I take a deep breath and straighten my spine.
“Are you okay, Maria?” I say as soon as I’m within earshot. Maria nods silently, but I’m not convinced. Tyler laughs derisively, then looks at his friends with his patented smirk.
“Look who’s here,” he says, projecting his voice like he’s an announcer or something. “If it isn’t Zara Hossain, defender of the downtrodden.”
Luke and Michael laugh like idiots; clearly they enjoy whatever show Tyler puts on for them.
“Some pretty big words you’re using there, Tyler,” I say with all the sarcasm I can inject into my voice. �
�Did you download a word-a-day app or something? And by big words, I’m referring of course to if and it, which are long for you.”
Tyler’s face registers surprise at my remark, but he regains his composure quickly.
“Why don’t you just get out of here, Zara?” he says, his eyes narrowed. He’s leaning against his car, chewing gum, and I realize that Luke and Michael are doing the same, like they all share a brain or something.
“Yeah, mind your own business,” Michael says.
I ignore them and turn to Maria.
“Let’s go, Maria,” I say to her. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Not before I get what I was promised,” Tyler drawls.
A couple of things happen in unison. Maria clutches her books closer to her chest, and Tyler moves toward her. I don’t even realize that I’m moving, but I step in front of Tyler and shove him as hard as I can. He falls against his car door.
“Stay away from her or I swear I’ll call 911,” I say, my eyes boring into his, daring him to push back. I can hear my heart pumping loudly and I feel like I’ve lost all peripheral vision, but all I know is that I have to get Maria away from here. I turn around, take her hand, and pull her away as fast as I can. I can hear his friends giving him a hard time, taunting him, but I can’t look back. If I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk away. It takes every ounce of courage to keep walking, wondering if they’re following us.
It’s only when we’re in my car and have pulled out of the parking lot that I feel safe. I ask Maria if she’s okay, and she tells me she is even though it’s clear she isn’t.
“We could turn around and go straight to the office,” I say gently.
She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I want to go home. Please just take me home.”
I hold it together long enough to drop her off and make it back to my place. Thankfully no one else is home, and I run to my bathroom to throw up. Afterward I sit on the cool tile floor until my legs have stopped shaking. Even though this is hardly the first time I’ve had an ugly interaction with Tyler, it’s never actually gotten physical like this. And today someone else was involved. And I may have just made things a lot worse for her.