Love from a to Z

by S. K. Ali

  “Of course he would! You’re awesome!”

  “No, I mean, as in he seriously likes me back.” I thought about how he’d left the apartment today.

  He’d said, “For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling absolutely good.”

  Annabelle had nodded, rolling the IV machine to the door. “The treatment will do that for you. Some people feel it right away. You just need to continue your appointments with your neurologist in London.”

  When Annabelle turned around to put her shoes on, and Auntie Nandy went to her bedroom to get car keys to drive him back home, he said, “I’m feeling good for other reasons too.”

  Without exchanging glances, I knew what he was talking about.

  I’d looked calm on the surface, but fireworks had exploded inside.

  “Oh wow, you’re really feeling it. Your face is like rippling. I’ve never seen it like this,” Kavi said, leaning forward to examine me so close, her face took up the entire screen. Then, as she sat down, she zoomed out again. “But wait. You said you don’t believe in dating. How does this work?”

  “It doesn’t, actually. Work, I mean.” I lay back in bed and lifted the phone high above me so Kavi could see the pitiful state I was in. “This has been me for most of today. Lying here, tossing and turning.”

  “Inflamed by passion? Tormented by desire? Horny?”

  “Ew, but yeah, kind of.” I didn’t admit to her how much that was true. “See, that’s why Islam tells us horny ones to lower our gaze around people, not look at them like you’re eating them with your eyes.”

  “Zayneb, did you eat him with your eyes?” Kavi giggled. “Because you look like you’ve got a stomachache from overeating.”

  “Astaghfirullah. That’s been me all day, saying astaghfirullah.” I groaned. “And the worst thing is that he’s Muslim, too.”

  Kavi sat up in the chair, her big eyes activated with interest. “But that’s amazing, isn’t it? He’ll get you. How Muslim you are, because, girl, you and Ayaan are super Muslim.”

  “No, it’s terrible that he’s Muslim. Because if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have made sense in my head, and I would be over it. Because then maybe he would have asked me out, and I could have been like, Nope, that’s not me, I don’t go out with dudes alone. Bam, done with.” I groaned again. “Kavi, help me.”

  “I don’t get it. What about you and Yasin? When you guys were talking to each other?”

  “That was nothing. And his parents knew my parents, so it would have been legit, if things had developed.”

  “Make it legit, then. If he likes you as much as you like him.” Kavi shrugged. “There’s always a solution, remember?”

  I pulled myself up to lean on the headboard and put my glasses back on. Is that even possible?

  It’s weird.

  But could it be possible?

  “Kavi, I’m scared about how much I crave him.” I blinked at her sadly. “Like, it’s intense.”

  “Tell me why, then. Other than the physical reasons, because, yeah, I see that.” She tilted her head, her face serious now. “But don’t tell me that’s the only reason?”

  “No, no way. Like, yeah, there’s this part of me that’s excited about him liking me back. Excited that, hey, this guy I thought was cute on first sight likes me, too! That’s there, yeah, and that’s purely physical,” I admitted. “But then . . . if I’d been around him and he had turned out to be a douchebag, even with those looks, I would have slammed the door shut super fast.”

  “So you like him because he’s cute, likes you back, and is not a douchebag? Zay, not good enough reasons to twist yourself like this.”

  I didn’t tell her that I wanted to be there for him. That he had something going on that was huge and that I didn’t want him to go through it by himself, or, I mean, with the DIS crew, who didn’t know about it—except for Connor.

  But MS was his truth to tell.

  I lay down again. “I like him because he’s gentle and kind and considerate and has this sense of confidence without being in your face about it, and he’s super thoughtful; his little sister adores him; so do his friends at the international school he went to. But then he’s kind of alone. I can see that. It oozes out of him.” I sat up, something dawning on me. “Like, when we were talking about Hogwarts houses the first day I hung out with his friends, all of them said he was in a house by himself, because he didn’t even fit in half houses, or quarter houses. Like how I’m part Gryffindor and part Slytherin, and you’re three-quarters Ravenclaw and one-quarter Hufflepuff? He’s houseless.”

  Kavi frowned. “You like him because you feel sorry for him? Sorry, I don’t want to dump on you, but I’m not feeling this. Falling for someone is not a social justice cause.”

  She didn’t get it. And I couldn’t explain it over FaceTime. I crossed my legs and pulled my hair back into a bun, securing it with a scrunchie, ready to switch topics, ready to shut down my Adam-ache. “Okay, listen, Kavi—let’s change subjects. Give me a bulletin.”

  She relaxed her frown. “You wouldn’t believe what Noemi did. She volunteered to present her analysis to the class. Remember, the one about the Turkish girl buried alive?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She did an analysis comparing the incident to Austrian culture—Christian, European culture—linking it to the girl kept in a dungeon by her father for decades.” Kavi smiled huge. “Fencer lost it.”

  “PLEASE TELL ME MORE,” I begged, conjuring an image of Fencer with his own racist methods thrown in his face like a fluffy creamy pie.

  “Basically, he gave a BS rant about how that was an isolated case and she was generalizing about a sensational news story and how that was shoddy analysis, not senior-year-level work at all, blah blah blah. He was saying all this shit calmly, but his face was on fire. So Noemi just did this thing where she kept smiling while he kept getting redder and redder, and then, right before she went and sat down, after he’d done his whole you’re-a-bad-student spiel, she said to the class, ‘And, to sum up my presentation, that, boys and girls, is why you don’t generalize.’ Mic drop.”

  Okay, I’m moving toward officially liking Noemi. “I wish I’d been there. Just so Fencer could see me enjoying the entire thing, and then giving her a standing ovation at the end.”

  “Well, here’s the awful thing. For some reason, you did enter the picture, right after Noemi’s presentation. Before the next student went up, Fencer came over and told me that you had to turn in the analysis too. That he’d e-mailed you a copy of the assignment and article, and that it was due by the end of today. Or you’d lose ten percent of your grade.” Kavi shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but maybe Noemi triggered him into remembering to shit on you again.”

  I drew my laptop to me and logged into my school account. There it was, an e-mail from the fiend, from four days ago.

  GIRL BURIED ALIVE IN HONOR KILLING Analysis was the subject line.

  “No problem,” I said to Kavi. “I’ll just follow Noemi’s brilliance and compare it to American culture, heh-heh. Lord knows I can find enough dirt.”

  “That’s what I did too. But I wasn’t brave enough to present it like Noemi.” Kavi’s face suddenly lit up as she looked beyond her phone’s camera. “Speak of the devil and she shows up.”

  Noemi? In our room again?

  “Hey, I’m going to have to say see you later to finish this thing for Fencer. Bye, Kav.” I waved, reaching to end the call.

  “Bye, Zay. Wait!” Kavi shouted. “If he makes sense, he makes sense. Adam. Okay?”

  I nodded, pretty sure she was saying that because she didn’t want me to get upset about Noemi.

  • • •

  Auntie Nandy wouldn’t let me cut out dinner at the French restaurant on the Pearl, even though I’d told her about the homework I had to do (“EXCUSE MY LANGUAGE, BUT THAT DICK OF A TEACHER OF YOURS IS NOT GOING TO RUIN MY FRIDAY!” was her response), so we went and ate (me, gratin dauphinois, her, boeuf bourguignon), and th
en she drove me to a café that she said I could work in while she met with a friend.

  The friend turned out to be Adam’s dad.

  With an iced coffee by my laptop, and glasses on, I pretended to be completely absorbed in my homework, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over once in a while. They were near the entrance of the café, almost at an angle so that I couldn’t see either of their faces, but I could tell that Auntie Nandy was the one doing most of the talking.

  She wouldn’t be revealing all, would she? About Adam?

  He was planning on talking to his dad this weekend. I’ve gotta let at least three days pass after the date of Mom’s death, he’d texted.

  Wait, weird. Auntie Nandy was laughing. Here in the café.

  Her back was shaking the way it does when she guffaws.

  I stood and made my way to the counter, as though I wanted to order something else. After studying the menu for a few seconds, I let my gaze fall on Auntie Nandy.

  She wasn’t laughing. She was sobbing.

  Adam’s dad was too.

  In my urgency to get away, I almost ran back to my table in the corner.

  • • •

  As a result of not getting any work done at the café, due to a mind racing with wondering about what exactly Auntie Nandy was talking to Adam’s dad about, I stayed up on returning to the apartment to finish my analysis of GIRL BURIED ALIVE IN HONOR KILLING.

  Springdale was eight hours behind Doha, so because I sent my analysis in right before twelve a.m.—with the subject line COMMUNITY COVERS UP RAPES BY FOOTBALL PLAYERS Analysis—I made the end-of-school-day, end-of-term deadline.

  • • •

  At one a.m., as I was climbing into bed, the best thing happened.

  Ayaan texted me. All right. I still love you.

  I clipped my hair up into a bun and smiled at the message in my lap. My heart is floating in the air right now.

  I’m sorry for not answering your texts. And your crying faces. And the million broken hearts you sent.

  My heart is swelling and pulsing, covered with a zillion golden beams of pure light.

  Z, can we cut the drama. Enough of that happening in real life.

  But what am I, if not drama?

  I don’t want to leave Porter, graduate, with Fencer still here.

  Ok, I’ll stop shakespearing. Listening.

  I also want to be reinstated on student council. I worked damn hard for that.

  At your service. Tell me what to do.

  Kavi and that other girl found out he has a new online name.

  @StoneWraith14. Kavi and Noemi.

  Right. I need you to sleuth @StoneWraith14 from over there.

  I tried to do a lot of sleuthing already. And failed.

  Different countries have different firewalls. Including here at home. You’ll have access to sites and information we can’t get in the US.

  I sat up completely in bed. What do you mean?

  I mean there are certain things I can’t see that you can. That you can find for us.

  Are you talking about censorship?

  Yup, I know this from traveling. It’s not just China that does it.

  So I can see things here in Doha that you can’t over there in Springdale?

  And I can see things here that you can’t in Doha.

  Whoa. But I couldn’t find anything on @StoneWraith14.

  That’s because you weren’t looking in the right places. Fencer is very tight online with British Islamophobes. I’m guessing he’s got some internet tunneling service to pretend he’s in the UK.

  I’m getting excited. Like I’ve been asked to join a secret spy mission of international significance.

  I’ll send you the list of sites I want you to check for his presence. The ones I’ve tracked links to but can’t access.

  I’M ON IT.

  • • •

  For the first time in a long time, I went to sleep completely happy.

  • • •

  And that’s why today I’ve recorded no oddity.

  ADAM

  SATURDAY, MARCH 16

  MARVEL: ENERGY

  ENERGY AFTER RESTING IN MY own bed. With Dad and Hanna in the house.

  Energized that my vision is better, that there is nothing disconnecting my legs from me right now.

  Energized with the knowledge I’ll be seeing Zayneb tomorrow, and we aren’t complete strangers anymore.

  With hopes that maybe we can be on our way to something more.

  ZAYNEB

  SATURDAY, MARCH 16

  MARVEL: COLLECTIVE POWER

  EXHIBIT A: WHAT I FOUND on the breakfast table.

  I woke up to Auntie Nandy’s rendition of “Wild World.”

  Finally, a seventies song I knew all the words to. The singer, Cat Stevens, had become Muslim—in the seventies too—so any time one of his songs came on the radio, Mom and Dad would point it out.

  “ ‘Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world!’ ” I sang along with Auntie Nandy, who was fixing breakfast. I brought the first plates she’d assembled on the kitchen counter to the dining table.

  A stuffed toy blue bird was sitting in the middle of the table.

  “Do you recognize it?” Auntie Nandy came up behind me. “It was in the box I found your mom’s burkini in. You left it here when you visited Doha last.”

  “Oh my God. It’s my Angry Bird, the Blues!” I picked it up. “I was obsessed with collecting all of them when I was a kid, and this was my favorite. Do you want to know why?”

  “Because it’s the angriest?”

  “No, because look.” I undid a zipper at the bottom of its stomach and flipped it inside out. Three smaller plush birds emerged. “The Blues has the power of three birds. It’s like a surprise attack in the video game! When you strike it midlaunch, boom, three birds shoot out of the one, and bang, the enemy’s setup gets mangled.”

  “So it’s like a Trojan horse?”

  “In a different way.” I hugged the Blues to me as I walked back to the bedroom. “I’m taking this home with me. Thanks for keeping it.”

  I sealed the three birds into one again and set it down beside Squish on the night table. They looked like an odd couple together—one, pristine, with colorful plush elements, including feathers, and the other . . . well, Squish.

  • • •

  As we were getting ready to go to the Corniche, the waterfront promenade that edged the coast in Doha, where the city met the waters of the Arabian Gulf, Mom called.

  She had news that gave me pause: Dad left to go to Pakistan today, having gotten more information about Daadi’s death.

  For the first time in a while my grandmother’s face held still in my head for a long moment. But when I blinked again, into Mom’s face on Skype, Daadi was gone from my mind’s eye.

  “Was it something important, the news about Daadi?” I asked after Mom told me a bunch of hows, including how Dad had learned there was new information and how he’d left from Chicago and other particulars—other than the news itself.

  “No, don’t worry,” she answered. “Have fun in Doha,” she added with a clearly disturbed expression.

  “But why did Dad have to leave so suddenly?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t sudden. He knew he’d have to go when there were things to do.” Then she said bye, because she was prepping for her own trip to Doha.

  Basically, she didn’t want me to know whatever it was that she and Dad knew.

  So, as soon as I got home from the Corniche, I called Sadia—my sister who always tells me the truth.

  I also wanted to talk to her about Adam.

  • • •

  Exhibit B: My sister, a part of my power pack.

  Sadia is the closest one to Daadi’s personality in our family, so as soon as she picked up and said, “My Zu-zu!” just like Daadi used to call me (except Daadi said “meri Zu-zu”), I teared up.

  Because Sadia was at her fiancé’s parents’ place and said she couldn’t talk lon
g, I asked her point-blank, “Why did Dad suddenly leave for Pakistan?”

  “I don’t know. Really.” She looked earnestly at me, her eyes wide and free of all secrets.

  But she’s always like that. Pure Hufflepuff.

  So I tried again. “Did you find out any other information?”

  “No, I’m in the dark too. Mom said that Dad got a call that they wanted him to fill some paperwork now that new information had come up about Daadi’s death.” Sadia peered at me, her usually smiley, long mouth turned down. She shook her head and exclaimed, “Zu-Zu, take a deep breath. Please. It will be okay.”

  “Okay.” I actually did do as she asked, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. I mean, what else can it be? It’s already horrendous, her dying like that. In a car accident.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Tell me about Doha,” Sadia instructed. “I talked to Auntie Nandy the other day when I called for you, but I want to hear from you.”

  “It’s good.” I opened my eyes and looked at the calm beauty of my sister’s face. She was back to smiling—encouragingly now, so I burst out with it. “I met a guy. A Muslim guy. Who I really like. Don’t laugh, okay?”

  “Why would I laugh?”

  “I don’t know.” It felt different to talk to Sadia about Adam than it had talking to Kavi. It felt like talking to my parents about it. Like it was making it serious.

  When nothing had even happened.

  “But I really like him. I mean, from what I know of him so far.” I didn’t look into the phone, at her eyes, pretending instead to clean my glasses.

  “Is he cute?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I put my glasses back on, sure she’d understand that part. Because, masha’Allah, he was very cute.

  “Ha-ha, of course, she says.”

  “I’ll send you a picture.”

  “I’m going to play Mom and Dad for a sec, okay?” Sadia stroked her chin like Dad stroked his beard, and I laughed at how oddly like Dad she did look. “Does he appear to have the same values as you do? Same commitment to the deen?”

  “Yes, actually maybe more than I do.” While Adam and I both did our prayers (he’d told me that when he got his IV done yesterday, it was the first Friday prayers at the mosque, the first jumah, he’d missed in a long time), he’d also attended Islamic classes every week when he was in London. I didn’t, only going to Muslim conferences and camps sometimes.