Amina's Voice

by Hena Khan

  “There you are, geeta,” Baba says. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “Don’t you think galaree is a more suitable name for your daughter today?” Thaya Jaan says with the hint of a smile. Baba chuckles in agreement.

  My cheeks burn, and I brush past my uncle and climb into the backseat of the car without saying a word. Is Thaya Jaan making fun of me?

  Mama gets into the backseat with me, giving Thaya Jaan the front, out of respect. That suits me perfectly, since I don’t want to be sitting next to him anyway. As we start backing out of the garage, I lean over and whisper to my mother.

  “What does galaree mean?”

  Mama touches my bright yellow blouse and smiles.

  “It means canary. You look like a little songbird.”

  “Oh.” I don’t get the joke or want Thaya Jaan to comment on my shirt, my singing, or anything else about me. The weight of his words presses down on me all over again, and I try to act interested, as Mama is super chatty and jokes around with me on our ride, but my heart isn’t in it.

  15

  Early the next morning I find Mustafa in the kitchen. He’s chewing on oatmeal with peanut butter mixed into it. I catch a whiff of his sporty, fresh-scented shower gel and notice his hair is wet. He’s sitting in a T-shirt and shorts, even though it’s chilly in the house and I’m wearing fleece pajamas.

  “What are you doing up so early?” I ask. Mustafa usually sleeps in until noon on Saturdays.

  “I went for a run. I need to do some extra conditioning.”

  “Why? You already made the team, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but if I want to be a starter I have to show the coach that I’m working hard and improving.”

  “Aren’t you the only freshman on the team?”

  “Yup.” Mustafa’s spoon scrapes the bottom of his bowl.

  “Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

  “That’s not the point, Amina. I think I can be the best player on the team. I just need to work harder than everyone else.”

  I wonder if Mustafa gets nervous before his games, knowing that everyone is watching him and that at any moment he could fall on his face or shoot an air ball. If he does, he does a good job hiding it. I kind of want to tell him that I’m proud of him for making the team. And that I wish he had been at dinner last night. But I don’t. We don’t say stuff like that to each other.

  Baba walks into the kitchen, wearing his bathrobe. “So you’re awake. We need to talk.” He sits down at the table across from Mustafa like he means business.

  “Since you cannot remember when to come home at night, your mother and I have decided that you’re not going out with the team anymore. You go to the games but then come home.” Baba speaks firmly. When we got home from dinner, I went upstairs and got into bed. I didn’t hear when Mustafa got back, but it must have been pretty late.

  “But, Baba, they’re my friends . . .” Mustafa starts to protest.

  “We’d prefer you spend more time with people your own age who are a better influence. And with Yusuf and with other boys from the Islamic Center.”

  If Baba only knew about the boys from the Islamic Center.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t need to plan playdates for me.” Mustafa scowls.

  “Watch it,” Baba warns. “You’re lucky. I was so angry I was going to make you quit the team, but your Thaya Jaan convinced me to let you play.”

  “Thaya Jaan? Really?” Mustafa says.

  “Yes. He said that you had to take responsibility for your actions, but that you also have a commitment to your team.”

  Wait. So Thaya Jaan is anti music but he is pro basketball?

  “If you can show us that you can follow the rules, then we can talk about this again when we feel it is time. But until then, this is final.”

  “Okay, Baba,” Mustafa says quietly. I’m glad to see that he isn’t starting a fight. We all know that would be a losing battle.

  “And I need you to understand that we make rules for a reason, not to punish you.”

  “I know, I know. I get it. Can I go now?” I wince as Mustafa’s tone grows rude. But Baba just nods. Mustafa picks up his empty bowl and drops it in the sink. I watch my father slump in his chair in his striped bathrobe, with his bed head and black-and-white stubble on his chin. He seems worn out, even though the day has just started. I get up from my seat and put my arms around him as Mustafa goes up to his room.

  Mama walks into the kitchen, wearing a freshly ironed shalwar kameez. Since Thaya Jaan has been staying with us, she doesn’t hang around in her pajamas and robe on weekend mornings like usual. And she certainly doesn’t smile as much. I don’t blame her.

  “You guys already ate? I was going to make eggs.”

  “I’ll have some.” Baba absently strokes my hair.

  I think about Baba letting Thaya Jaan tell him to let Mustafa play on the team. Did Baba agree with him, or was it that he couldn’t say no? I decide I need to know some answers for myself and, after taking a deep breath, ask the question that has been sitting on my chest like a lead blanket for the past week.

  “Baba, why does God hate music?”

  “What?” Mama says. She puts down her spatula and turns to face me. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “I heard Thaya Jaan telling Baba last week that it was haram for me to play music.”

  “Saleem! Are you hearing this? What did he say? And what did you say to him?” Mama hisses softly, even though the shower is running in the bathroom upstairs and Thaya Jaan won’t be able to hear us.

  “Well, he was just saying that music is forbidden. I know we don’t agree with that interpretation of Islam, but I couldn’t say anything to him,” Baba mumbles.

  Mama lets out an exasperated sigh and comes over to the table. She kneels to be eye level with me and holds me by the shoulders. “Is that why I haven’t heard you practicing your piano or singing this week? You are not doing anything wrong. God does not hate music. I don’t believe that, or that it’s wrong for you to play or to sing. Why would he give you so much talent then?”

  I really want to believe her, but I look at Baba and wait to see what he has to say.

  “I’m sorry, geeta. I guess I should have said what I thought right then. The truth is I agree with your mother, and I do believe my brother is wrong about this, okay?”

  “Okay. But then why did he say that?”

  “Your Thaya Jaan has some religious views that are strict. Like the not-participating-in-Halloween thing. Some Muslims are extra careful and avoid anything that they think might be wrong in any way. Music at the time of the Prophet’s life was thought to be a harmful influence.”

  I kind of understand, but it’s still strange to have witnessed Baba pretending to agree with his brother. It must have been part of the wanting-everyone-to-be-perfect-and-never-disagreeing stuff.

  “There is some music out there that I do think is inappropriate—like music with bad language—but that’s different,” he continued. “Your music is wonderful.”

  I nod.

  “You have to talk to him,” Mama says with a frown. “I respect Bhai Jaan for his beliefs, but this is too much. We have a right to teach our children our values. What if Amina had never said anything to us and thought she was doing something wrong for loving music?”

  I wait to see how Baba will react. He listens quietly and then looks lost in thought.

  “You’re right,” he finally says. “I will talk to him.”

  16

  “What’s up with Emily and Soojin? Are they like best friends or something now?” Bradley points to where the two of them are sitting together at the mapping station Mrs. Barton had set up, examining the Oregon Trail. His words spark a fresh shock of jealousy that courses through my veins like I had stuck my pen into an electrical socket.

  “No, they’re just working together,” I reply, knowing full well that isn’t true either. Soojin and Emily are definitely friends now; there’s no d
enying that. But Soojin is still my best friend, and everyone knows it. I hope Emily knows it too.

  “I can go ask Soojin to switch places with me. You can be with your BFF, and I can be near Emily.” Bradley’s blue eyes are teasing.

  “Really? You want to be near Emily?”

  “Yeah. You’re pretty cool, but I wouldn’t mind getting closer to Emily, if you know what I mean.” He jabs me in the side with his elbow.

  “Ow! I don’t know what you mean,” I start to say. “Wait a minute—are you saying that you . . . like Emily?

  “No way. All I’m saying is that Emily is . . . you know, kind of . . . pretty.”

  I look over at Emily. Her neatly trimmed blond hair is held in place with a brown leather headband. Her eyes are nice, bright green, set in an angular face with high cheekbones and just the right number of freckles. If I were forced to admit it, she is actually kind of pretty. But I’ve never noticed that before.

  “Forget it, Bradley. Emily likes Justin,” I blurt out, then clamp my mouth shut.

  Uh-oh.

  “What? Emily said she likes Justin?” Bradley leans in closer with wide eyes, giving me his full attention.

  “What? No. I mean, I don’t know.” My cheeks burn.

  “Wow. Well, I guess it makes sense. He is a jock and everything. I just thought Emily might like someone . . . smarter.” Bradley sulks.

  “Listen, I don’t know who she likes or doesn’t. It was just a guess . . . isn’t Justin really popular? A lot of girls like him,” I say with growing desperation.

  Bradley eyes me like he doesn’t believe a word of it.

  “Don’t say anything to anyone, okay?” I beg, dread spreading through my insides. What if Emily’s secret gets out? That would be awful. Soojin told her that I could be trusted.

  I am trustworthy. Usually.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. Who cares anyway? Let’s get this wagon moving! We’re not in last place anymore!” Bradley pulls out the sheet with our assignment for the day and starts reading the instructions aloud, his eyes intense with concentration.

  I let myself breathe again. Bradley has moved on, and, knowing him, the conversation will quickly be forgotten. He isn’t going to tell anyone anything. It isn’t his style.

  17

  “Isn’t it taking forever for Mrs. Barton to get our work back to us? We took that unit test more than two weeks ago,” Emily complains during lunch. She’s sitting across from me, rummaging through her reusable green lunch bag.

  “My dad noticed that our grades are getting posted online much later than usual,” Soojin agrees. “But forget about that. Guess what tomorrow is?”

  “What?” Emily and I ask in unison.

  “Our swearing-in ceremony! Remember I told you guys it was October twentieth? I can’t believe it’s already here. I’m going to miss school. And this is the last day you’ll be seeing me as Soojin.”

  “That’s so exciting . . . Susan!” Emily gushes with a little giggle as she utters Soojin’s future name. “Isn’t it, Amina?”

  “Yeah, that’s really great.” I’m completely fake as I try to match Emily’s enthusiasm. But I just can’t call Soojin Susan yet. I hate that idea too much.

  “My mom is so psyched about the party she’s throwing to celebrate.” Soojin describes the heaps of red, white, and blue decorations her mother has been collecting since Independence Day.

  “My aunt always brings this cake for our Fourth of July barbeque where she puts strawberries and blueberries on whipped cream to make an American flag,” Emily says. “You should totally make that!”

  “Good idea. And you guys are both invited.”

  “Let’s celebrate right now.” Emily pulls out a bag of her mother’s peanut butter cookies. “Have some, Amina,” she offers, pushing them toward me. “I know you like these.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I take one, touched that she remembered.

  “Hey, Em-i-ly!” A loud voice calls out from the other end of the lunchroom. It’s Luke, wearing an ugly sneer.

  “What?” Emily turns her head toward him nervously.

  “Want to come over here and sit next to your . . . lover boy?” Luke laughs and throws a potato chip at Justin, who’s sitting across from him. Justin surveys the room, catches a glimpse of Emily, and then looks away. His ears turn cherry red.

  “You’re so weird.” Emily coolly flips her head around and turns her attention to her bagel as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

  What did that little twerp do? I scan the crowd for Bradley, who is slouched in his seat at the table to my left. His eyes widen as they meet mine, and he ducks his head. Sheepishly, he mouths the word “oops” to me. My heart thrashes wildly in my chest. How quickly will Emily trace the leak back to me?

  “Your boo is right here waiting for you, Emily!” Luke jeers as the boys around him laugh like hyenas. Kyle purses his freckled face and makes loud kissing noises.

  “No, I’m not!” Justin yelps as Kyle tousles his hair. “I am not!” he repeats, his voice now rough with anger. He stands up, brushing everyone off him, and moves to the other end of the table, where he sits and fumes.

  Emily acts like she hasn’t heard a thing, but I can see her flinch ever so slightly at Justin’s words, and her face turns a shade pinker. Hearing all of the commotion, Mrs. Greenwich, the lunchroom attendant, comes over to hush the tables.

  “What’s going on here? If you don’t settle down, I’m going to separate you,” she threatens.

  “How did Luke find out?” Soojin whispers to Emily as everyone quickly quiets. “Who else did you tell about Justin?”

  Emily just shakes her head slightly, still staring at her sandwich. She blinks hard, trying not to cry.

  The next few minutes drag on in a tense silence. I pretend to nibble on my cookie for as long as possible, but the peanut butter tastes like dirt. Afraid to look at Emily, I walk slowly over to the trash can to throw the rest of it away along with my napkin and milk carton. There, I take a few deep breaths and steel myself for whatever will happen next.

  We’re dismissed for the last ten minutes of lunch, and I walk out to the courtyard with Soojin and Emily with feet as heavy as lead. Luke runs by us with a smirk, while Emily holds her head high and refuses to look in his direction. But as soon as we are on the other side of the building, hidden from view, she spins around to face me.

  “How could you?” Emily demands. Her green eyes are ablaze with a mixture of hurt and fury. “I trusted you, and now look what happened!”

  I gulp and start to pour out the heartfelt apology I know I owe her.

  “Listen, I just . . .”

  “Hold on!” Soojin holds up her hand. “You can’t just go and accuse Amina like that! I already told you, you can trust her with anything.”

  I shut my mouth and stand there like an idiot, looking back and forth at Emily, seething with anger, and Soojin, whose unshakable faith in me makes me feel like the most horrible person in the world.

  “But I didn’t tell anyone else but you guys, and you didn’t say anything, did you?” Emily asks Soojin.

  “No, of course not.” Soojin sounds indignant.

  Emily starts to cry, and large salty tears flow down her cheeks. “I’m so embarrassed I could die!” she howls. “I’m sorry, Amina, but I don’t know how they found out, and I just assumed it was you.”

  “What about Julie?” Soojin asks. “Do you think she said anything to anyone?”

  “I never told Julie! I don’t even really talk to her anymore,” Emily wails. “I can’t trust her like I do you guys.”

  A massive wave of guilt almost knocks me over as I realize Emily really does consider us friends—both Soojin and me. My mind starts to race. Even though Emily followed Julie around and acted like her chamchee for all those years, it doesn’t count for anything anymore. They aren’t even close, and it looks like they barely hang out. Maybe Emily just got smarter and realized she wants new friends in middle school. Real friends, like Soojin
and me. But wait—am I even a real friend? Not only did I tell Emily’s secret and watch her be humiliated in front of the entire grade without doing anything to help, now I was actually letting her apologize to me.

  “Then how do you think Luke found out?” Soojin presses.

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone heard us talking about it.”

  “What do you think, Amina? I don’t remember anyone being around when we were talking. Do you?” Soojin peers directly into my eyes.

  “Well, not exactly,” I hear myself saying in a tiny voice. I pause, trying to swallow the sawdust in my throat, as something inside me pushes me to go on. “But . . . maybe . . . somehow . . . someone by accident . . . someone might have heard me talking to Bradley. . . .”

  “Wait! What? Bradley? What were you talking to Bradley about?” Soojin asks.

  “He was saying that he thought Emily was pretty or something,” I start to explain.

  “Eww!” Emily moans between sobs.

  “I know, right? And so, I was trying to tell him that he didn’t have a chance.”

  “And?” Soojin pushes me to go on.

  “And . . . I kind of ended up saying that Emily liked Justin. I didn’t mean to. Honest. It just came out of my mouth.” Even though it’s true, I can’t believe the words I’m saying.

  “How could you do that?” Soojin explodes. She stretches out her arms in exasperation and then clamps them over her head. “I can’t believe you, Amina! What the hell were you thinking?”

  I’m as still as a statue. Soojin has never yelled at me before.

  “Yeah, how could you!” Emily repeats. “I would never do that to you.” Her face twists with anger.

  “I know. I’m really, really sorry.” I hang my head.

  “Now what am I supposed to do?” Emily starts crying again.