Sadia

by Colleen Nelson

  “Who said you’re a waste of time? And what’s Jillian got to do with anything?” he called after me. My plan was to march away from him, breeze into class, and pretend like nothing had happened. Of course, that didn’t go as planned, either.

  “Whoa!” Josh said, grabbing my arm. “What’s going on? You are mad at me!”

  “No, I’m not.” I shook my arm out of his grip, but I could feel my cheeks burning.

  He gave me a doubtful look. I stared back, keeping my gaze level. “Really? Cuz when you make the team, we’ll have to play together for the next month.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know I’m going to make the team.”

  During tryouts, I’d scoped out the other girls and gotten nervous. Jillian was the most talented, but a few other girls, like Jeein and Sarah, had surprised me with their skills. Mr. Letner only had to choose four of us. What if I didn’t make the cut?

  “Yeah, I do. You’re one of the best girls out there. Anyhow, I wouldn’t want to play on a team that you weren’t on.”

  His words caught me off guard and I paused, confused.

  Mr. Letner poked his head out of the classroom, scanning the hallway for latecomers. “Come on, you two, hurry up,” he called. I let Josh walk in the room a few steps ahead of me. Even though my body was in the classroom, my mind was in the hallway. What did Josh mean when he said he wouldn’t play on a team without me? What about his conversation with Allan?

  I sighed as I sat down and ignored Mariam’s questioning stare.

  Chapter 10

  “As promised,” Mr. Letner said when everyone was seated the next day for first period Global Issues, “we’ll start with your photos. Who wants to go first? Zander?”

  Zander stood up and looked out at everyone. I knew why Mr. Letner had picked him to go first. He loved being the centre of attention. I sat back, ready to be entertained. “Okay, so for my photo, I wanted to show something that has a lot of meaning to me. I have this stuffie —” The class burst into laughter. Zander laughed, too. “I don’t sleep with him anymore,” he said quickly, “but I wanted to take a picture of him cuz he means a lot to me.” Mr. Letner clicked on the photo from his computer and a close-up shot of a brown-and -white spotted stuffed dog came on the screen. The way Zander had posed him, it looked like his stuffie was staring out the window on the back of a couch, the way real dogs sometimes do. Zander sounded a little more nervous as he watched us looking at his photo. “Mr. Letner said ordinary things have meaning. So I took this picture of Whiffer, my stuffie, because when I was a kid, I used to leave him sitting on the back of the couch when I went to school so that when I came home, I’d see him waiting for me.”

  Carmina made a face at Mariam and me, as if Zander was the cutest guy ever. It was impressive that he’d had the guts to go first and to show a photo of a stuffed animal.

  “Awww. That is soooo cute, Zander,” Allan said mockingly from the back of the room.

  Mr. Letner silenced him with a look and turned his attention to Zander. “How does it show perspective?”

  “When I was a kid, Whiffer was super important, but now that I’m older …” Zander let his words trail off.

  “Your priorities have changed.”

  “Which is kind of like my perspective has changed.”

  “Thanks, Zander. Takes a big man to admit he sleeps with stuffies.”

  “Used to sleep with stuffies,” Zander corrected him and went back to his seat.

  “But he’s not just a stuffie, is he?” Mr. Letner con­tinued. “Your dog represents childhood and all the things that come with having a toy you love. I’m sure lots of you have toys that are special to you. Or were special to you when you were a kid. Might be a good topic for some more photos. I bet a lot of you have your favourite toy stuffed in your closet. Am I right? You don’t need it anymore, but you don’t want to let it go, either. That perspective on growing up would make a good photo.”

  I thought about Bibi. I’d had her since I was born, a rabbit with long, floppy ears and a pink ribbon on her neck. She’d come with me to the U.K. and then across the ocean to Canada. No matter how many different beds I’d slept in, I’d had her pressed against my cheek. She was still in my closet, nestled among blankets and sweaters. I could never, ever let Bibi go, even if I didn’t sleep with her anymore. I translated what Mr. Letner had said, but Amira shook her head.

  “Did you ever have one?” I asked.

  “Yes. But I gave him to a little girl in the camps. Her father had died. She had nothing and needed it more than I did.” Amira stared at me with honey-brown eyes. I blinked and looked away. I’d never thought of Bibi sitting in my closet as a luxury, but to Amira, she probably was.

  “Can I go next?” Allan stood up before Mr. Letner could argue. “Mr. Letner.” He pointed to the screen, tapping it impatiently, thrilled to treat Mr. Letner as his assistant. Some of his friends snickered. Mr. Letner raised an eyebrow and gave him a warning look.

  What came up on the screen was not what I’d expected. I thought he’d show a picture of himself mooning the camera. The photo was of Allan, but he was carrying someone in his arms. The boy’s head hung back, his mouth slack, gangly arms and legs dangling. Allan’s voice changed as he spoke. “This is my brother Cody. He has cerebral palsy, which means he can’t do a lot of things on his own, like eat and walk, or even talk. The thinking part of his brain works fine, just not the parts that control his body.” Allan’s words came slowly as he looked at the photo, taking it in the way we were.

  “He has a chair, like a motorized wheelchair, and sleeps on the main floor. But, uh, since my dad left, he hasn’t been to my room because it’s up the stairs and my mom and I aren’t strong enough to carry him.” He paused. “Until yesterday.” He turned to the class. “That’s what this picture is: me carrying Cody up to my room. First time he’s been upstairs in three years.”

  The class was silent. We stared at the photo and this side of Allan we didn’t know existed. Even Mr. Letner didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Allan stood in front of us, shifting from side to side. “You have a title for this picture?” Mr. Letner finally asked. His voice was thick.

  “Yeah, I want to call it Strong. Not cuz of me, but cuz of Cody. It’s hard to be him, but he never complains.” The class stayed quiet as Allan went back to his seat.

  Amira tugged on my sleeve. I turned to her, wishing I didn’t have to translate right now. But that wasn’t what she wanted. “Will you help me to show my photo?” she asked.

  “You want to show it to everyone?” I asked, frowning. What if she got to the front and froze, too scared to continue?

  She nodded. “Isn’t that the assignment?”

  I raised my hand. “Mr. Letner, Amira wants to go next.”

  “Okay, great!” It was easy to hear the surprise in his voice. Most of the other kids had never heard her speak; some wouldn’t even have remembered her name. I translated as she explained to Mr. Letner which photo she wanted to use. “That one!” she exclaimed as he flicked through what she’d uploaded to the computer. We moved to the front of the class.

  The photo was actually of another photo. It was distorted and grainy, the colour faded. Three girls stood arm in arm, wearing school uniforms of white short-sleeved shirts and green skirts. They all had toothy grins, their hair wavy and curled. The girl in the middle was Amira, but she looked different. Rounded cheeks, laughter in her eyes; she was a shadow of that person now. Around her neck was a gold medal and it glinted in the sun.

  She spoke quickly in Arabic, pointing to things in the photo as I listened and then translated for the class. “These were my friends in Homs. Our school is there.” She pointed to a low building in the background. “This day was our track and field competition for lower school. I won a race and that is my medal. I don’t have it anymore. I had to leave it behind.

  “My friends left Ho
ms before I did. I carried this picture with me to ask people if they’d seen them. It’s one of the only things I still have from my old life. My only way to remember them. It’s my most special thing.”

  Seeing her photo on the screen, a replica of the real thing, was sort of like looking at Amira now. The girl on the screen was full of life, joyful and carefree. The war hadn’t started yet. All that mattered on that day was having fun with her friends. Would she have done anything different if she had known it would be the last photo she’d have of all of them together? I wanted to tell the kids in the class about how she’d given away her stuffy and that she couldn’t use the playground in Homs because there were bombs planted around it.

  Did that laughing girl still exist? I wondered. After everything that had happened to her, had the real Amira, the one in the photo, been erased? Or was she still inside, hiding?

  Chapter 11

  The buzzer had barely sounded for the end of the day when I took off from Math class and race-walked down the hallway to the gym doors to see if the tournament team roster was posted. A mass of kids clumped together in front of a typed piece of paper. I was too far back to read it. Allan pushed his way through and his voice rang out. “Yes!” he shouted with a fist pump. “Made it!”

  But seeing a couple of kids leave with long faces got me worried. Would I be one of them? My play during the scrimmages had been good, but I wasn’t the tallest or the fastest. What if it came down to me or a girl who was an inch taller? Josh turned from the list and raised his hand for a high-five. “We both made it!”

  “I did?” A relieved smile stretched across my face.

  “Told you, you would.”

  The look he gave me lasted a second too long. Not that I minded, but I could feel a blush spreading under my hijab. “What about Jillian? Which other girls made it?” I asked to turn the conversation back to the team.

  “Jillian did. I’m not sure who else.”

  I let the news sink in.

  “Guess I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” he said. He gave me a grin that was impossible not to return. He lowered his voice. “About yesterday —”

  My breath caught in my throat and I groaned. “Can we forget about it, please?”

  He shifted his backpack on his shoulder as a kid behind him jostled him. “It’s just” — he struggled for words — “you said some things. Like Mariam liking me? What’s that all about?”

  The blush deepened as I twisted my mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting for more of an ex­­-plana­­tion. “I like Mariam,” he said. My stomach dropped. “As a friend. Same with Jill, if it matters.”

  It does! “Allan said something,” I started to explain. “Well, I overheard him saying something …” I let my voice drift off, hoping Josh would fill in the blanks.

  “To you?”

  He doesn’t even remember? I swallowed, the awkwardness of the situation making me sweat. “Not exactly.”

  Josh waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t listen to half of what Allan says and you shouldn’t either. Sometimes it’s easier to just agree with him.” Was that what had happened? Had Josh agreed with Allan instead of arguing with him? It didn’t make it right, but it did take some of the sting out of what I’d heard.

  “Don’t mention what I said about Mariam, okay? I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Josh gave me a confused look. “You said what about who?” And then he grinned. “So, we’re good?”

  I nodded. “All good.”

  “I hated thinking you were mad at me,” he confessed.

  And I hated being mad at you.

  As Josh walked away, I pushed my way closer to the gym doors to read all the names. I scanned them to see who else had made it. Jillian, Ally, Sarah, Jeein, and me were the girls and Josh, Allan, Thomas, Mohammed, Shane, Casey, and Rory were the boys. I shared an excited smile with Shane, a new kid who had won the three-point shootout we’d had last tryout. He’d sunk ten in a row, which beat Josh by two.

  “So, did you make it?” Mariam stood behind me. She had changed back into her hijab, hair tucked away, makeup scrubbed off. She looked like my friend again, but my guard was up. “Good for you.” She sounded sincere.

  I nodded, eyeing her warily. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. I know how much it means to you. It’s a big deal.”

  Now I was really suspicious. This was the most she’d talked to me all week. The crowd by the doors had thinned out. Just a few stragglers were still looking at the list. I pulled her to the side so I could talk to her quietly. “Mariam, what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been ignoring me all week.”

  She shrugged like she hadn’t noticed anything. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Yeah, you have. If it’s about Josh —”

  She opened her eyes wide and gave me an incredulous stare. “Why did you bring his name up?” she whispered. Because you acted like a jealous girlfriend a few days ago, was what I wanted to say, but before I could even open my mouth, she was hissing in my face. “I was trying to be nice, but obviously all you care about is rubbing it in my face that you made the team and Josh likes you.”

  “What?” I looked at her, confused. “I’m not rubbing it in your face. You didn’t even try out. And as for Josh —”

  “I liked him first!”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “You liked him first?” I repeated. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know how we were ever friends.”

  I blinked at her, wondering if I’d heard her right. Was I being tricked? I wanted to look around and check for a camera in case someone was videotaping this as a joke. Was Mariam actually letting a guy who neither of us could date come between us? A guy who had told me he only liked her as a friend?

  “Oh my God!” Carmina appeared, breathless. “I just saw Daniel,” she gasped. “He looked right at me and smiled!” Her face split into a grin, and as much as I wanted to share in the excitement of a boy looking at her, I wasn’t in the mood. “Are you guys ready?” Carmina asked, eyeing us. She paused. The tension must have been obvious. “Are you coming to Mariam’s?” she asked me.

  “Uh, no. I can’t today,” I mumbled, looking anywhere but at Mariam. Mainly because my supposed best friend didn’t invite me. Mariam refused to look at me and a hot swell of hurt rose in my chest.

  “Okay,” Carmina said, cringing at the awkwardness. “We’re going to miss the bus,” Carmina said to Mariam and gave me an apologetic look.

  “Well, I’m ready to go,” Mariam replied, brushing past me as if I was a nuisance that could be pushed aside.

  I watched the two of them leave, trying to make sense of things. Up until recently, I’d thought I was Mariam’s best friend. She’d liked Carmina, but they didn’t share what we did. Then Mariam took off her hijab, and all of a sudden, I was nothing to her, and Carmina and she were best friends. I could understand wanting to have different friends, but I didn’t understand why I was being pushed aside or why she wanted to hurt me. I took a deep breath and blinked away the tears welling in my eyes. As I passed the classroom door, I caught sight of myself in the small pane of glass. Was it the hijab that Mariam was running away from? Seeing me must remind her of who she really was, who she’d always be. I wished she’d realize that taking off her hijab wasn’t going to change that.

  “If we hadn’t left Syria when we did, what would have happened to us?” I asked Mom and Dad at dinner. Aazim sat across from me, taking a break from his studying to shovel food into his mouth. Today was the first time all week he wasn’t going back to school to study until ten or eleven o’clock at night. My parents liked that he was taking school seriously, but he was so exhausted that in the mornings, he’d sleep through his alarm. Mom had to turn on all the lights and threaten to dump a bucket of
ice water on him to wake him up.

  They both looked at me. “We would have left sooner or later,” Dad said.

  “But things got worse after we left,” I pressed. “What if we’d stayed, like other people did?”

  Mom pursed her lips. “Everyone made a choice. Lots of people believed the government wouldn’t let things get as bad as they did, that they’d consider the people. We were lucky: your dad got a job and so much of our family was already in the U.K.”

  “What if he hadn’t gotten a job, though? Would we have stayed?”

  I could tell the conversation was making my parents uncomfortable. I’d been too young to really understand why we were leaving. I remembered crying myself to sleep the night our suitcases were lined up at the front door, ready for our departure the next morning. Everything else we were taking with us had already been boxed up and sent overseas. Mom had tried to make it sound like an adventure, but all I could think about was that I would never see my friends again.

  Even Aazim took a break from eating to listen to Dad’s answer. “By that point, we were committed to leaving. We were getting out one way or the other.”

  Mom said a quick prayer of thanks for our safe journey.

  “Amira’s told me things about what Syria is like now.”

  A knowing glance passed between them. “Yes, it’s bad. Very bad.”

  “There’s still people who can’t leave.”

  “It’s a war. That’s what happens. Innocent people suffer,” Aazim said. None of what they were saying was making me feel better. I’d been living my comfortable life in Canada, and even though my parents made sure we watched the news, it had been easy pretending that what was happening a world away in Syria didn’t affect me. Amira’s arrival had opened my eyes to the reality, and now I couldn’t look away. It could just as easily have been me arriving with nothing but a photo of friends.