Sadia

by Colleen Nelson

  As I went through the motions of the Asr prayer, our voices mingling together, I thought about the tournament tomorrow and how much playing well would mean not just to me, but to my team, and even to Mariam and Amira.

  When we were finished, we rolled up the prayer mats and Amira stowed them away in the corner.

  “Ma’a as-salama,” I called to her family as we left, dressed again in our outdoor clothes. They said goodbye as well, and one of Amira’s little brothers ran to the door to give her a kiss and me a high-five.

  “Where do you live?” she asked as we walked.

  “Close to you, actually. If you take a left off this street, you’ll see a sign for Beechwood Estates. That’s our neighbourhood.”

  “You have a house?”

  I nodded.

  “We had a house in Homs. It was just outside the city centre. Neighbours we met in the camp told us it had been bombed. Nothing was left.”

  “Was anyone you knew —”

  She nodded before I finished the question. I knew Homs had been hit hard from watching it on the news. I was reminded again how lucky I was that my parents had decided to leave when they had. “The hill is just there, on the other side of the community centre,” I said to change the subject.

  Two hockey rinks, already filled with kids, stood between us and the hill. “Do all Canadian kids learn to skate?” she asked.

  “Lots, but maybe not all. Would you like to learn?”

  She shook her head and moved closer to me. “No!”

  I laughed. “It’s hard! Dad took us out once, but never again. There’s a bin of donated equipment inside the building, though, if your brothers wanted to try it.” A couple of kids, younger than Yussef, flew around the rink. One wore a pink helmet, her blond hair flowing over her jacket.

  Amira got quiet as she watched them. “Do you remember that day at school when I was so upset?” She gave me a shy glance. I’d chalked it up to homesickness, but the way she asked, I could tell it was more. “It was my best friend’s fiteenth birthday.”

  “You still don’t know where she is?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No one’s heard from anyone in her family. I miss her so much. We never got to say goodbye.”

  “There’s no way to find out where they went? Could your parents help?”

  Amira shook her head. “Life is hard enough. I don’t want to burden them with something else.”

  “But there must be a way to find them. I mean, all the people spread out over different continents. There has to be some way to track them. Aren’t there any organ­­-izations that can help?”

  Amira looked at me sideways. “If there are, I don’t know about them.” Her cheeks and nose glowed pink from the cold and her breath came out in smoky puffs. I let the matter drop, but it stuck in my head. Amira’s friends might be in Canada, too, maybe even in the same city! What if they could be tracked down?

  Amira started walking again and I followed. Thoughts of her friends must hang over her all the time. I couldn’t imagine living with that stress. No wonder she looked haunted.

  Our boots crunched across the snowy field toward the hill. “We can use those,” I told Amira and pointed to a few shiny plastic toboggans sitting at the bottom of the hill. The initials of the community centre were written on them in black marker for people who didn’t have their own.

  We each grabbed one and trudged up to the top of the hill. Fresh snow started to fall, the flakes like dollops of cream; they stuck to our winter jackets and head scarves. Someone had created a jump partway down the hill by packing down snow in a mound. In all other directions, the toboggans and snowboards had carved out grooves — straight shots down the hill to the field below. “Want me to go first?” I asked, already straddling the sled.

  I’d barely waited for her to say yes before I crossed my legs. I held the handle in one hand and pushed myself off with the other. The sunny day had left a crust of shiny, icy snow and the sled flew down the hill. I couldn’t resist squealing as it fishtailed toward the bottom, finally spinning and flipping over. I landed in a heap, my scarf half off.

  “Your turn!” I called, standing up and shaking off the snow. Amira stood at the top, but she didn’t move. I waited for a minute. “Come on! It’s fun!”

  With a groan, I walked back up the hill, dragging my sled behind me. “Do you want me to go down with you?” I asked. Amira nodded.

  “I don’t want to fall off.”

  I didn’t tell her that was half the fun; you kind of had to learn that on your own. “Come on,” I said and sat at the front of the sled. “Get on.” Amira clutched my shoulders, kneeling behind me. From up here, the expanse of the field stretched out below us. We weren’t that high, but for a person who had never seen snow until a few weeks ago, I guess it was scary. As soon as I pushed off, Amira started shrieking. She didn’t stop until we got to the bottom.

  “So? Still think it’s scary?”

  “No!” she said. Laughter made her eyes crinkle. She waited until I was standing and then raced back up the hill.

  We tobogganed for an hour. By the time I pulled off my mittens and checked the time on my phone, my tailbone ached and my fingers and toes were numb. My stomach hurt from laughing because every time Amira got close to the bottom, she’d raise her hands in the air like people do on roller coasters. She’d fly off the sled in a wipeout that would have made her brothers proud. I’d warned her to avoid the jump, and she’d screamed in terror the first time she realized she was heading straight for it. I’d watched from the top of the hill as she went up, caught air, and landed with a spine-shaking thud in the new snow. My stomach dropped watching it happen, but then I’d heard her shriek of joy and I knew she was okay. After that, she started aiming for the jump. The whole time we’d been tobogganing, new snow had been falling. It coated everything, the ground, the trees, and us, with sticky clumps. Before we’d moved to Canada, I’d never thought there were so many different types of snow. My favourite was the sparkly powder that fell in the night. It looked magical, falling like diamonds in the dark sky.

  “Fun,” Amira said in English as we started for home. She was smiling and looked like a different person. White flakes of snow stuck to her hijab and the ends of her eyelashes for a second before melting.

  I agreed. “That was fun.”

  “I like snow,” she said, bending down to grab a handful. More kids had arrived to skate and we could hear the slap of the puck against boards. The lights over the hockey rinks had come on and illuminated the falling flakes. It looked like a snow globe come to life.

  Even though it was almost dinnertime, the air had warmed up since we’d been outside, and the snow was sticky enough to make a snowball. I mashed it between my hands and showed her. “Snowball.”

  “Snowball,” she repeated. I tossed it at her. The snowball hit her jacket. “Snowball fight,” I yelled and grabbed another handful. We ran home laughing and dodging each other’s snowballs.

  Chapter 19

  “You’re coming to my tournament tomorrow, right?” I asked Aazim at dinner. I knew Mom and Dad would be there, but Aazim hadn’t mentioned if he was coming.

  He furrowed his brow. “I have to study all weekend,” he said. “I have a test on Monday.”

  I glared at him. He shovelled food into his mouth, which gave him an excuse not to look at me. “But you have to come!” I’d gone to all Aazim’s games when he played in high school. I couldn’t believe he’d miss mine.

  “Aazim’s school work is important,” Dad piped up.

  “You could come for one game,” I pointed out.

  “I’ll try,” he said, ignoring my angry scowl.

  “All you do is study.” I huffed.

  “Sadia,” Mom said with a warning tone. “Leave your brother.”

  I pushed away my plate, no longer hungry, fuming at the double standa
rd. I’d gone to watch him play. Shouldn’t he be expected to watch me? Dad’s eyes flashed at me. “If you’re done, you can be excused.”

  “Fine,” I said and stomped away. Every team he’d been on, I’d watched him play. How many games did that add up to over the years? He couldn’t come to one of mine? He spent all his time at the university, holed up in the library, studying. When he came home, it was to eat and then retreat to his room for more studying. I watched him walk around mumbling to himself, so caught up in what he was thinking about that he ignored me. It was like university had stolen my brother from me.

  There was a knock on my door. “Sadia?” Aazim called. “Can I come in?”

  At first I was going to say no. I was too angry to speak to him. But what was the point in turning him away if he’d come to apologize? Maybe he’d come to my game after all. “Yes,” I said in a wounded tone. I wanted to make sure he knew how hurt I was.

  Aazim shut the door softly after him. We had the same eyes, but Aazim had Dad’s nose, prominent with a bump in the middle. He had Dad’s thick head of hair, too, and bushy eyebrows. I know girls thought he was handsome; I’d seen them watching him with interest at the mosque. Even Mariam had made comments about his looks, which made me pretend to gag.

  “I need to tell you something, but you have to promise to keep it a secret from Mom and Dad.”

  I sat up straighter, curious.

  “Studying isn’t the real reason I can’t come on the weekend. I don’t have a test on Monday.” Aazim took a deep breath. “I’m in a play.”

  I stared at him, stunned. My mouth might even have dropped open. “A play?”

  He nodded. “At the theatre at university. Our first show is tomorrow night. We have dress rehearsal during the day.”

  “Aazim!”

  “I know,” he said and sat down on the end of my bed, holding his head in his hands. “I know.”

  “When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

  He lifted his head. “I’m not.”

  “You have to. They’d want to see you.”

  He scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “As long as you get into med school, they won’t care what you do.”

  He set his mouth in a grim line. “That’s the other thing.”

  “Oh no,” I groaned.

  “I dropped a couple of classes. It was too much to study and do the play. They were just three credit courses and I can take them in the summer.” He shifted toward me and looked at me with pleading eyes. “I really love it. Being on stage, working with the other actors. We’re good, Sadia! The director is from Toronto. He’s here teaching a course and this is the only play he’s directing. He picked me over all the theatre students to be one of the leads.”

  “You’re a main character?”

  He nodded.

  “So all this time I thought you were studying, you were actually rehearsing?”

  “Just since January. I saw the audition poster and thought, why not? What did I have to lose? I’d always wanted to try it. A friend of mine is in the backstage crew and convinced me to try out.”

  I stared at him, incredulous. My brother, on stage. I couldn’t imagine it. “Tell me a line. Something you say in the play.”

  He stood up, cleared his throat, and recited a few lines. It wasn’t long enough to understand the play, but his voice rang clear and strong, filled with emotion. Half of the stories Dad told were like well-acted plays. If Aazim had theatrical talent, he came by it honestly.

  “Oh, boy.” I sighed, falling back against my pillow.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be at the tournament,” he said. “I really am.”

  “I wish I could see your play.”

  “Me, too.” He sighed.

  “How long does it run for? Maybe I could come with you to another show. We could tell Mom and Dad you’re taking me to a basketball game at the university for some brother-sister bonding.”

  Aazim shook his head. “It’s bad enough that I’m lying to them. I don’t want to drag you into it, too.”

  “You should have us there, your family. At least me, if not Mom and Dad.” I watched him mull it over. “You should tell them. They might surprise you.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I’d rather keep it a secret than go against them. Promise me you won’t say anything.”

  I nodded. As much as I hated keeping the secret from Mom and Dad, I couldn’t betray Aazim.

  “I really love it,” he admitted as he stood to go. “I feel a lot better now that I told you,” he said. “I wish I’d done it weeks ago.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I asked him. He nodded and sat back down.

  “There’s this guy …” I let my words drift off.

  Aazim’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh?”

  “He’s not Muslim.”

  Aazim gave a laugh of surprise. I slapped his leg. “Don’t laugh! What should I do? He likes me, at least I think he does. And I think I might like him. And there’s a party this weekend.…” I let my voice trail off woefully.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Oh no, do not get me involved in that one. Me being in a play is one thing; I’m eighteen.”

  I frowned at him. “I just need to know what to tell him. Should I say nothing? Let him figure it out? And what about the party? Older kids are going to be there and Jillian’s parents are out of town.” I groaned in frustration. “Why does everything have to be so difficult?”

  Aazim patted my shoulder. “Mom and Dad might surprise you,” he said, repeating my words back to me. I picked a stuffy up from the pile on my bed and tossed it at his head. He dodged it and laughed. “Let me know how it works out for you.”

  After he left, I flopped back down on my pillows, wishing that things could be as straightforward as a game of basketball.

  Chapter 20

  I’d woken up before my alarm went off that morning, excited for the tournament. But as we drove across town to the sportsplex, my excitement turned to nerves.

  “You’re quiet,” Mom commented, turning in her seat to look at me. “Are you nervous?”

  I nodded. There were so many things running through my head. I turned my attention to the brightening sky outside. I’d put on the uniform Mariam had made for me. At least I didn’t have to worry about the outfit. It had proven itself during practices. I was excited for other teams to see it. Maybe they had female Muslim players who would want one, too. Mariam might actually be able to start her own business making them.

  The parking lot was half full when we arrived. I spotted Mariam’s family’s car in the lot. As team manager, she’d wanted to arrive early like the rest of us. Our team had drawn the first game in our pool of six teams, which was good news because it gave us time to rest between each of the three games we’d play today. If we made the playoffs, there would be more games tomorrow.

  My parents and I walked in together. Mr. Letner was sitting with five other students on a bench against a wall in the front hallway: Josh and Allan, who’d probably come together, and Thomas, Jillian, and Mariam. Mariam’s parents were standing nearby and waved when they saw us walk in. Mom and Dad went to talk to the Hassanins and I went to sit with my team. Mariam was in hijab because her parents were there.

  As soon as Josh saw me, his face broke into a grin. “Hey, Sadia,” he said and moved over so there was room for me between him and Jillian.

  I bit back a smile and met his eyes, then looked away quick. The last thing I wanted was for Mom or Dad to notice. They couldn’t stop me from liking him, but if they thought something was going on, it would lead to an awkward conversation about dating.

  “Are your parents here?” I asked him. Lame question, but all of a sudden, I was nervous around him.

  He scoffed. “My parents? No.” He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

&nbs
p; “It’s hockey season.” He said it like that should explain everything.

  I still didn’t understand. He sighed and dropped his voice so only I could hear him. “It’s my brother’s draft year. Most weekends they go to watch him play. They’re in Swift Current right now.”

  “Saskatchewan?” We’d driven through that town on our way to the Rockies last year. I didn’t understand hockey the way other kids did. We didn’t watch it on TV in my house, and neither Aazim nor I had ever played. But I’d seen the swagger that kids with team gear had and I could imagine being drafted was a big deal.

  “Yeah. They left last night so I had to ask Mr. Letner for a ride,” he confessed.

  Josh looked at the dismay on my face and gave a little laugh, shaking his head. “It’s okay, Sadia. They don’t beat me or anything. It’s just how my family is. Max is the priority right now.”

  He could shrug it off all he wanted, but I still felt a twinge of sadness for him. I liked knowing my parents were here to support me.

  “There’s a lot of kids from school here,” he said looking around.

  The turnout was surprising. More and more people kept streaming through the doors.

  “They want to see us annihilate the competition,” Allan said with narrow-eyed determination.

  Mr. Letner gave him a warning look. “Let’s just worry about playing like a team.”

  I grinned at Allan. For once, I had to agree with him: we were here to win.

  Carmina walked in with a couple of other kids, including Riley, and ran over to wish us good luck. She unrolled the sign she’d made. It was a work of art, literally. “Go Thunder Go!” had been painted on it with graffiti-style lettering and the background was the school logo of Thor’s hammer with a lightning bolt. “Riley and I worked on it all night.”

  “Wow!” I grinned at her. “That must have taken hours.”

  “It did,” she singsonged happily.

  Mr. Letner waited until the whole team had arrived and then sent everyone but me, because I was already in my uniform, to get changed in the locker rooms. I bent down to put on my basketball shoes while Mariam organized the player welcome bags, making sure there was one for each of us.