“Are you staying to watch the next game?” I asked. She shook her head no.
“Miss McKay is taking me home now. I promised my brothers I’d take them tobogganing.”
I opened my eyes wide. “Good luck with that!” I said, adding a prayer in Arabic for her. I couldn’t imagine trying to corral those boys on a snow hill. “Maybe if we make it into the finals tomorrow, you can come and watch. I’m really glad you could come, Amira.” She grinned at me. The haunted look that had been in her eyes when she’d first arrived was fading. Bit by bit, she was settling in to her new life. She waved goodbye and went to meet Miss McKay at the front doors. She didn’t shuffle meekly like she had the first day I’d shown her around the school.
“Remember how quiet she was when she first moved here? Like a scared rabbit,” Mariam said, echoing my thoughts. “She seems different now.”
I nodded, glad she’d noticed the change. “I think I figured out what to do for my passion project,” I said. Without realizing it, we’d slipped into speaking in Arabic, something that hadn’t happened in a while. She looked at me expectantly. “I want to help Amira find her friends, the ones she left behind in Syria.”
Mariam looked taken aback. I guess it was an ambitious project. Not just thousands, but hundreds of thousands of people had fled Syria since the war started. Locating a couple of them would be difficult, maybe even impossible. But Mr. Letner had told us a passion project wasn’t about finishing something and presenting it in a neat and tidy bow, it was about doing something that mattered.
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“I’ll help you,” Mariam said. “I know it’s not my project, but I’d still like to do something. I wasn’t as nice to her when she arrived as I should have been.” Hearing Mariam say those words was like the mask she’d been wearing for the last month had fallen away. Her voice dropped and she got pensive. “I think she reminded me of who I was when I arrived. All that not knowing, I hated it.” Mariam winced. “I didn’t want to go back to that; the awkwardness. It brought up lots of memories I wanted to forget.”
“We were never like her; we weren’t refugees.” I knew more about what Amira had been through than Mariam did, but now wasn’t the time to tell her.
Mr. Letner’s If You Give a Kid a Camera project had been about taking photos that showed our perspective of the world, what mattered to us. I wondered what photos Amira would pick. Part of me wanted her to show people what life was really like for refugees moving to Canada. In Syria, her dad, an engineer, had been able to support his family, but now they had to rely on donations and live crammed together in a two-bedroom apartment.
But another part of me wanted Amira to show the flip side. Amidst all the turmoil, her family was adapting to their new life and finding a way to make Canada their home. There was relief that they’d made it. Slowly, she was figuring out how to move past what she’d lived through. It had changed her, but it hadn’t broken her.
The pizza Mr. Letner had ordered for the team wasn’t halal, but I’d planned ahead and brought my own lunch. As the rest of the team swarmed the food, Mariam’s parents called her away. “Here we go,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I wonder what I’ve done wrong now.” I watched as they both hovered over her, leaning in close. Mom claimed their strict rules were more about protecting their daughter than trying to ruin her life, but Mariam would argue differently. She shot me a look of wide-eyed irritation as she walked back.
“In their continued effort to isolate me, my parents are taking me for lunch.” Mariam blinked at me, her frustration evident. “Please join us,” she said through gritted teeth.
My parents knew I wouldn’t want to leave and had gone for lunch without me. I scrunched up my nose. “I think I should stay with the team.”
“I wish I could.” Mariam cast a woeful look at everyone laughing and digging in to the pizza. Two grease-stained boxes already sat empty. “On the upside” — her tone changed — “they’re going home after lunch and asked your parents to drive me home. And,” she paused dramatically, “they said I could sleep over at your house tomorrow if it’s all right with your parents.” She raised her lips with a hint of a smile.
Even though she hadn’t mentioned Jillian’s party since this morning, the topic was simmering beneath the surface. She wasn’t the type of person to let something drop.
“Please, Sadia?” She clutched my arm. “It’s a good plan. I promise I won’t ask you to cover for me again.”
I doubted that, but she’d backed me into a corner. Saying no could put us back to where we’d been a few weeks ago. And the truth was, I did want to go and not just because of Josh. I wanted to hang out with my team. The older kids there were probably going to be drinking, but it wasn’t going to be forced on me.
What Mom and Dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Wasn’t that Aazim’s way of thinking, too?
“Fine,” I groaned. “I’ll ask.” I barely got the words out before she gave an excited squeal.
As Mariam walked to meet her mom and dad at the front hall, I thought about the murky days we’d had. The chasm between us widened and closed. Maybe that was a normal part of friendship now. It wasn’t a concrete wall, strong and secure, like it had been when we were younger. It was more flexible, with gaps and spots to jump over. I couldn’t expect Mariam to stay the same forever. It was normal that she change. I guess I was changing, too; I just couldn’t see it.
“Where’s Mariam going?” Josh asked as I sat down. I pulled some food out of my backpack.
“Her parents are taking her for lunch.”
Josh twisted around to watch them go.
“Do you ever go watch your brother play out of town?” I asked. His comment about his parents choosing to watch his brother’s game and miss the basketball tournament, coupled with the photo he’d shown in class, made me curious about his family.
“Only if he has a game in the city. When he played Triple A, I used to go all the time.”
I didn’t know the levels of hockey, but I assumed Triple A was good if he was going to be drafted. “Did you play?”
A dark look crossed his face.
“Till he quit,” Allan piped up. I hadn’t realized he’d been listening to our conversation. “Who wins the city championship and then quits hockey?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Did you like hockey?”
“Yeah, loved it.”
I frowned, not understanding. “So why did you stop playing?”
“It stopped being fun.”
Allan raised an eyebrow and snorted like he didn’t agree, but Josh gave him a look like he should keep quiet. The perennial grin that Josh wore had disappeared. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You saw the photo of my dad. He’s really intense and I was never going to go as far as Max.” He shrugged as if that explained things. He tossed his half-eaten pizza crust into the box and took a long swig of water. A droplet hung on his lip and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
When he looked back at me again, the grin had returned. “Basketball’s more fun, anyway,” he said, but I wondered if he just told himself that or if he really believed it.
Chapter 22
We walked into the gym fifteen minutes before game time. The game before us was almost finished, and the score was so lopsided, I felt bad for the losing team. Nobody wanted to be beat by thirty points. The Lazers were on the other side of the gym in their matching warm-up suits doing jumping jacks in unison. Jillian rolled her eyes at them, which made me laugh. I was looking forward to a tough game, and one that didn’t involve drama over my outfit like the first game had.
We had the same ref as our other game. He ran over to speak to Mr. Letner, his whistle bouncing against his chest. Mr. Letner bowed to listen to him and then nodded. I watched as the ref ran along the sidelines to
speak to the Lazers coach. Mr. Letner came back to our bench. “The ref is asking the Lazers coach about your uniform,” he said quietly to me. The other coach was a tall, burly man with a moustache. As the ref explained the issue with my uniform, the coach smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.
We both watched in disbelief as the coach shook his head.
He wasn’t going to let me play. I turned to Mr. Letner. “Now what?”
Mr. Letner stiffened. “Let’s hear what the ref says.” But I heard the frustration in his voice and saw the way he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the other team’s bench.
The ref came back to Mr. Letner and cleared his throat. His eyes flickered to my face regretfully. “Sorry. Uh, he said no, he doesn’t agree that she can play in her current uniform. She’ll have to change into regulation clothing or be removed from the roster for this game.”
Mr. Letner threw his hands in the air and sputtered in disbelief. “This is the kind of tournament you want to run?”
“I’m sorry.” The ref sighed and frowned. “If it were up to me, she’d play. We’re already bending the rules. I can’t overrule him.”
Across the gym, the Lazers coach had a smug look on his face. He knew it would rattle our team when they found out I couldn’t play. Luckily, everyone else was still preoccupied with the game on the court to notice our conversation. I set my chin with determination. “It’s okay, Mr. Letner,” I said. “I played the first game. I’ll sit this one out.”
Mr. Letner shook his head. “They’re playing dirty,” he said. “They know we’re better than them and they’re looking for an advantage.” He gave me a long look. “The team will fight for you, if you want them, too. They’d rather not play than play without you.”
“I know. But this time, I think they should just play and not worry about me. I don’t want to be a distraction.”
“Other coaches will be more reasonable.” Mr. Letner seethed. “You’ll get to play the third game today.”
“And then the playoffs tomorrow,” I added.
He took a deep breath. “You’re sure this is what you want to do? Because I can ask the team —”
“I’m sure,” I said and nodded. I didn’t want to sacrifice our chance at playoffs because the Lazers won by default.
Mr. Letner clapped a hand on my shoulder and called the team over. “Okay, team, huddle up!” He leaned down, eye level with all of us. “I’ve got some bad news —”
“That we have to play a bunch of assholes?” Allan interrupted.
Mr. Letner looked at Allan, but didn’t argue. “Sadia isn’t playing this game. The Lazers coach said he wouldn’t allow it.”
His words were met with an uproar. “What?” “No!” “That’s not fair!”
“Listen,” Mr. Letner looked everyone in the eye. “This is part of the Lazers plan. They want to throw us off-kilter. We can’t let them get to us.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed back the lump of disappointment that had formed in my throat. I didn’t want my team, or the Lazers, to see how upset I was. In the stands, mom and dad were talking excitedly with other parents. What would they do when they saw me sitting on the sidelines? “They’re being racist,” Jillian said. She looked like she was ready to explode.
“That may be, but they want to win the game, whatever it takes —”
“We aren’t going to let them,” Josh promised.
“That’s right.” Mr. Letner gave him a grim smile. “We aren’t. Sadia would prefer that you play without her than give them a win by default.” I nodded to show my agreement, but his words were met with silence.
“Seriously, you guys. I want you to play.” It took everything I had to keep my voice strong and even.
The team looked at each other doubtfully. “You’re sure?” Josh asked.
I gave a confident nod. “I’ll be sitting right here, cheering you on.”
“We’ll win it for you, Sadia,” Mohammed said and the whole team nodded. Mariam threw the Lazers a dirty look.
The time clock said five minutes till game time. Mr. Letner passed everyone balls, including me, to warm-up. “The coach is a jerk. He probably saw how good you were. He thinks we can’t win without you,” Josh said to me.
“You can,” I said.
Our basketballs pounded the hardwood floors. I blinked back tears and refused to look in the other team’s direction. It wasn’t fair, what they were doing, but I was glad my team wasn’t going to sacrifice the game for me. Not against a team of cheaters like the Lazers.
When the buzzer rang and warm-up was over, I ran past my parents, but didn’t look at them. If they saw my face they’d know something was wrong. I put my ball away and went to sit on the bench between Mariam and Mr. Letner. The rest of the team huddled around, waiting to find out the game plan. Since I wasn’t playing, Mr. Letner moved Thomas to small forward. Jillian and Josh would play centre on two lines. “Don’t let them intimidate you. We’re a stronger team, and we have something more important. Heart.”
As soon as the ref blew the whistle, I dug my fingernails into my palms. When the second line went out and I stayed on the bench, I saw my parents turn and look at each other. Their confusion turned to anger when I caught their eyes and shook my head. I thought Dad was going to leap off the bleachers. Thankfully, Mom tugged his sleeve and whispered something in his ear. She knew arguing wouldn’t do any good. Watching the team play without being on the court was stressful. The Lazers were aggressive and pushed and shoved their way through our defence. Mariam had already pulled two ice packs out of the first-aid cooler Mr. Letner had brought.
We were down by ten until Josh came back with a three-pointer and then another. Shane scored on two foul shots and the game was tied up. There was still five minutes left to play. My feet jittered on the bench. I didn’t know how Mr. Letner stayed calm watching us. He remained almost silent, only shouting, “Good play!” or “Nice D!” to the team. Meanwhile, the Lazers coach was beet-red in his face and looked like his eyeballs wanted to pop out of his head. He didn’t shut up. Only his comments weren’t always supportive. “Open your eyes!” “We won’t win if you play like that!” and my favourite, “Crush them!” rang out across the court. He slapped his clipboard against his thighs a couple of times, too. Once I thought he was going to throw it at his players when Mohammed danced around them and set Jillian up with a perfect shot.
“Stay focused,” Mr. Letner said when he called a time out with two minutes left. The Lazers were up by two points. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying as the other coach ranted at his players. Mr. Letner outlined the play. “Thomas is going to drive to the net. Everyone else support him, call for the ball. Communicate! You guys got this,” he said.
The team took their positions, jogging on the spot to keep warmed up. The ref blew the whistle and the Lazers ran to the court. Their centre sneered at Allan. “Kinda chubby to be playing ball, aren’t you?” Allan narrowed his eyes at him and looked like he was going to make a smart retort, but he bit his tongue. “That your girlfriend over there?” The Lazers centre nodded to me. “She so ugly they have to cover her up?”
I almost choked hearing his nasty words. The worst part was, he meant for me to hear them. Even though he’d been speaking to Allan, Josh balled his hands up into fists. His face went a darker shade of red.
“Let’s go, Thunder!” I cheered, trying to distract Allan and Josh. Maybe hearing my voice would remind them why they were out there. Jillian won the toss and passed the ball to Thomas. He drove to the net, just like Mr. Letner had told him to do. The mouthy kid blocked the shot and got the ball. He ran down the court and scored. Mr. Letner scratched his head, his mouth twitching with disappointment. Our ball. Rory put it in play and passed to Allan, but the same kid stood in front of him. I saw his lips move; he said something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Allan’s eyes got big and h
is lips curled. He shoved the kid out of his way and looked to make a pass, but the ref called foul. Allan’s head went back as he groaned. “No way! You didn’t hear what he said to me!”
“Allan!” Mr. Letner shouted. Allan turned his way and Mr. Letner shook his head, a silent reminder to respect the ref. Allan screwed up his face and shouldered past the Lazers players to get into position for the foul shot. The Lazers players on the bench got to their feet and chanted, “Lou! Lou! Lou!”
“Guess his name is Lou,” I muttered under my breath. He took the shot and it went in. The Lazers were up by five points. Mariam was almost hoarse from yelling encouragement to the team, but even her energy was failing. Only twenty seconds left. One more chance for our team, but the ball was stolen out of Thomas’s hands. By the time the buzzer went, our team was deflated. Everyone trudged to the bench.
“Do we have to shake hands with them?” Allan asked.
“Come on, kids. You’re better than them, in every way. We’ll get ’em next time.” Mr. Letner led the way and we lined up to congratulate them. Not one Lazer said “Good game.” They looked straight ahead as if they were better than us.
“Assholes,” Jillian muttered under her breath.
“Told you to rest up,” Derek called to Josh.
Josh gritted his teeth. At first, I thought he was going to ignore the comment, but then he turned around, seething. “Guess you guys were too scared of Sadia to let her play, huh? Maybe next time, you’ll let our whole team play.”
Josh’s comment was met by a series of jibes about me being his girlfriend. I swallowed back my own comments and tried to pull Josh away. “This is what they want us to do,” I said quietly.
But then Mariam piped up. “It’s true. You hid behind some discriminatory rule to keep her out of the game. You’re all a bunch of cowards!”
The Lazers scoffed at Mariam, looking her up and down, taking in her hijab with a sneer. It wasn’t overtly racist, but it riled the rest of us.
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