“You want to take this outside?” Allan shouted at them.
Mr. Letner grabbed Allan’s shoulder and propelled him to the exit. “Let’s get some air, kids. That game was a little intense.”
“I hope the next game goes better,” Mohammed muttered to me as we left the gym.
“Me, too,” I agreed. And that I’m on the court playing and not on the sidelines watching, I added to myself.
Chapter 23
Our third game was against the Lightning, which sounded funny: Thunder versus Lightning. The Lightning coach agreed to let me play before the ref even asked. I guess word had spread. We won easily, but after the loss to the Lazers, we came in second in the pool of six teams, which meant we had to play the third- place team in the morning to get to the finals.
After the game, Mr. Letner sent Mariam to the bulletin board to wait for tomorrow’s games to be posted on the playoff tree. The team relaxed on the benches, too tired to move. Josh was beside me, only a breath of air separating our bodies. Mine, even fully covered, felt charged with him so close. What am I doing? I asked myself. I shifted away from him. I had to say something — I couldn’t let things keep going like this.
“So you’re going to Jillian’s party —” he started but was interrupted as everyone’s attention turned to Mariam. The tail of her scarf waved behind her like a banner as she marched down the hallway. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say, anyway.
“We play at eight a.m. against the Celtics,” she said.
“Eight a.m.?” a few people groaned. “That’s so early on a Sunday!” Jeein said.
“Ten p.m. curfew tonight!” Mr. Letner said.
Everyone collected their bags and went to find their rides home. “Hey, guys, wait up.” Jillian bounded across the floor, catching up with Mariam and me in a few steps. Even worn out, she moved faster than most people at full energy. My parents were waiting with Jillian’s mom at the entrance. They must have been tired, too. Except for leaving at lunch, they’d been hanging around the sportsplex for as long as I had been. “What a game, girls!” Jillian’s mother looked just like her daughter, only with some grey hair mixed with the blond. “Everyone played great.”
“And you’re going to miss watching us play tomorrow to go skiing!” Jillian lamented. Mrs. Triggs gave her a pained look.
“Maybe I should call Dad and change things around.”
“No!” Jillian said quickly. “You should go skiing. I’m just bugging you.”
Her mom still looked doubtful, but Jillian reassured her. “Seriously, Mom! It’s okay! They’ll be other tournaments.”
Mrs. Triggs turned to my parents. “Poor Jill. She’s our third. We used to be such good parents,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Yeah, till Julia wore you down.” Their banter made me think they’d joked about this before. Jillian gave me a knowing look. “I look like an angel compared to her.”
Considering Julia was the sister throwing the party tomorrow night, I didn’t doubt it.
“At least we’re at a stage now where I can trust all three of you,” Mrs. Triggs said.
Jillian didn’t flinch at the irony of her mom’s comment. I shot a worried look at Mariam, who stared at Jillian with wide-eyed fascination. Mrs. Triggs smiled at all of us. Her gaze landed on Mariam. “Were you playing, too?” she asked.
Mariam shook her head. “No. I’m the team manager.”
“She’s also the one who designed and sewed Sadia’s outfit.”
Jillian’s mom looked impressed. “You’re so talented!” she gushed. Mariam smiled and shrugged her shoulders like it was nothing.
“A bunch of kids in Mr. Letner’s homeroom are doing passion projects. That was Mariam’s.” Jillian turned to me. “What’s yours?”
“I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Winning the tournament?” Jillian joked. She hiked her gym bag up on her shoulder. “Kay, see you guys tomorrow!” We waved goodbye. The crowd at the entrance had started to thin out.
“A passion project? What is that?” Dad asked as we walked to the car.
“It’s not for marks,” I quickly assured him. “We are supposed to come up with something we care about so much we don’t mind working on it on our own time.”
Dad made a noise in his throat and did a “hmm, interesting” face, which is also the same as his frowning face. His moustache dipped down and his forehead wrinkled. “And what is your idea?” he asked me. We walked across the parking lot to our car, our breath visible in the cold night air.
“I know my idea, I just don’t know how to make it happen.”
“Tell me, maybe I can help.”
I looked at him doubtfully. “Okay,” I started. And as I explained to him how Amira had left her friends behind and didn’t know where they’d gone, or even if they were still alive, his gaze got more intense. “It’s a good idea. A great idea!” Dad said as he got into the car. Mariam nodded in agreement.
“I know, but how can I make it happen?”
Dad turned on the car and let the engine warm up. “Hmmm, well, let’s think about it and see what we can come up with.” I thought about the science projects I’d handed in as a kid and how Dad used to enjoy working on them as much as I did. Mom had had a wistful look on her face as I explained my project. We were fortunate that so much of our family had already left Syria before the war started. But Mom had also left a job she loved and co-workers and friends. I knew she’d lost touch with them and worried about their whereabouts. Figuring out how to help all people who’d lost loved ones, not just refugees, would be useful.
Dad turned the heat on full blast as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“You missed prayers today,” Mom said.
“I know.… What about you?” I asked.
“Dad and I found a spot. A multi-purpose room.” Dad packed a prayer mat in his car, just for occasions like that. Mom swivelled in her seat so she was facing me. “I was so proud of you today, Sadia. You, too, Mariam.” She swallowed, emotion making it hard to talk. “So proud.”
“It was the team. They fought for me.”
“You’d given them something to fight for. That’s what I meant. Wait until Aazim hears.”
Aazim. I’d been so preoccupied with the tournament, I’d almost forgotten that tonight was his first performance. I hated the thought of him getting up onstage without his family there to support him. He was worried Mom and Dad wouldn’t understand how much acting meant to him, but I had faith in them. Moving to Canada had been a risk, the same way it was a risk for Aazim to get up onstage. I couldn’t sit at home tonight, knowing my brother was the lead in a play without anyone there to watch him. The university was a half-hour away, at least. His play started at seven o’clock. If Dad drove straight there, we’d catch it. “Dad,” I started, “Aazim has a surprise for you and Mom. He’s been working really hard on it.”
Mom looked at me, confused. “What?”
“It’s a surprise. But we have to go to the university.”
“Does it have to be now? I’d like to get home,” Dad said. “I’m hungry.”
“It has to be now.”
In the rear-view mirror, I saw Dad wrinkle his forehead. “How long will it take?”
“An hour?” I guessed, even though the play would probably be longer.
“Sadia, what is it?” Mom’s tone turned sharp. After a long day at the tournament, she wasn’t in the mood for secrets.
“Please, just trust me. Aazim asked that I not tell you until we get there.” The lie slid quickly off my tongue.
The two of them exchanged a look, but relented. My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Mariam. What’s going on?
Aazim is in a play at university. He’s worried Mom and Dad will be mad.
But you’re taking them?
&nb
sp; Yes, I thumbed back to her. Mariam widened her eyes, giving me a look that suggested I was crazy. A hint of doubt crept into my head. What if they were upset at him for keeping the secret? Or told him he couldn’t act anymore?
I pushed the doubts aside. My parents weren’t like that. Once they saw Aazim onstage and realized that he was following his passion and taking a chance, they would be proud of him.
Dad parked in his assigned spot beside his faculty. The old buildings were covered with ivy in the summer, but now bare vines scrolled around their stone facades. “Now where?” he asked when we got out of the toasty warm car and stepped into the chilly winter night.
While we were driving, I’d pulled up some information about the play on my phone. “Some Dark Day. Written by Kareem Siddiqi. Starring Aazim Ahmadi.” There was a list of other actors’ names after his, but Aazim’s was the only one I cared about. “7:00 p.m., doors open at 6:30 p.m. Parker Theatre, Isbister Building.”
“The Isbister Building,” I told him.
He thought for a moment. “That’s this way,” he said. “In the arts complex.” For the tenth time, he threw me a confused look. “What is going on?” he mumbled under his breath.
“Trust me. You’ll be happy we came,” I replied. We trudged along a snowy path. In the car, they’d tried guessing everything from a surprise party for their anniversary (which was in July!) to visiting a relative.
“Is this something for school? For this passion project?” Dad asked.
“Kind of. You’ll see when we get there.” Not my passion project, Aazim’s!
“Your parents are good sports,” Mariam whispered to me as we walked. “There’s no way my parents would go along with this.”
A crowd had formed on the steps of a building that looked more like a castle than a university building. It even had a rounded turret on one side. Posters advertising the play were stapled to the board outside. I waited for Mom or Dad to notice Aazim’s name, but neither of them did. We might be in our seats before they realized why we were there. By then, it would be too late for them to leave. I didn’t think they would, but that seed of doubt still lay in my head.
Mom and Dad looked at me. “Why are we here? Where is your brother?” Mom asked. Mariam glanced around, wide-eyed and curious. A faint smile curled her lips when she saw the poster.
“Come on,” I said and headed for the stairs into the building. “You’ll understand once we are inside.”
A line had formed at the box office and I joined it. Mom and Dad were really curious now, looking around, trying to figure out why their daughter had dragged them here. “Look,” I said and pointed to a poster for the play. They peered at it. Mom read Aazim’s name first; her jaw opened in surprise. “Aazim?” she whispered. Dad saw it, too, and turned to me, startled.
“What’s going on?”
“Aazim’s the lead!” I said. “He’s been rehearsing for weeks. Tonight is the first show!”
They both stared at me in shock. Mom’s eyebrows knit together. “How is this possible? He has his studies.”
“And he’s been doing this play.”
Dad pressed his lips together and glared at me. “Aazim should not be wasting his time on this.”
“But —”
“No. This is not appropriate.”
“Why not?”
“He’s going to be a doctor.” Mom kept her voice low. “His school work should be his focus.”
“He can do this, too,” I pointed out as the line moved closer to the box office. “Please, we’re here. Can’t we stay and watch him?” I pleaded. They both looked angry enough to storm away. I wondered if having Mariam with us helped. They had to keep up appearances.
“Why did he keep this a secret?” Mom asked me.
“He was worried about what you’d say.”
“Because he knew it was a waste of time.” Dad huffed and dug his hands into his pockets. “I hope his grades haven’t suffered because of this.”
I cringed at Dad’s words and what he would do when he found out Aazim had dropped some courses. “What if he’s really good? You’ll regret saying these things.” It was almost our turn to buy tickets. A girl in hijab with large, dark, kohl-rimmed eyes and an open face sat at the desk. She asked Dad in lightly accented English how many tickets he’d like. “Four,” was his gruff response. He put his money on the table and she carefully slid the change back to him, making sure to lay the money on the counter rather than put it in his hands. I wondered if this girl was part of the reason Aazim had auditioned for the play. I caught Mariam’s eye and knew she was thinking the same thing.
We went through the doors and into the theatre. It was a small space with about eighty seats on three sides. Dad led the way and found us four seats together in the centre of the fourth row from the stage. I worried about Aazim seeing us. What if it threw him off?
“Call your parents,” Mom whispered to Mariam. “They might be worried that you’re not home yet.”
“I already texted them,” Mariam said. “They said no problem as long as I am home by ten o’clock.”
We sat quietly, waiting for the show to begin. The rest of the seats filled up, and hushed chatter filled the theatre. The stage was sparse, made to look like a classroom, with student desks and a blackboard. Music started, a haunting violin song, and the lights dimmed. I held my hands tightly in my lap, excited to see my brother.
When he got onstage, I wanted to stand up and cheer. He was wearing jeans, a button-down shirt, and a cardigan. His hair was combed so it lay shiny and flat against his head. His opening lines were all Aazim; his voice and his mannerisms. At first I couldn’t separate the two, but as the play went on, I forgot it was my brother up there. He embodied the character he played, losing himself in the moments onstage. At one point, after a moving monologue, he looked into the audience. I thought he’d seen us, but the lights at centre stage were blindingly bright. We were probably still faceless members of the audience. I glanced at Mom; her face was pulled tight with emotion.
The play was about a school shooting. Aazim played a teacher trying to protect his students and talk the shooter, a racist white man who blamed immigration for his personal problems, into surrendering. Aazim and the other actor spent most of the time onstage in a heated debate.
Eventually, Aazim’s character was able to convince the guy to give up the gun just as the police crashed in. Seeing a Muslim man with a gun, they assumed Aazim’s character was the gunman and shot him. I gasped. Aazim went down with a crash. A soundtrack of children screaming played as the lights went dark.
I was so caught up in the play that tears sprang to my eyes. No! I wanted to shout. You can’t end it like that! I sat stunned in my seat. No one in the audience moved; we sat reeling from the final, shocking scene.
When the house lights flooded on, Aazim and the cast held hands and bowed to our applause. A lump formed in my throat and my eyes welled with teary pride as I watched Aazim take a second bow on his own. The crowd got to their feet for an ovation that left my hands sore. He was the star of the show. His role demanded so much emotion and empathy; it was heartbreaking.
I turned to Mom and Dad. I didn’t have to ask them what they thought; they were both wiping their eyes. Dad sniffled and cleared his throat.
“He was so good!” Mariam said. “Aazim was amazing!”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.
As the audience rose and left their seats, we waited, collecting ourselves.
The play had left me shaken, and not just because of Aazim’s perfomance. I thought about Mom while she’d been waiting for the bus a few weeks ago; what the man had yelled at her, and the woman’s racist remarks. And I thought about the way the woman had stared at me as I got on the bus. What had she been thinking about me? When I though about it, the ending of the play was horrifying, but not unrealistic. Maybe that
was part of the reason Aazim was so determined to be part of it.
The cast came out to greet their families. I spotted Aazim in the middle of a crowd of well-wishers congratulating him on his performance. The girl from the box office hovered near him.
A man wearing a blazer and thick-framed glasses came to pump Aazim’s hand. He slapped his other arm and shook his head in admiration. “It was more than I hoped for!” I heard him proclaim.
“Who is that?” Mariam whispered beside me.
I shrugged. “The director? The writer?”
“No, not him, the girl!”
She’d slipped beside Aazim, comfortably. Warning bells rang in my head. Seeing Aazim onstage was enough of a shock. What would my parents do if they realized he was dating someone as well? No wonder he didn’t want to give me advice on Josh! I bustled in front of Dad, leading the way toward the stage. “Aazim!” I called out. He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Sadia!”
“We came!”
His face paled as he realized Mom and Dad were behind me. My eyes went to the girl beside him, but she’d already taken a step back and turned to talk to someone else.
“You were incredible!” I gushed. “That play was intense! You made me cry.” I threw my arms around his neck. “I couldn’t not come,” I whispered in his ear. “I needed to see —”
He unwrapped my arms and glared at me. “I told you not to!”
“It’s okay, they loved it. They loved you.” We turned to look at Mom and Dad. They stood awkwardly, waiting to talk to Aazim. Mariam had stayed back at the edge of the stage. I moved toward her, but Aazim pulled me back. It was like a standoff: Mom and Dad against the two of us. I thought Dad would speak first, but it was Mom who finally said, “We should go. We’ll see you at home.” She turned on her heel and left, Dad at her side.
I stared at them and turned back to Aazim. His face fell. “I knew it,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have brought them.”
“But they loved it. I saw their faces!”
Sadia Page 15