Sadia

by Colleen Nelson

  He gave me a steely glare. “Go.” The sharpness of his words cut me. With pleading eyes, I begged him to understand why I’d wanted them to see his play. “Please, go, Sadia.” He turned away and ducked into the backstage. The girl shot a quick glance my way and retreated after him, the darkness swallowing them both up.

  Chapter 24

  The car ride home was silent. Mom and Dad stared out the windshield. Snow crunched under the tires as we turned into Mariam’s driveway to drop her off. The light was on over her front door. Mariam got out of the car and Dad lowered his window to shout a greeting to Mr. Hassanin, who came to the door. Once Mariam was safely inside, Dad reversed out of the driveway and the mood in the car completely changed. All the pent-up emotion came flooding out.

  “How has he found the time for this?” Mom wailed.

  “Does it matter? He was amazing.” They were silent, which I took for reluctant agreement.

  “His acting abilities are not what I’m worried about,” Dad snorted. “But if this has affected his studies …” Dad’s voice trailed off warningly. “Why did he keep it a secret?”

  Dad glared at me in the rear-view mirror, as if he was trying to coax me to confess what I knew. “He was worried you’d react like this.” I took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “You let him play basketball, how is this any different?”

  Dad scoffed. “That was in high school! He’s in university now. His studies come first, not parading around a stage. When he has his degree and a career, he can do what he likes, but for now, school comes first.”

  “Acting won’t help him get into medical school. When you have children, you’ll understand,” Mom replied. I fell back against the seat. It was useless to argue with them.

  When we arrived home, Aazim’s car was already in the driveway. Driving Mariam home had delayed us. I said a silent prayer that things would work out as I slammed my car door and followed my parents into the house in a brooding procession.

  Aazim was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water. “Sadia, go to your room,” Mom commanded. I threw a look at Aazim. His head was bowed and he didn’t look up. He’d have to admit he’d dropped class to rehearse and they’d be furious. My heart clenched for him. I hadn’t meant to get him in trouble.

  I left my door open, but all I could hear was their regular voices. My greatest fear was that they might forbid Aazim from acting in the next performances. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if they did that. I swore I wouldn’t play basketball if they punished him that way.

  But Aazim was an adult, I reasoned. What kind of parents would they be if they told him he had to drop out of the play? He wasn’t hurting anyone. He’d gone behind their backs, but that crime didn’t deserve such a severe a punishment, did it? I strained to hear their conversation. When I heard footsteps climbing the stairs, I scurried to my bed in case it was Mom or Dad. But it was Aazim who walked in front of my door. I jumped up to follow him. I needed to see his face to know everything was all right.

  “Aazim?”

  He paused in his doorway, but didn’t turn around.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t concern yourself,” he said coldly. “You’ve done enough.” He walked into his room and slammed his door.

  I barely slept, and when my alarm rang at six-thirty in the morning, I felt like I’d been tossing and turning all night. I delayed seeing my parents for as long as pos­sible, heading downstairs just before we needed to leave. Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. They both looked up when I came downstairs.

  “We’ll leave in ten minutes,” Dad said tersely.

  “Eat something,” Mom said. “Did you pray?”

  I had, on a prayer mat on the floor of my room. I had put a lot of heart into it, too, hoping my prayers would be answered. I wanted to do well in the tournament today, but even more, I wanted to know that Aazim would be allowed to continue with his play.

  “Is Aazim —”

  “Don’t worry about your brother.”

  “I just want to know if he’s coming —”

  “He has to study.”

  “What about tonight?” I pressed. “Will he be in the play?” I knew I was pushing it. If I was smart, I’d stop asking questions, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Mom gave me an exasperated look. “Of course, he’ll be in his play. We aren’t tyrants, Sadia.”

  “So you aren’t mad?”

  She sighed. “We’re disappointed. He should have talked to us about it first.”

  “He’ll take his summer courses,” Dad said. “Get caught up and apply for medical school in the fall. After this play is over, he will focus on what really matters.”

  Acting does really matter to him, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

  I gave a relieved sigh, not just for Aazim, but for me, too. Knowing that Aazim wasn’t being punished, I could leave for the tournament with a clear conscience.

  Dad grabbed the newspaper off the front steps and met Mom and I in the car. Mom had packed me lunch, a bag full of snacks to eat during the day, and my water bottle. “Are you staying the whole day?” I asked. It was an elimination playoff round. If we lost, we’d be out, but if we won, we’d play again in the finals at one o’clock.

  “We were planning to. We might leave for a while when you have your break.”

  We had to pick Mariam up first, and as we drove, thoughts of Jillian’s party crept into my mind. After the debacle with Aazim and his play, I was nervous to push things with Mom and Dad. As much as I wanted to go to the party, was lying to them worth it?

  Mariam was waiting in her front window when we pulled into the driveway. It was still dark out, the sky purplish with early morning light. Mariam ran to the car. She was wearing an emerald-green head scarf today that made her light eyes sparkle. “Thanks for picking me up,” she said.

  She shot me a questioning look when she got in the car. I raised one shoulder in a shrug and gave her a lopsided smile. I regretted the trouble I’d created for Aazim, but I didn’t regret seeing his play. Just thinking about it, the intensity of the story and how my brother had looked on stage, gave me shivers.

  Even though a lot of teams had been knocked out of playoffs during the round robin play, the sportsplex was still full of activity. Four teams were left in our age division and we were one of them. A trophy table had been moved to the front entrance. Hiking my gym bag up on my shoulder, I moved close to admire them. The three tournament trophies gleamed like golden towers. The first place trophy had a person on the top of it in a frozen jump shot. Underneath was a plaque that read “First Place Junior Varsity All-City Basketball Tournament.” The plaque on a smaller one read “Finalist Junior Varsity All-City Basketball Tournament.” The last one was much shorter and had a golden basketball on it. It read, “Junior Varsity All-City Basketball Tournament MVP.” “Wow,” I said, looking at them. My eyes lingered on the first place trophy. How good would it feel to hold that trophy in my hands?

  Despite the early start, there were still lots of people in the gym. From the doors, I scanned the bleachers for kids from school. “Is Carmina coming?” I asked Mariam.

  “She couldn’t get a ride until later. When you win your first game, I’ll text her and she and a bunch of other people are coming for the finals,” Mariam said.

  I looked at her, impressed and grateful.

  “About Jillian’s party,” she started.

  Here we go again, I thought. Had she been up all night strategizing? Before she could say anything else, I interrupted her. “Why are you obsessing about it?”

  She looked at me, hurt. “I’m not.”

  “You are!” My nerves were frazzled, and getting into another discussion about sneaking out and lying was going to distract me.

  “You don’t get it,” she muttered.

  With an impat
ient sigh, I waited for her to continue. “I’m always going to be left out. If my parents had it their way, I’d finish high school without ever going to a party. At least your parents let you have a life. You’re on the basketball team and have all these new friends.”

  I got a glimpse of things from Mariam’s perspective: I was part of the team and my parents wouldn’t say no to the party at Jillian’s, as long as they thought it was for the team. Mariam was literally watching from the sidelines as I drifted further away from her with my basketball friends.

  I knew how it had hurt to see her and Carmina getting closer. I put myself in Mariam’s shoes and imagined what it would be like if she were the one getting invited to parties I knew I couldn’t go to. All this time, I thought Mariam was pulling away from me, but now I saw that she was worried I’d get new experiences and she’d be left in the dust.

  “Missing one party won’t mean you’re left out,” I consoled her.

  “It’s not one party. It’ll be every party. You’re going to have fun and I’ll be sitting at home. Alone.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  I heard the desperation in her voice. Was it worth lying to Mom and Dad to make her feel better? “I’ll make sure you can come to the party,” I said reluctantly. “I promise.”

  Mariam bit her lip and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered and looked like she wanted to hug me.

  Mr. Letner came over and handed Mariam the game sheet. “Time to work,” Mariam mumbled, blinking away the tears. She sat down to fill it out with our names and numbers and I wandered over to the rest of the team. Josh moved beside me. “I’m nervous,” he whispered.

  “Me, too,” I whispered back. I could feel my nerves kicking in. I wanted this win, badly. If for nothing else than to prove that a girl wearing hijab belonged on the court.

  Mr. Letner herded us to the bench in the gym along the wall. “Good morning, Thunder!” he announced when the team was sitting down. Today’s ref wasn’t the same one as yesterday, but he’d obviously been told about me because he came to speak to Mr. Letner, telling him the same rules applied today: as long as the opposing team’s coach agreed, I could play.

  I held my breath and tried not to look desperate while he went to the Celtic team’s coach. What if she was like the Lazers coach and realized the advantage her team would have over mine if I didn’t play?

  But right away, she looked over at our team and grinned.

  The ref jogged over. “Number Seven is in!” I let out my breath as the team cheered and high-fived me.

  “Okay, team, let’s get focused!” Mr. Letner began his pep talk. “We are one game away from making it to the tournament final,” he began. “You play like a team, you’ll win like a team!” His eyes were shining as he looked at each one of us in turn. “I’ve seen some amazing passing, shooting, and defense from you kids. But most of all, I’ve seen heart. Play your hardest out there, not just for you, but for the kids on the court with you.” He finished by stretching his hand out. Josh was the first one to put his hand on top, then Allan, then me and all the other kids.

  “Three, two, one, Thunder!” we yelled.

  We hadn’t played the Celtics in the round robin. They’d also lost to the Lazers, but had still come in third. It was clear at the first tip-off that we had a stronger team. We scored three baskets in a row in the first two minutes and dominated for the rest of the first period. But after half-time, the momentum shifted. We couldn’t make a shot to save our lives! With five minutes to go, the Celtics had tied the game.

  Mr. Letner called a time out. I looked up in the stands for Mom and Dad. They were literally sitting on the edge of their seats — the excitement of the game was contagious.

  “It’s going to come down to the wire,” Mr. Letner said. “The other team doesn’t want to go home either. I need fast, sharp plays. Jill, keep it tight and on the inside. Sadia, you need to keep shooting.”

  We nodded as the buzzer drowned out Mr. Letner. The time out was over. We just had to get ahead of the other team by one point to make the finals. In the end, Jeein won it for us with a shot from outside the key that sealed it with a swish. Our whole team came off the bench when the buzzer went off. We were going to the finals!

  I saw Mom and Dad stand up and cheer as we moved through the handshake line. “You’ve got a good team,” the other coach said to Mr. Letner. “We almost had you.”

  “Yeah, it was a great game. Good luck!”

  “You, too.”

  As we packed up our bags and water bottles, the Lazers marched past us to the other bench. They were playing the fourth-place team. The winner would meet us in the championship game. “Ugh.” Jillian said with an eye roll. “I can’t believe we might have to play them again.”

  A few of us started toward the bleachers so we could watch, but Mr. Letner called us back. “I’d prefer if you stayed in the hallway and didn’t watch this game.”

  The Lazers players had all grabbed a ball and were firing them at the basket directly above our heads. “Assholes,” Allan said under his breath.

  Even though Mr. Letner had told us he thought we should stay in the hallway and ignore the game happening inside the gym, we kept sneaking to the gym doors to check the score. I was especially anxious to find out who won. If it was the Lazers, their coach might not let me play in the finals. After coming so far with my team, the thought of not being able to play in the championship game left a bitter taste in my mouth. Even if we weren’t in the gym watching, it was obvious from the cheering that the fourth place team was no match for the Lazers. In the end, the Lazers won easily.

  “Great,” Jillian said sarcastically when she found out.

  “Yesterday was a close game. We could have beat them,” Mohammed said.

  “They didn’t let Sadia play,” Mariam reminded everyone. “They’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

  It was a long hour as we watched the team we’d beat in the semis play for third place. While everyone else sat in the bleachers chatting about school, the party, and our next game, I barely said a word. I had so many things to think about. Mainly, what would happen if the Lazers coach said I couldn’t play? But Jillian’s party was also weighing on my mind. I thought about how Mom had said high school could be a slippery slope. Mariam was definitely sliding: taking off her hijab, changing into gym clothes, and now roping me into lying so we could go to the party. My stomach churned and I stared at the court, willing myself to stay focused.

  “Everyone ready?” Mr. Letner asked as the team gathered in the hall after the game. He sounded excited, which was good, because the butterflies in my stomach felt like they were caught in a hurricane. When no one answered him, he looked at us. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?” he asked. Finally, Jillian spoke. “I don’t want to play if they don’t let Sadia play.” I gave her a sharp look.

  “Yeah, me, too. If they pull that, we should all just leave,” Allan agreed.

  I started to shake my head, ready to argue that they had to play. This was the finals! We had to win and show the Lazers what a real team played like.

  “I’m with Jillian and Allan. I don’t want to play if they say no to Sadia,” Josh said. He set his chin and gave me a determined look. I opened my mouth to argue, but there were more nods of agreement.

  My stomach dropped as Mr. Letner looked at the circle of my teammates. “Does everyone feel that way?”

  One by one, he met each player’s eyes. One by one, they each nodded. Mr. Letner shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never had a group of kids like you.” His voice caught in his throat.

  “You guys —” I started, ready to plead with them to play, no matter what. But he held up his hand.

  “Your team has spoken, Sadia. And I couldn’t be prouder.” A swell of emotion rose in my chest. He stretched his arm into the middle of the circle and we piled our hands on top of it. “Three, two, one, Thund
er!”

  I didn’t want my team to walk away from playing in the championship game, but I knew that if I’d been in their shoes, if someone had wanted to ban Jillian for playing because she had blond hair or Mohammed or Jeein because of their skin colour, I’d have stood up for them, too. One by one, my teammates and marched through the doors into the gym. Josh and I were the last two to leave.

  Josh picked up his gym bag and put the strap over his head. He looked at me like he wanted to say something. “Josh —” I started.

  “Sadia —” he said at the same time.

  We broke off laughing. “I can’t imagine playing without you,” he said.

  “We’re good together,” I agreed, meaning the whole team.

  “Yeah, we are,” he said. The look in his eye and the tilt of his mouth told me he meant something different.

  I swallowed. “Josh —” I had to do it now. I couldn’t keep pretending that something could happen between us, no matter how much I liked him. I could never date him; he would only ever be a friend. “My family has pretty strict rules about dating and stuff.”

  Josh’s mouth turned down. “Yeah, Mo told me.”

  “Mohammed?” I choked back my surprise. “You asked him about it?”

  “A while ago. I thought I should figure out if I had a shot or not.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Josh shook his head and grinned at me. “That I didn’t have one.”

  “So why —”

  He shrugged. A blush crept up his neck and he turned away, embarrassed. He didn’t have to say anything else. A warm glow filled me. Nothing was going to come of how I felt about Josh. I’d made that clear, but I couldn’t stop him from liking me and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to.

  Our few minutes alone were interrupted by Mariam poking her head out of the gym doors. “It’s almost game time! What are you two doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Making a game plan,” Josh answered.