by Zanib Mian
“Oh no, when are they coming? I’ll put it in my calendar,” said Mrs. Rogers.
She is always unexpectedly hilarious. She surprises me every time I see her, and I am not an easy kid to surprise, because my imagination has already thought of everything. It’s so much better now than when we first moved in and she didn’t like us.
After we finished giggling, I told her about the real situation.
“So, I actually came over to ask you if I can do some chores for you and get paid,” I said, smiling my best smile.
“Sure. You can start by washing my car.”
Mrs. Rogers’s car was one of the surprising things about her. My nani doesn’t drive, and I’ve never seen any other people driving, but Mrs. Rogers still drives her car all the time.
She looked at me as if she was reading my thoughts, which I’d kept to myself because Mom and Dad say it’s not polite to call people old.
“I’m as sharp as a bat, you know,” she said. “Don’t be fooled by this wrinkly skin.”
She handed me $8 and I did the best I could, which must have been not too bad because Mrs. Rogers seemed pleased once I was done. I had imagined helping me, which made it way better, especially when my fingers were cold. Why were they teeny-tiny? Because normal-size Stormtroopers would just be normal and that’s only half as fun.
* * *
• • •
Back at home, Mom was exhausted.
“I can’t wait to get off my feet!” she kept saying as she stirred the lamb korma we were having for dinner.
I thought. I knew how I could make her feel better and earn some money at the same time. She did everything for us all day long. She deserved a
So while she finished cooking, I went upstairs to get things ready.
I thought for the very best spa experience, I’d have to stimulate all five senses. I got some of Mom’s lotions and face creams out and put them on her bedside table. Then I went downstairs to get some cucumber. I saw a cardboard box from a package Mom had opened earlier with those soft white things in it for protection. Perfect. I grabbed that.
Next, I went into Maryam’s room for one of her Lindor chocolates, which I know she keeps hidden in her bedside table.
She screamed at me, of course.
“Sorry.” I grinned like I was the yellow emoji with all the teeth showing. “It’s just that I’m trying to make Mom feel relaxed, and a chocolate treat is part of it . . . so I was wondering if I can have one of yours to give her?”
To my
she softened up right away and threw one at me with a smile.
“Thanks!” I said.
Teenagers are super weird.
Next, I made a sign and stuck it up in the hallway.
Well, I couldn’t be stuck rubbing people’s feet every day. I still wanted to play with my stuff sometimes.
“Mom! Come to my spa.”
“Your spa???”
“Yes, come, come. Quickly!”
Mom came upstairs, although she was very confused. I made her lie down on her bed and quickly plonked the cucumber slices on her eyes. I had seen that somewhere on TV.
Mom squealed, reaching for the cucumbers. “What is that?”
“It’s cucumber, Mom. Just be still and keep those on your eyes. I’m going to relax your tired feet now.” I put the box of white things on the bed and stuck both her feet into it.
Mom giggled a bit.
Next, I got a dollop of cream and started rubbing it on her face.
“Um, wow . . .” said Mom. But she sounded like it wasn’t wow, so I had to step things up.
“Open your mouth.”
“Ummmm, OK. What are you going to put in it?” she asked.
“Just open it! And keep your eyes closed. I’m stimulating all your five senses.”
I shoved the chocolate through her hesitating lips.
She relaxed a little bit, I could tell. She likes Lindor.
Then I remembered I hadn’t stimulated the hearing sense. I cranked the volume up and hit PLAY on my iPad. It was “Sunflower” from the Spider-Verse movie.
Mom
“Oh. Oh . . . OK. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that, sweetie,” she said, and pretended to be relaxed.
“I’m going to massage your feet now,” I announced.
I tipped out some lotion. Lots of it.
“Oh, that’s cold,” said Mom. But then after a while, she added, “It does feel good, actually. I needed that.”
Oops, I forgot the fifth sense. Smell. I ran to the bathroom and got the air freshener. I thought seven quick squirts should do the job.
Mom coughed a bit and choked out, “Ummm, can I go downstairs? I need to check the curry.”
“No, you have to stay like that for two hours,” I explained. Well, nobody can relax properly in ten minutes. “Dad’s home now. I’ll ask him to check it.”
Mom said, “Ooooookay . . .” and gave in.
She didn’t end up staying two hours in the end, because we had to have dinner. I was glad anyway; I didn’t realize how slow two hours can be when you’re rubbing someone’s feet.
Mom gave me $10 instead of the $3 I had written on the sign for the spa. As soon as the bill hit my hand, Maryam appeared from nowhere with a scowl on her face.
she said. She was referring to me. “You think you’re clever, but last night I saw you trying to open a wall to get into the bathroom.”
“Yeah, right!” I said. This was such a hilarious thought. I chuckled super loud.
But Maryam wasn’t chuckling with me. She was looking at me as if she was a rhino and I was getting in the way of its water hole.
I knew that face. She was up to something.
CHAPTER 10
I mean actual, literal wobbly knees. I could feel mine shaking as I stood in line with the rest of the class waiting to go into the classroom on Tuesday morning. It was supposed to be a straight line, and it sort of was, except half the kids were doing this new dance from a computer game we all like. Even Daniel! Anyway, back to my knees. They were wobbly because it was the day we had to speak to about selling stuff to the other kids. Charlie had arrived with his glasses on all wonky, as if they were wobbly just like my knees.
We hated to remind Daniel what day it was, but we had to. As soon as we told him, Daniel stopped waving his arms around and we all stood there not talking at all.
To make things worse, we had to get through half the day first, because Mr. McScary was going to meet us at lunchtime. Luckily, we had some fun lessons, like science and making up rhyming poems in language arts. Here’s mine:
It’s not my best poem, but at least it rhymes!
When we ate our lunch, my sandwich was having extra trouble traveling down my throat. I imagined myself as one of those that can eat a whole egg without chewing it, and it goes down really awkwardly and slowly.
Daniel wolfed down his lunch in less than a minute. I guess that’s how he eats when he’s nervous. And then there was Charlie. He smiled and nodded the whole time he was eating, as if he was reminding us and himself that it was going to be OK.
We went to meet Mrs. Hutchinson after we’d eaten, and she walked us over to Mr. McLeary’s office.
“Will you stay with us?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ll stay with you,” said Mrs. Hutchinson, winking. Her heels were making
noises and her hair was bouncing to the rhythm. It made me sort of want to pull one of her curls to see what it would do. So I shoved my hands in my pockets.
When we knocked, Mr. McLeary said, “Uh . . . come in, we’ve just finished here.”
He was brushing crumbs off his sweater, but they just landed on his pants, which were black, so I could see at least seven crumbs. He must have been eating his lunch at the same time as doing a principal punishing routine, because a grumpy-lo
oking kid from third grade was being marched out of the office by her teacher.
This seemed to turn Daniel’s feet into
that he couldn’t move forward anymore.
“Maybe I shouldn’t come in . . .” he whispered.
I guess he was thinking of all the times he’d been sent in there as the naughty kid. “It’ll be fine,” I said, and gave his hand a squeeze. The squeeze seemed to melt his cement blocks, because we all ended up in chairs in front of Mr. McScary’s desk.
Mrs. Hutchinson began to explain the whole fundraising project, while our hearts thudded in our chests. I could hear Daniel’s and Charlie’s . . . or was that just mine? I grabbed Charlie’s hand under the table and squeezed it, too. Charlie squeezed mine back. Mr. McScary’s lips were pulled in and pressed together really hard, as if he was trying to hide them. The only word he’d said so far was
Then I could hear Mrs. Hutchinson saying, “Go on, Omar, tell Mr. McLeary what kind of things you want to sell.”
My words were stuck in my head. I tried to imagine my old pal H2O. He’s the
I used to imagine all the time when I needed more confidence. Things had been going so well lately that H2O hadn’t made an appearance for a while. But I needed him now, so I quickly thought of him swooping down with a big dragon grin! He was holding cookies and origami birds in his hands, and then he started juggling them.
I don’t know how long I sat without speaking, but when Mrs. Hutchinson said, “Omar?” I was ready.
“Mr. McLeary, thank you for listening to our ideas. We would like to sell delicious homemade cookies, origami birds made by my friend Daniel here, and maybe our old toys and books. It’s probably best to set up a table to sell them at lunchtime or after school.”
Charlie and Daniel were staring at me as if they were thinking
I was impressed by my own grown-up-ness.
Then Charlie sat up straight and said, “Organic cookies!” with a big Charlie kind of smile.
Mr. McLeary cleared his throat. Here it comes, I thought. He’s going to say something like
But then I got a huge surprise.
“Yes. Sure. Of course you can. I’m impressed. Great initiative, all of you. Well done.”
And then the weirdest thing happened . . . Mr. McLeary’s lips curled up into a
He was smiling at us? Amazing!
I thought of H2O’s juggling, and I realized what he was trying to tell me. Encouraged by the not-so-scary principal’s smile, I blurted out,
Everyone looked at me.
“We’re planning a talent contest to raise money, but we need a stage. What do you think about us having it in the school auditorium, Mr. McLeary? We could even sell the things on the same day instead of at lunchtime.”
Charlie and Daniel were nodding their heads in agreement.
“Sure, why not?” said Mr. McLeary. “That’s really good thinking. I’ll make arrangements.”
And he smiled again.
We filed out of his office and spent the rest of the day bouncing around with excitement, which was perfect for after-school soccer club. Daniel scored six goals.
Six goals was two more than Jayden, who is used to being the best scorer. But Jayden was a good sport, because he still high-fived Daniel at the end, and Ellie gave him one of the key rings that hung on her bag. (She still had sixteen of them left.)
When Mom picked me up, I didn’t shut up about everything all the way home, and as soon as I got inside, I ran upstairs to tell Maryam the great news.
But when I bounced into her room, she wasn’t alone. She had her friends over.
They were plotting ways to raise funds for the mosque. I looked at the ideas they had written down, and in bold across the top it said:
CHAPTER 11
I called Charlie, and then Daniel, right away. We couldn’t believe Maryam’s sneaky plot!
“She’s such a I said.
“Yeah, she’s a said Daniel.
“Charlie said she was an I giggled.
And then we laughed so hard at our alternative swear words that we forgot all about how annoying Maryam was.
I guess it wasn’t too bad anyway, because it meant more money for the mosque, but I still didn’t want to lose. I wanted us to make way more money than Maryam and her friends ever could! After all, she was doing it for and we were actually doing it to save the mosque. Mom and Dad always say that the reason why you’re doing something is super important, because you could be doing something good for the wrong reasons, like just getting people to say that you’re . But even if you’re doing something that you think isn’t that fantastic but it’s for a great reason, then that’s better. I thought about that, and decided that Allah would be on our side. Though then I wondered if He would approve of taking sides . . . Well, if He did,
We knew we had to work really hard to make sure Maryam’s friends wouldn’t win. We spent every lunchtime and every recess during the whole week planning our talent contest and the things we’d sell. Mrs. Hutchinson was helping us a lot. We chose her to be on the panel of judges, along with Mr. McLeary and the three of us. She said that she’d see which of the school board members wanted to be on the panel, too.
That Thursday, when we got the date from Mr. McLeary for when we could use the auditorium, Mrs. Hutchinson spoke to the whole school about it so that kids would know and could start to plan what their talent would be. Then she made Charlie, Daniel and me stand up, because we were the organizers.
“Sheesh,” Daniel whispered,
We all did. Especially because now that everyone knew, kids kept coming up to us on the playground to tell us, or even show us, what their talents were. Like there was this second-grade kid who knew Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham by heart, and he literally went through it without blinking. And there was this other kid in fourth grade who could do a
“Are we allowed to enter, too?” asked Charlie.
“Hmmm, good question,” I said. “I guess we could, but we ARE judges, so maybe it wouldn’t be fair . . .”
“What if me and Charlie entered and you were a judge, Omar?” said Daniel.
“Sure,” I said.
“Thank you, thank you, Sam-I-Am,” said Charlie with a grin. “I’m going to do something with my double joints!”
“I’m going to sing!” said Daniel.
I’m not sure that Charlie and I are ever going to run out of surprises when it comes to Daniel.
I wondered what my talent could be. Once, my mom told me that my smile was so real and happy that I could make anyone do anything with it. I imagined performing this talent at the contest, the whole crowd with my smile and then making everyone do wacky things, like pat their heads and rub their tummies at the same time while sticking their tongues out. It would be so funny. And then I decided that if it worked on Mr. McLeary, I would super definitely get him to change the school lunch to
every day (except Fridays, when it would be fish ’n’ chips!).
The best part was designing the tickets. Mrs. Hutchinson said that we could draw them and then the school would print them out and sell them to parents at the end of the day.
Here’s what we came up with (I drew the kid juggling):
OK, the prizes weren’t great, but we didn’t really have money to buy better ones and Mr. McLeary kindly offered those. We were pretty sure would pick the dictionary, but we didn’t feel like we could say that to Mr. McLeary.
I couldn’t wait for the weekend, when Charlie and Daniel would be coming over to make lots of stuff to sell on the day. But, as you might have guessed,
CHAPTER 12
I know it’s good to be . Mom and Dad are always talking about it. But Maryam and her friends took the ambitious thing and went with it.
On Saturday morning, when I was lost in my Xbox games, waiting for my friends to come over, Maryam had inv
ited her group, too. I only found out when Daniel and Charlie rang the doorbell. Maryam’s friends were taking up the entire kitchen table with their paint mess. (Mom only lets us paint in the kitchen, where there’s no carpet.) You won’t believe this, but they were trying to paint pictures that they could sell for $500 each. They were doing it even though (or maybe because) Mrs. Rogers’s son, John, is an artist and he says it’s hard to sell art, but when you do, you can make a lot of money.
In fact, Mrs. Rogers was sitting with them, telling them to make another splatter here and darken the tones there.
She looked up at me with a sly grin that I didn’t even know grandmas could have. That face told me she knew Maryam couldn’t sell any of those paintings for that much money, and it was hilarious.
I complained. “Where are my friends and I going to make our stuff? We need the kitchen table, too!”
“You can do yours tomorrow, brat face,” said Maryam.
Her friends giggled.
My friends grimaced.
Esa picked up a paintbrush and started painting his own face, while Dad tried to figure out what to do.
Then Mrs. Rogers said, “You can use my kitchen.”
“Really?” said Dad. “That won’t be a problem? We don’t want to be a bother.”
. . . My dad was too polite sometimes.
“We’ll take it!” I said quickly, before Mrs. Rogers changed her mind.