Farah Rocks Fifth Grade

by Susan Muaddi Darraj

  “Well,” Mama says, “my job can give me more hours.” She smiles at Baba. “That will help a bit. But I will need Farah to help even more with Samir, because I will be working late most days.”

  “No problem, Mama,” I say. My parents work so hard. And they never complain.

  “I’ll try not to ask you for too much once you’re in Magnet,” she says. “You’ll be much busier then, I’m sure.”

  “Samir will be older too. He can handle himself,” Baba adds.

  Not on the bus, I think. I want to tell them about Dana, but they trust me to take care of things. So I will find a way to take care of this problem too.

  I stuff another bite of squash into my mouth and think, I just have to figure out how.

  CHAPTER 7

  At lunch on Monday, I watch Dana buy three cartons of strawberry milk from the lunch line and walk back to her table.

  I notice something now that I didn’t on the bus: Dana, Bridget, and three of the other girls at their table are all dressed alike. They wear denim vests, poofy skirts, colorful tights, and cowboy boots.

  “What are they, a dance squad?” I grumble to Allie as I get back to the table.

  “I like their outfits! I told Bridget that her skirt was cute.”

  “She looks like a cartoon.”

  “Come on,” Allie says, rolling her eyes. I give up. Every time I say anything about Bridget, Allie defends her. “She’s not that bad.”

  “She is. And so are her friends. How do you stand being in health class with them?”

  “They’re fine. I was actually Bridget’s partner for a team project last week.”

  “Did she make you do all the work?”

  “No,” Allie replies. “She did her share. And she did a good job.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say when Allie is always trying to tell me Bridget is actually nice. It’s as if she totally forgot third grade.

  Allie finally breaks the silence. “Ready for the test?” she asks me.

  “What test?” I say, surprised.

  “The math test—it’s on the whole unit. Fractions.” Allie peers at me. “You can’t be worried about that. It’s easy.”

  I’m not worried. I can multiply and divide those things in my head. But before I can tell her that, I glance at Dana’s table again. “Uh-oh,” I say.

  “What?” Allie asks, then looks up herself. “Oh boy.”

  Dana is standing by the window, walking back and forth with a fake limp, making grunting noises. I know right away that she’s making fun of Ana, Samir’s classmate who has cerebral palsy. Ana’s family lives two streets from our house. Her father owns the coffee shop where Baba buys our bagels. Her mother helps at the animal shelter. Last Halloween, Ana and Samir dressed up as matching pumpkins. I was a farmer. We walked around our whole neighborhood for candy. The adults and I took turns pulling Ana in a little red wagon when she got too tired to walk.

  Everyone at Dana’s table is laughing as she stumbles around.

  My hands are shaking. I put down my water bottle and stand up.

  “Farah, don’t go over there. Just tell someone,” Allie says.

  “Nobody will do anything,” I answer. “They’re being really awful!” I head toward Dana, marching like a soldier.

  “Stay at your table!” calls the cafeteria monitor.

  I ignore her. Why hasn’t she been telling Dana the same thing? I wonder angrily.

  “Where are you going, Farah?” asks Winston from his table.

  I ignore him too.

  “What’s up, Farah?” hisses one of the Beckinson twins.

  Ignore.

  I even ignore Enrique, who gives me a worried look as I pass his table.

  Suddenly I am standing in front of Dana and all her boot-wearing friends. Still limping, Dana doesn’t notice me right away. Bridget does notice and nudges Dana.

  A hush falls across the cafeteria as Dana sees me. “Pharaoh! What do you want?”

  I hate that she calls me this name, especially now, in front of the whole cafeteria.

  I see Samir outside on a bench. He’s happily swinging his legs and twirling the strings of his wool hat between his fingers.

  “Problem, Pharoah?”

  My voice is shaking. “You’re—”

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re—”

  “Yes?” She folds her arms across her chest. “Waiting, Pharaoh.”

  “You’re a BULLY!” I shout.

  Except it doesn’t quite sound like a shout. More like a squeak.

  The cafeteria is so quiet that we can hear the excited shrieks of the kids playing outside.

  Then Dana bursts out laughing. “I’m a bully! Y’all hear that!” People snicker around the cafeteria. She comes up close to me and stares me right in the eyes. “Sit down, Pharaoh.”

  I stay.

  “Now,” she says in her awful whisper.

  I hold my ground, feeling numb, until someone touches my elbow. It’s Allie, who gently leads me back to our table. I can’t believe I am doing it again—backing down. What a lousy hero I’ve turned out to be.

  “Pathetic,” says one Beckinson twin, shaking his long hair out of his eyes.

  As I sit down, I see Winston run up to the cafeteria monitor. But she shrugs and tells him to go sit down. Why do adults care more about being quiet than about being mean? I think angrily.

  “That was… that was…” I can’t find the right words as I pack up my lunch lightning-quick.

  “Come on, Farah Rocks,” says Allie. “Focus on that unit test. Next year, we won’t have to deal with her. We’ll be at the Magnet Academy.”

  Once again, my Official Best Friend doesn’t get it. “Allie,” I blurt out, “but she will still be here. And so will Samir.”

  Allie looks at me like I am some creature with ten heads from Greek mythology. “But what can you do about that, Farah?” she asks. “We can tell someone. They will stop her.”

  I am about to say that adults here don’t really seem to listen.

  Then Allie adds, “But for now, we have a math test to take. And Magnet is paying attention to our grades.”

  Suddenly I forget to be annoyed. Because I have a great idea—an answer to my Texas-sized problem. I will give Magnet a reason not to want me. Then I’ll never have to leave Samir. If they see my grades slipping, there’s no way they’ll accept me.

  My thoughts are swirling in my head. Part of me thinks, But you’ve been so excited about Magnet! How can you give that up?

  I look outside the cafeteria window. I see Samir standing on the playground, stomping his Tommy Turtle sneakers to make them light up. I’m his sister. I’m his hero.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting beside Allie in class, staring at the math test Mr. Richie has handed out. The first problem states, “Multiply 4/5 by 1/3.”

  The answer is obviously 4/15.

  I close my eyes tightly. I’m going to do this, I decide.

  When I open my eyes, I carefully write 2/15.

  CHAPTER 8

  “It’s still there!” Allie says. She’s peering up through the branches of the maple tree and shielding her eyes from the sun. It’s the Monday after our math test, and we are at recess again, avoiding Dana.

  “Where else would it be?” I mumble, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets. It’s can’t-feel-my-fingers-cold out here.

  I’m annoyed because we are still outside when it feels like the North Pole.

  I check my watch. Twelve-thirty—three minutes past our math starting time. Mr. Richie doesn’t seem to mind that we’re Popsicle-cold while he sips a mug of hot coffee. He’s been staring at me all during recess, as if he’s puzzled. I know exactly why. It’s about my work on the math test. This morning Mr. Richie announced we’d be getting ou
r tests back after recess.

  Finally, he rings his brass bell. We all line up by the hopscotch court near the doors. On the other side of the playground, I see the other fifth-grade class lining up to go in. Dana is there, along with Bridget and a couple other girls. They all wear denim jackets and polka-dot blue and white skirts over navy-blue tights.

  Just then, Bridget waves at Allie, who waves back slowly. “See you in health class,” Bridget calls out.

  “What’s that about?” I ask.

  “No clue.”

  “Are you guys friends now?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “They’re going to freeze out here in those silly skirts,” I say. I want Allie to agree with me. I want her to say something about those popular girls so that I know she’s on my side. But she doesn’t say anything at all.

  Inside, Mr. Richie says, “The Problem of the Day is on the board. Try to figure it out before I hand back your tests.”

  I’m nervous. Will Mr. Richie know that I failed last week’s test on purpose? I try to imagine his face as he graded it. Did he double-check the name? Did he frown and scratch his head?

  I copy the Problem of the Day into my notebook. I can solve it in my head. Numbers slide into the right places in my mind, like when Samir separates M&Ms into piles. Everything goes where it belongs. But on paper, I make up a fake answer. I even do fake work to support it.

  Mr. Richie slides Allie’s test onto her desk. 102/100, of course. She always does the extra credit questions. I give her a thumbs-up. She smiles and puts the test in her folder. I look up at Mr. Richie, waiting, but he’s moved on to the next person. And the next and the next. Test papers, with grades in green ink, are on everyone’s desks—except mine.

  Mr. Richie goes to the front of the room. “Our next challenge is… ,” he says, doing a quick drumroll on Winston’s desk. “Dividing fractions!” He tells us to open our textbooks to page 124 to the sample problems.

  What kind of stunt is Mr. Richie pulling? Where is my test? I think.

  As if she’s reading my mind, Allie whispers, “How come you didn’t—”

  But just then, Mr. Richie taps my shoulder. “Follow me, please, Farah Rocks.”

  He leads me out to the hallway. Is he going to take me to the non-AA math class? I wonder. One strike and I’m out?

  Instead he leans against the lockers and peers down at me. My test is rolled up like an ancient scroll in his hand.

  “Were you feeling okay on Friday, Farah?” I like how he says my name, puffing up the h at the end. In September, he had a hard time with it. He kept trying until he got it right.

  “I was fine,” I answer. My stomach feels fluttery.

  “Was something wrong?” he tries again.

  “No,” I lie.

  “Well, I’m trying to understand this.” He hands me the test paper. I unroll it and see the green ink glowing at me. 59/100.

  Holy hummus. Even though I had planned this, I am still amazed at how I feel.

  Lousy.

  But also weirdly proud. This fifty-nine percent is a piece of art. I created it as carefully as that bird crafted its nest in the maple tree. I showed fake work here too, so Mr. Richie could see where my calculations went “wrong.”

  Yet I feel awful because Mr. Richie seems so confused.

  “I wish I could let you retake it,” he explains. “But as you know, there are no retakes on unit tests. Try to focus on the other assignments coming up. Good grades on those should offset this one.” He stares down at me. “Okay? I’d hate for this to affect your application to the Magnet Academy.”

  “Okay.” Close call, I think. A retake hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Farah,” he tries again, his voice quieter this time. “Is anyone bothering you here at school?”

  Mr. Richie is African American, and he particularly worries about kids who aren’t white and how we’re doing at school. He tries to be extra aware in case someone makes us feel different, since there aren’t too many of us at Harbortown. For a second, I wonder if he somehow found out about Dana.

  I trust Mr. Richie, but I decide not to tell him. Ms. Juniper didn’t believe me. The lunch monitor in the cafeteria did nothing. And Ms. Loft thinks Dana is a sweet girl. What would Mr. Richie do, anyway? He can’t ride the bus with Samir. He can’t sit in the cafeteria every day to stop Dana.

  “Thanks, Mr. Richie,” I say, “but nobody is bothering me.”

  “Okay then,” he says, sounding unsure. “After school on Thursday, I’ll review this material with you.”

  Back in the classroom, Allie whispers, “What’s wrong?”

  I slide into my seat and show her my score.

  She gasps and runs her fingers through her hair. “What?” she demands. “You know this stuff better than I do!”

  I wonder for a second if I should tell her my plan. She is my Official Best Friend, but lately she has not been acting like it. In fact, she’s been becoming more and more friendly with Bridget and some of the other popular girls who are part of Dana’s crew.

  “Guess it was tougher than I thought,” I say, shrugging.

  I turn back to my classwork. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie frowning.

  CHAPTER 9

  I continue with my plan, although I keep it a secret. Slowly, over a week, my grades start to sink.

  One day, Allie asks me during lunch if I want to study together for math. I’m pretty sure that Mr. Richie asked her to help me. He’s been keeping me inside for recess to review with him.

  But I don’t need help with math. I need help with how to fail math. And Allie will never do that.

  I won’t ask her anyway. The other day, while working with Mr. Richie during recess, I looked out the window and saw her hanging out with Bridget by the monkey bars.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her now.

  “Don’t you care anymore about getting into Magnet?” she demands, frowning. “We’re supposed to be science fair partners! And study Latin together!”

  “Maybe I like it here,” I say. “Even if I have to stay with people like Bridget and Dana.”

  “Oh, stop being angry with Bridget,” she snaps. “That was a long time ago.”

  “I guess she really is your friend again,” I snap back, angry that she’s defending Bridget again.

  And with that, Allie quickly packs up what’s left of her lunch and storms off. I’m starting to wonder why I ever thought she understood me one hundred percent.

  * * *

  Later, on the bus ride home, I sneakily sit next to Samir. He’s looking at a picture book about shapes. “Twapezoid,” he tells me.

  Bridget is sitting in the back of the bus, talking to the Beckinson twins. “She is soooo tough,” she says. Of course, she is talking about her idol, Dana.

  “How tough can she be?” one of the twins scoffs. “She’s a girl.” (This is another reason I can’t stand the Beckinsons.)

  Bridget lowers her voice a bit. In my experience, when people lower their voices, they’re about to say something worth hearing. I perk up and pay attention.

  “Wanna know why she left her old school?” Bridget asks, as if she has supersecret information.

  “Her parents got divorced, right?” Jake says, pulling his finger out of his nose.

  For a flicker-quick second, I feel sad for Dana. It must have been hard to move to a new school, in a new state—and on top of that, to have your family break up.

  “Not just that,” Bridget says, her voice dropping even more. The Beckinsons huddle closer to her. “But there was a third grader who was trying to take Dana’s spot on the basketball team, and Dana…” Her voice trails off.

  “What?” her audience says in unison. “What did she do?”

  “She grabbed her in the locker room, picked her up, and put her head in the t
oilet.…”

  Suddenly I don’t feel so bad for Dana.

  “And what? What?” they beg.

  “Yeah, what happened?” asks Winston.

  I am listening so hard my ears are burning.

  “She flushed it,” Bridget whispers.

  A round of gasps erupts, including my own.

  “Duuuude… ,” says one of the twins.

  “So she got kicked out of the school,” Bridget says. “And that’s why she’s at Harbortown now.”

  Holy hummus. Dana is worse than I ever imagined. Note to self: Avoid all school bathrooms until eighth-grade graduation.

  “Fah-wah,” says Samir next to me. “Look at this one. Second twapezoid.”

  I think about the bird’s nest that is being built in the maple tree. Birds make their nests carefully, I read once. They make them to survive rain and wind and even predators. Samir is my little baby bird, I remind myself. And I am going to build a strong nest around him to keep him safe.

  I tap the book he’s holding. “Trapezoid,” I repeat. “Good job, habibi.”

  * * *

  Two nights later, Allie calls me to see if I want to do our homework together. She’s trying to help me again. I tell her no.

  “Why not?” she says. “We can finish fast and then hang out.”

  “I’m helping Mama with laundry,” I lie.

  Allie hesitates. “Okay,” she says eventually. “Maybe next week.”

  I hang up, feeling weird. I wish I could tell Allie about how Dana has a talent for flushing people’s heads down the toilet. This is why I cannot leave Samir alone with her. But I know she probably won’t believe me now that she’s getting really friendly with the popular girls.

  I miss my Official Best Friend. I wish I could tell her my plan for protecting Samir. Our friendship is changing, and it’s not good. I don’t want that to happen, but it’s happening anyway.

  After I hang up with Allie, I sit down at the kitchen table to do my language arts homework. Mama is helping Samir in the bath upstairs, and Baba’s washing the dishes.