Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero

by Saadia Faruqi

  “But there’s no one here,” Yusuf pointed out. “Why did we come?”

  Abba drove farther, until they reached New Horizons Church. Pastor Nielson was clearly expecting him. He stood in the open entryway, arms outstretched, smile on his face. “Welcome, my friend. Will you be celebrating with us today?” His voice was loud and friendly.

  Yusuf looked around. The service was obviously over, but people were still there, talking, laughing, their faces full of joy. Everyone was dressed in fancy clothes. The girls wore the most beautiful dresses, and the boys wore suits, with their hair combed back. It reminded him of Eid, the happiest time of the year.

  Abba parked the car and got out. “I just have some gifts for your members,” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed at the attention. He and Yusuf took the boxes out and placed them on the steps of the church. “Just a token of our appreciation.”

  Pastor Nielson was delighted. He took Abba by the arm and almost dragged him inside. “Come, you must eat with us.”

  A table in the hallway was set with all sorts of food and drink. Yusuf and Abba nibbled on some crackers while Pastor Nielson introduced them to some of the church members. Yusuf recognized the city council member who he’d met in Dairy Queen. He shook Abba’s hand vigorously and said “Merry Christmas” about ten times before patting Yusuf on the head. “Glad to see you’re doing better, my boy.”

  Abba gave Yusuf a little sideways hug. “He’s doing fine. He’s a brave lad. He’s going to compete in the TRC next month, you know!”

  The adults clapped Yusuf on the shoulder and began talking about the competition. “Lord knows we need something other than football in this town,” somebody joked.

  “Robotics, eh?” The city council member smiled approvingly at Yusuf. “That’s exactly the kind of people we need in Frey. Smart and hardworking!”

  Yusuf blushed. A woman who looked a bit like Amma held out a plate of chocolate éclairs for him to try. He took one and tasted it. Warm and sweet, with a hint of salt. He felt at home in this church, just like he did at his mosque. They could see the potential in someone, not just his skin color or religion. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  On Sunday, the construction was back in full swing. Most of the work was inside now, laying tile on the floors and installing fixtures. Yusuf and the other kids helped Sameena Aunty make sandwiches for the workers. “Faster, kids! Those people need nourishment!” Sameena Aunty scolded.

  Yusuf slapped peanut butter on a slice of bread, muttering. Danial made a face behind her back, and he almost laughed. “She’s not that bad,” he told Danial.

  “Since when did you become her friend?”

  “Friend?” Yusuf paused. “I guess I’ve just been seeing everyone in a different light these days.”

  The lunch team had just finished when the workers came out for a lunch break, grabbing at whatever they could find to eat. Everyone was talking about the city council investigation. “They’re not scared of making enemies, I suppose,” an uncle said admiringly.

  “Enemies? Those Patriot Sons can’t do much more than make noise!” another uncle replied, shaking his head.

  “They can also make our lives miserable.” Danial pointed toward the street.

  Yusuf turned and froze. A group of angry-looking people stood on the street just a few yards away, with Mr. Grant in the front like he was their angry leader. They had their placards and signs, and they chanted their usual slogans. “Go home!” “We don’t want you here!”

  “Forget them.” Mr. Khan picked up a box of tiles and went inside. “They’re just exercising their constitutional rights.”

  A few uncles—from the mosque and the church—muttered rude things at this. But Yusuf remembered how Mr. Grant had stood outside the school, arms crossed, with the same furious look, while Officer Strickland hauled Yusuf away to his police car. Mr. Grant had looked like he was mad at the whole world.

  Pastor Nielson stood up and walked to the edge of the street. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, and you could mistake him for any kid’s dad right then. But when he spoke, his voice was fire and brimstone, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the protestors. “You’re the ones who need to go home! These people are our neighbors, and they have a right to build their place of worship, just like we do.”

  The other men and women from the church joined. Some shouted “Yeah!” while others clapped. Soon, all the people at the construction site were clapping and cheering. The kids screamed the loudest, their mouths open in joy and amazement.

  Yusuf bit his lip. Then he too opened his mouth wide and screamed with all his might. “Woohoo!” With the shout, he felt all the anger and confusion leave his body and melt into the air around him. He felt lighter, happier.

  They all stood there for the longest time. Finally the Patriot Sons put down their signs, got back onto their motorcycles and into their cars, and left. “Good riddance,” old Razia Begum called out in her ancient, shaky voice, and everyone mumbled agreement.

  38

  School started again in January, with the TRC regionals in Conroe looming ahead like golden goalposts. Yusuf’s legs trembled as he walked the school hallways once more, the blue lockers like something out of a bad dream he’d been trying to forget.

  Principal Williamson had called another first-thing-in-the-morning gym assembly. She looked different than before: her jumpsuit was black, without a single decoration except for a red bow at the waist. Her usual bouncy smile was absent, replaced with something small and sad.

  “Is this normal?” Danial whispered as he sat with Yusuf on the gym floor. “I thought assemblies were only on the first day of school.”

  Yusuf looked around. This was the place where he’d argued with Ethan, and where Coach Boston made them run laps until their breath rattled in their throats. But the gym was also home base for Team Freybots, a place full of memories of the robotics team laughing and working together, eating lots of snacks, and becoming friends.

  “Ahem.” Principal Williamson coughed. Her face was serious, and her eyes looked at each student in turn. “Welcome back from winter break! I hope everyone had a relaxing holiday with family and friends.”

  The students buzzed with chatter. Yusuf looked around, wondering if they were talking about what gifts they got for Christmas, or where they went on vacation. His eyes reached the gym doorway and stopped. Amma and Abba stood just inside, holding hands. He blinked and stared. What were his parents doing there?

  Danial had noticed too. “Something’s up, Yusuf. Maybe they’re going to expel you.”

  “In front of the entire school?” Yusuf tried to grin, but his insides were shaking.

  The principal held up a hand for silence. “I’ve called you all here for two things. One, we all know about the unfortunate event that happened in the school before Christmas. One of our students accused another of a very serious offense, and our school administration made some very hasty decisions that caused heartache and pain. I’m not going to say either student’s name, but the whole town knows who they are. The boy who was accused is here; he is one of your classmates, and a very smart, caring young man.”

  Yusuf blinked. For some reason his eyes weren’t able to focus properly.

  Principal Williamson looked directly at him. “Today, to that boy and his parents, I want to say we’re sorry. I’m officially apologizing on behalf of the school. On my own behalf. We let you down, son, and we should have done a better job protecting you.”

  Yusuf’s shaking stopped, and he turned toward Amma and Abba. Even from the distance, he could see Amma’s slumped shoulders, the tight grip she had on Abba’s hand. But they were both smiling too, just tiny smiles that showed they were happy at the apology.

  Words matter, Yusuf told himself. He turned back to Principal Williamson and nodded firmly.

  She went on. “We’re instituting a zero-tolerance bullying policy at our school from this point forward. We’ve already emailed the documents to your parents, but the s
ummary is this: If there’s a bullying incident, we won’t wait until a student decides to complain. We will take evidence from teachers and onlookers, and we will take action on the first offense. If you have three bullying complaints against you, you’ll be suspended until a committee can investigate.” She paused, then almost shouted: “Nobody must be scared of reporting a bully, and nobody must be scared of helping someone else.”

  The students started talking again, excited and loud. Yusuf grinned at Danial; then he caught Saba’s eye in the next row. She was looking . . . happy. Relieved. Yusuf wondered if he looked the same, like a big sack of rocks had been lifted from his back.

  Principal Williamson tapped the microphone. “The second announcement is much happier, I promise. We are sending a team to the Texas Robotics Competition regional contest in Conroe very soon! We haven’t had a team in almost ten years, so this is a really big opportunity for our school!”

  The students clapped, and many turned to give Yusuf and Danial a thumbs-up. “They’re clapping for us!” Danial said, shocked.

  “Yes, they are.”

  That wasn’t the end of it. Coach Boston blew his whistle, and the middle school cheer team ran up to the stage with Principal Williamson. Music began blaring from the loudspeakers, and the cheer team started to dance, kicking up their heels and clapping, forming lines and then breaking up, again and again. “Hey, hey! Ho, ho!” they sang, and everyone sang with them. “Team Freybots, let’s go!”

  “That’s their top routine,” Danial said excitedly. “The one they do on Friday nights for the Coyotes!”

  Yusuf was grinning now. “Guess we’re the team to beat today.”

  That weekend was the last TRC club before the competition. Word about the competition had spread, and dozens of middle schoolers showed up at the gym on Saturday morning to watch the final rehearsal. Tony Rivera quickly set up the practice arena. Mr. Parker timed the challenges, while the audience crowded around, wide-eyed. “Normally we’d have another team with their robot here,” Danial explained to everyone. “That will make the challenge much harder.”

  Afterward Madison sat in the corner, making final notes in her binder. She’d have to turn it in to the judges before the competition in Conroe began. “I should have taken more pictures,” she groaned.

  Yusuf sat next to her and surveyed the crowd. “You can take some now,” he said. “This is a nice moment to remember.”

  “Tell me about it,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “When was the last time these kids paid more attention to a bunch of nerds than to football players?”

  Yusuf held up their robot. “Miss Trashy is better than any football.”

  “Hey, Yusuf!” Mr. Parker came up to them, huffing. A woman with a microphone and a man with a big camera over his shoulder walked behind him. “These people are from TNN. They’re doing a segment on our team.”

  Yusuf remembered all the times he’d watched negative news on TNN shows. Maybe this time they’d showcase something good about Muslims. “Sure,” he replied, standing up. “But I want to make sure everyone gets credit for their hard work.”

  Mr. Parker nodded. “I’ll call the other members of the team.”

  The woman asked a lot of questions, mostly of Yusuf. They were all about their robotics team, and how they hoped to do in the regionals next week. But the last question was different. “You were arrested late last year, weren’t you? What do you think that will mean for your future?”

  Yusuf stopped breathing for a second. What did that have to do with robotics? But then he squared his shoulders and looked straight at the camera. “I wasn’t arrested. It was all a misunderstanding, and the school apologized for it. It’s in the past. It’s got nothing to do with the robotics challenge or my future. I’m a part of this town, and my team’s win will be a win for Frey.”

  Around him, the rest of his teammates nodded and clapped. Mr. Parker stood to the side, giving him a proud look. It was the same look Amma always gave him before any big exam: “I’m proud of you, no matter what happens.”

  The cameraman lowered his equipment, and the woman doing the interview shook the team members’ hands. “Good luck next week,” she told them. “I’m sure you’ll do great!”

  39

  The competition was going to be held in a high school gym in Conroe. Since it was a big group, Mr. Parker had arranged for a school bus to take the team and their parents. Amma and Abba were there; Aleena stayed behind with Sameena Aunty. Mr. and Mrs. Khan sat in the row behind them, wearing business suits like they were at work. Mrs. Raymond was with Jared, beaming. Yusuf stayed away, giving a polite nod in her direction, but nothing else. If she wanted to know why Yusuf wasn’t being friendlier, she’d have to ask her grandson.

  They all waited for the bus in the school parking lot, huddled in their jackets in the early morning. “What time do we need to get there?” Danial asked for the tenth time.

  “Just be quiet,” Yusuf told him. “There’s plenty of time.”

  The bus arrived with a rumble and a smell of gasoline in the air, and they climbed aboard. Yusuf, Danial, and Cameron stretched out together in the back seat. The driver checked the rearview mirrors and drank from his coffee mug until Cameron’s dad told him to get going already. The bus roared to life and drove out of the school parking lot.

  “TRC, here we come!” Mr. Parker shouted.

  The adults cheered, and Madison began singing the cheer from the school assembly. “Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Team Freybots, let’s go!”

  Mr. Parker stood up in the middle of the bus and clapped his hands to the cheer’s rhythm. “Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Team Freybots, let’s go!” he repeated loudly.

  “Sit down, sir!” the driver shouted, and Mr. Parker settled down on his seat again. But his grin was wide, and his eyes shining.

  “What if we lose really badly?” Danial whispered to Yusuf. “He’s going to be crushed.”

  Cameron leaned forward. “Then we better not lose, I guess.”

  Yusuf looked out the window. They were on I-45 now, and Frey was just a speck on the road behind them. “We’re not going to lose,” he whispered. “I can feel it.”

  They reached Conroe with plenty of time to spare. The high school was humungous, and its parking lot was already packed with cars and trucks. Registration was inside in the main entryway, next to a life-sized statue of Sam Houston, Texas’s first president from the time when Texas was a country. Mr. Parker signed some paperwork and turned in Madison’s binder. “Miss Trashy, eh?” the woman at registration said, looking at the team.

  “She’s going to clean up all that trash in record time,” Tony Rivera said proudly.

  “I’m sure she will,” the woman replied. She handed Mr. Parker a small black folder and pointed to the gym entrance. “You’re team eight. The opening ceremony is in half an hour.”

  The gym was bigger than anything Yusuf had seen, and more crowded than a Walmart on Black Friday. Mr. Parker led everyone to the bleachers, and they settled in near the back. Yusuf looked around, hoping to see some of the other robots. The crowd was too noisy and thick for him to see much. “Wonder who we’ll be competing against?” Madison whispered, staring.

  The program began late. The TRC event coordinator, a man in a gray suit, welcomed everyone to the competition with wide-open arms, like he was sending out a big hug. “We’ve gotten entries from ninety-three schools this year, almost double the year before,” he boasted. “I’m happy to see the interest in science and robotics increasing each year.”

  They stood for the pledge of allegiance, first to the U.S. flag and then to the Texas flag. There were short speeches by two people: a high school principal from San Antonio and a college professor at UT Austin specializing in robotics. Abba listened with attention and delight. “He’s saying his students get really good jobs,” he whispered to Yusuf.

  “I know, Abba.”

  The TRC coordinator came back to the microphone and announced the beginning of the qualifying round. “
This is where we test your stamina, kids. Only ten teams go on to the final challenge. Only five teams advance to the finals! Five out of ninety-three, kids. The competition is tougher than an armadillo’s hide!” He blew a big red whistle. “Good luck!”

  Mr. Parker was rifling through his black folder. “We’re in arena twelve,” he announced.

  Yusuf stood up. His feet felt heavy and his palms were sweating. “Well, this is it,” he said to the others, trying to look confident.

  Amma gave him a hug. “I’m proud of you for getting this far, darling.”

  “I know.”

  Abba clapped him on the back several times, grinning. “This is wonderful, son. See how many kids are here. All bound for early college, no doubt!”

  Amma tugged at his hand. “Come, sit down and let the kids work.”

  They followed Mr. Parker out to the middle of the gym. Tony ran ahead and found arena twelve. Two judges, a man and a woman dressed in black-and-white-striped shirts, were already there, making notes on their clipboards. “Team eight?” the woman asked. “Please set up as quickly as you can.”

  Yusuf took deep breaths to calm his nerves. Danial looked ready to pass out, and Yusuf gave his shoulder a little shake. “Get your laptop,” he told him gently but firmly. Danial sprang into action. He and Yusuf would sit on the side with their laptops, ready to adjust the code if needed. The others would stand around the arena, watching Miss Trashy like hawks.

  While Danial set up his laptop, Yusuf studied the competition. Team Jaguars was a group of South Asian kids from Houston, dressed in identical blue jeans and green T-shirts with a bunch of company names. Yusuf was glad his team was wearing their white Freybots shirts with a photo of Miss Trashy in the center. He thought it made them stand out. He saw Mr. Parker talking to the Jaguars’ coach, and the judges inspecting the arena and the two robots. He heard someone ask, “Ready?” and he nodded without even knowing who had said it.

  Was he sweating? He wasn’t sure if it was nervousness or excitement. Or both. He could hear his own heart beating until he realized that a cheer team in the front of the gym was stomping their feet to the tune of “We Will Rock You.”