Zara Hossain Is Here

by Sabina Khan

  Back in my room, I lie down on my bed, the hum of the air conditioner soothing my nerves. I look around at all the stuff on my walls. There’s a poster of Fawad Khan right next to a framed picture of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. On the other side of the room is the shrine Ammi has built to me. She says it’s to inspire me when I open my eyes every morning. All the medals and trophies I won through elementary and middle school for spelling bees and science fairs are on display, but there are also a lot of pictures of me with Nick from when we got our tae kwon do belts. We haven’t gone back to practice together in a long time, and I kind of miss it. I felt that laser-sharp focus today when I confronted Tyler that I used to feel when Nick and I would spar. I’m not even sure what would have happened if I hadn’t been there, but I know it could have been bad. I wish I could talk to Nick right now, but then again, I know he won’t react well to this. I decide I’m going to talk to Ms. Talbot and see what she says I should do. No one should feel scared to go to school because of bullies like Tyler.

  * * *

  I try to focus on the essay I have due in English the next day. But I’m finding it really hard to concentrate. The image of Tyler and his friends surrounding Maria like she was some sort of prey keeps flashing through my mind. The way his mouth turns down at the corners when I walk past, like he’s disgusted by me. I try to think back and remember when things got so bad with him. He’s never really been on my radar. We went to the same elementary school, and I can honestly say I don’t really remember any interaction with him.

  Zorro comes bounding into my room with his favorite stuffed dinosaur. He jumps up on my bed and walks right over my notebook, steering clear of my laptop. I ruffle his ears as he looks up at me, his bright eyes shiny with pure love. My heart melts, as it has every day since Abbu rescued him from a shelter five years ago. I stick my face in his soft fur and take a deep breath. I instantly feel better.

  My phone vibrates, and I grab it off my desk. It’s Chloe, saying she wants to meet up, but I tell her I have to finish my essay. We make plans for Friday evening, and that’s when I’ll share everything that happened with Tyler. I’m glad I can confide in her. I hate telling Nick or my parents anything about Tyler because they get so worked up about it. But Chloe just listens, which is what I really need today.

  I feel better when I hang up with her, but not all the way better. I can’t shake the feeling that Tyler isn’t going to take this lying down.

  It’s almost six when I hear the garage door opening. I’m starving, and thankfully I’m done with my essay.

  “Zara, beta, can you come down, please?”

  I nudge Zorro, who jumps off the bed and races down the stairs ahead of me.

  “There you are, beta. Can you help me with dinner?” Ammi asks as I settle onto one of the stools by the island. “Isabella and John are coming over.”

  I’m surprised. Aunty Isabella and Uncle John are Nick’s parents.

  “How come no one tells me anything anymore?” I say. And then I feel foolish because I have to ask, “Is Nick coming too?”

  “I’m not sure. But his grandmother might join us.”

  I smile. I love Nick’s grandmother. She gives the best hugs and is an excellent singer. Karaoke nights at Nick’s are the best.

  “What are you making?” I ask.

  “I picked up some mutton to make nihari,” Ammi says. “I thought you could make the pulao with some peas and carrots?”

  “Sure, I can do that.” I jump off the stool to get the rice started.

  I notice a pile of mail on the side table. “What’s this?” I ask, pulling a shiny envelope from the stack.

  “I haven’t looked at any of that yet,” Ammi says. “Go ahead and open it.”

  I run my fingernail under the flap and gasp.

  “What is it?” Ammi stops chopping cilantro to look at me.

  I look at her with a big smile. “Ayesha’s getting married,” I say excitedly. Ayesha is my cousin in Vancouver. Her father, Murshed Uncle, is Abbu’s older brother. I love it when they visit because Ayesha is only a few years older than I am and I’ve always looked up to her.

  Abbu walks in just as Ammi’s looking at the wedding invitation.

  “Who’s that from?” he asks.

  “From Murshed Bhai and Seema Bhabi,” she says. “Ayesha’s getting married.”

  Abbu’s face breaks into a huge grin as she passes him the card.

  I spy the slim, intricately decorated box filled with assorted mithai that traditionally accompanies a wedding invitation. I open it eagerly, but Ammi deftly takes it from me before I get the chance to snag a piece of halwa.

  “We’ll serve those with dessert,” she says. “Now can you please go and make the pulao like I asked?”

  I grumble to myself as I get the pulao started because now I really want mithai but Ammi’s watching me like a hawk.

  Nick and his family come over just as I finish garnishing the pulao with raisins and slivered almonds. Nick is holding a glass-covered dish of sopapillas with cajeta, my favorite dessert.

  “Abuela made this for you,” he says, making a face. “I was not allowed to sample it, and I hate you.”

  “Finally we’re on the same page,” I say, turning to hug his grandmother. “Thank you, Abuela. You’re the best.”

  “Kiss-ass,” Nick mutters behind me. I give him the finger as his grandmother wraps her slender arms around me and kisses my cheeks. She’s the closest thing I have to a grandparent here, since my own live so far away in Pakistan.

  Nick’s mom is a graceful, petite woman with a sharp mind and eyes that you can’t hide from. Nick’s eyes are like that, and he has her mouth too. But he gets his height and build from his father, who was also a football player at our school when he went there as a teenager.

  Nick corners me in the pantry when I go in to grab some Maggi sauce. His expression has gone from joking to serious.

  “I heard what happened with Maria,” he says in a low whisper. “Are you okay?”

  I’m startled. “Who told you?” I ask. I spent so much energy deciding not to tell him, it hadn’t even occurred to me that he’d find out anyway.

  “Are you kidding? Dude, the whole team’s ragging on Tyler!”

  Great. Just what I need.

  “Okay, but don’t say anything to my parents,” I say, pinning him with a stern look.

  The pantry door swings open, and Ammi’s standing there, hand on hip. “Say anything about what?” she asks.

  This day just keeps getting better.

  “Nothing, Ammi,” I mutter. “It’s nothing.”

  “Obviously it’s something,” Ammi says, unconvinced. “Why else are you two doing khusurphusur in the pantry? Come on, out with it.” She calls Abbu over.

  There’s really no point in trying. It’s easier just to tell them.

  “I had a run-in with Tyler again today,” I say as quietly as possible. Then I brace myself.

  “A run-in? What kind of run-in?” Ammi says, her voice a little high, the way it gets when she knows nothing good is coming.

  “I was going to tell you,” I reply weakly. I recount the incident with Maria to them.

  Abbu looks both sad and angry. “And did you tell the principal?”

  “Maria didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

  “Ye ladke ko to school se nikaal dena chahiye.” Ammi has reverted to Urdu, which is never a good sign. She only does this when she’s very worked up—and I mean, she’s not wrong. Tyler should be kicked out of school.

  “Nilufer, it’s okay. Zara will report it tomorrow,” Abbu says calmingly. “Hai na, beta?” he asks me.

  “Yes, of course,” I say. I can check with Maria to see if she wants to go with me. Since everyone in our school will probably have heard what happened tomorrow morning, she might be okay speaking up. And if she isn’t, then I will find a way to speak up without dragging her into it.

  “Good,” Ammi says. “Hopefully they will finally take some action.”


  I get a bad feeling as soon as I’m walking down the hallway toward my locker the next morning. Nick is standing right in front of the locker, arms spread out as several students stare at him. At first, I assume Nick’s just being Nick and that he’s up to something he thinks is hilarious. But as I get closer, I know from the look on his face that something’s very wrong.

  “Nick, what are you doing?” I ask. “Let me get my stuff—I’m going to be late for history.”

  Nick shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t move away. I put my hands on his arms and try to push him aside, but he’s sturdy as a rock.

  “Zara, why don’t you go ahead,” he says. “I’ll grab your stuff for you.”

  Of course, we know each other’s locker combo, mostly because Nick always forgets stuff and I have to get it for him when he’s not at school.

  “What? Why?” A vein in my forehead is throbbing furiously. “Just move.”

  This time when I try harder to shove him aside, he grabs my arms.

  “Can you just go to class, please?” he pleads. “Trust me, you don’t want to see this. Priya’s gone to get the janitor. He’ll have it cleaned off before class is over.”

  “Get what cleaned off?” I become very still, my body anticipating the worst before my brain can even register what’s happening.

  Nick knows this look in my eyes and moves aside. My breath catches in my throat as I see what he’s been shielding me from.

  Painted all over my locker door in white spray paint are the words DIRTY PAKI BITCH.

  I can’t breathe. I can feel all sensation draining from my fingertips. Every sound becomes muffled and my vision narrows until the only things I can see are those ugly words.

  Somewhere outside this bubble I hear Nick say my name. Then Priya’s face comes into my line of vision and I’m moving. I feel my legs bending and my backside being lowered into a seating position. I feel a searing pain behind my eyes, and I close them until it subsides.

  When I open them again, it’s as if the bubble has burst, and everything looks and sounds normal again. Except it isn’t, because everyone is staring at me and those words are still screaming at me, telling me I shouldn’t exist.

  When I’ve recovered enough, I march down the hall to the principal’s office, with Nick and Priya right behind me. I can see Principal Trevino through the glass window in the inner office and walk right through, completely ignoring his assistant, who opens her mouth to stop us, but it’s too late because we’re already standing in front of Mr. Trevino. I thrust my phone in his face, my chest heaving with anger and from walking so fast.

  “Ms. Hossain, what is the meaning of this? You cannot just barge into my office,” he says, even as he’s putting on his reading glasses. His face pales as the words on my screen register.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” he says. “What is this?”

  “It’s my locker. It was like this when I came in just a few minutes ago.”

  “Did you see who did this?” Mr. Trevino looks at me over his glasses.

  “No, but I’m pretty sure it was Tyler.”

  “This is a very serious offense. Pretty sure isn’t good enough.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Nick spits out.

  Calmer, Priya says, “Mr. Trevino, everyone knows it was Tyler.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks.

  “Tell him what happened yesterday,” Nick says to me. “You have to.”

  I tell Mr. Trevino about the incident with Maria without mentioning her by name; Mr. Trevino surprises me by understanding why I have to keep that secret.

  “Tyler was telling the whole team about it ten minutes after it happened,” Nick says. “I heard it come right out of his mouth.”

  “I’ll look at the camera footage, and we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Mr. Trevino says. “I’d also like to talk to the other student involved, if she is willing. Please let her know that her privacy will be respected. This kind of behavior will not be tolerated.”

  I nod wordlessly. What else is there to say?

  “Zara, are you okay?” Mr. Trevino asks, his tone a lot softer now. “Do you want to go see Mrs. Martinez?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. My friends are taking care of me.” Mrs. Martinez, our school counselor, is nice and everything, but I don’t think I want to talk to her right now. What I want is to kick Tyler in the nuts and watch him writhe in agony.

  “We’ve got this,” Priya assures the principal.

  We leave and head back to the locker area and see that the janitor has already removed most of the slur. He throws me a worried glance as he scrubs furiously.

  “Thank you, Mr. H,” I say, feeling awful about all the extra work he has to do now.

  Mr. H smiles kindly at me. “I hope they find out who did this. This is not right.” He shakes his head as he continues to wash the letters off.

  Priya and I go off to class, while Nick stays and helps Mr. H. Luckily, he has a free block and isn’t missing any of his classes. Apparently, the office has already notified my teacher that Priya and I would be late, so I don’t have to explain. But I might as well have skipped because I can’t concentrate on a single word.

  When it’s finally time for lunch, Nick, Priya, and I meet up outside and walk to our spot together. I pray that we don’t run into Tyler or any of his friends.

  “I swear if this doesn’t get him suspended, I’m going to do something about it myself.” Nick is fuming, but I don’t need his anger right now. What I need is proof that it was Tyler.

  “I asked around during class,” Priya says. “I was hoping somebody might have seen him near your locker. But of course, no such luck.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. I look at Nick. He doesn’t say anything but just leans wordlessly against the trunk of the tree we’re sitting under.

  “Do you think they’ll find anything on the security cameras?” I ask.

  Nick shrugs, looking down at his shoes. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I hope they do, but I’m going to talk to some of the guys on the team and see if they know anything. That paint looks like what we use to line the field. But the utility closet is always locked, so it would have to be someone with access.”

  In the middle of sixth period, there’s an interruption over the PA system. It’s the principal, informing us of the incident with my locker and denouncing any such acts of racism and vandalism with a stern reminder that they are grounds for expulsion. He asks for anyone who might shed light on the identity of this vandal to come forward.

  The hallways are still abuzz with gossip and speculation as I go to my last class of the day. Many of the students throw me sympathetic glances and tell me that they hope whoever did this gets caught. Tyler and his friends are nowhere in sight. Other than history class, where Tyler was uncharacteristically quiet, I haven’t seen him all day.

  Just before the end of class, I’m called to the principal’s office. Mr. Trevino is waiting for me.

  “Ms. Hossain, someone has come forward to identify the vandal,” he says. “He is no longer on the premises.”

  “Really? That’s great,” I say. “So, was it Tyler?”

  Mr. Trevino nods. “Yes, you were right. The camera footage from last night wasn’t entirely conclusive, but the witness who came forward was.”

  “So what’s going to happen to Tyler?”

  “He will be suspended for now. And the school board will meet to decide if any further action will be taken against him.”

  “Okay.”

  So that’s it. It’s done. But the knot in my stomach reminds me that it’s far from over.

  * * *

  Later that night, I’m lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. I’m exhausted but can’t seem to unwind enough to go to sleep. Luckily Ammi and Abbu are out at a retirement party and will be back pretty late. I can’t really hide anything from them, and there would have been way too many questions about why I’m so stressed. When I finally do fall asleep, I’m plagued with bad dreams. Tyler
standing menacingly over me as he shouts nasty insults. Then suddenly his words turn into actual stones, and I’m screaming in agony as he hurls them at my body. I’m jolted out of my dream to find the sheets damp with sweat. I glance at the clock. It’s 5:30 a.m., and I figure I might as well get up because more sleep is the last thing I want right now.

  I brush my teeth and go down to the kitchen. A good cup of coffee is what I need. I find Abbu already there. I can tell he’s made coffee because the delicious smell of hazelnut has permeated through the whole kitchen.

  “Good morning, Abbu,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. He squeezes me tight and kisses me on the forehead. Already I feel a hundred times better.

  “How come you’re up so early, beta?” His forehead is wrinkled with concern, and I want to smooth them away with my fingertips. He worries about me so much that it scares me sometimes.

  “Just couldn’t sleep,” I say, pouring myself a mug of coffee. “Tyler got suspended.”

  He looks up in surprise. “That’s … Wow. So, you did tell them about what happened with that other girl?”

  “Yes, but there’s more. Something happened yesterday.”

  I tell him about the locker incident.

  “My God, Zara! You should have told us right away. This is too much.”

  “I handled it, Abbu,” I say.

  “Beta, no one should have to put up with this sort of thing. But I’m glad at least the school did something about it.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  He sets his mug down on the island. “You don’t look too thrilled about it.”

  “I’m just worried. He’s on the football team, you know.”

  “So?” Abbu has never grasped the concept of automatic deity status that athletes enjoy in this country. Not that it’s so different with cricket players in Pakistan, but still.