Anyway, I guess it didn’t matter for this year, because she was already moving on to another topic. “How’s the contest prep going?”
“Fine. I’m sort of having trouble coming up with a thesis.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? It’s so simple.”
“It is?”
“Sure. Tippett thinks Churchill is great. All you’ve got to do is list the reasons why. There’s no way to mess this up.”
“You’d be surprised,” I muttered.
“I’m sure you’ll be great. But if you’re really worried, I did promise to help you. Why don’t you put some notes together and I’ll do the same. Then we can meet up and see what we have.”
“Sure,” I said, suddenly feeling a lot better than I had seconds ago. “That’d be awesome.”
Just like that, I had a smile on my face. I was going to get a chance to spend time with Kaval, and I was heading to the one class where I could chill. In English, I could zone out, shut off my mind, and totally relax.
After all, there’s no reason to worry when it comes to English. If you already speak the language, you’re probably going to pass as long as you read summaries of the books you’re given and hand in most of your essays. I’m pretty sure even the teachers don’t expect you to pay attention. It’s always an easy B minus or C plus.
This year it was even easier than usual because all we ever did was write a few paragraphs about stupid things no one cared about. Ms. Hart, our teacher, was on maternity leave, and the parade of subs we’d gotten in her place weren’t really interested in preparing lesson plans. I liked them all.
Anyway, the topic of today’s essay, which no one would read, was our perfect date. This, I thought, was unreasonable. How was I supposed to come up with a whole essay about that? The perfect date would be any date with Kaval. There. All done. One sentence. Boom.
I was just about to put my phone away and pretend to start writing—really, I was—when I saw Sohrab raise his hand.
The sub, who seemed obsessed with constantly checking to make sure her perfect bun of golden hair had not unraveled even a little, looked surprised. “Yes?” She glanced down at the seating chart. “I’m sorry, what’s your name, please? Ah. So Rab, yes? How can I help you?”
“It’s Sohrab, and I need a different essay topic. I don’t date for religious reasons.”
I rolled my eyes. Come on.
Someone groaned at the back of the class, loud enough for everyone to hear. The sub seemed tempted to do the same. “Fine,” she said. “Why don’t you write about what your dream date would be like instead?”
“I don’t have a dream date. I don’t date for religious reasons.”
Dude, I wanted to tell him, shut up.
“Yes,” the teacher drawled with exaggerated patience. “I got that the first time. I’m asking you to use your imagination.”
“I’d rather not,” Sohrab said.
Now the sub narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. Write about something else.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want. Write about your last birthday, or maybe about the best present you ever got.”
“For my sixteenth birthday,” Sohrab said, “I got a fragment of a spent American bomb.”
Silence.
The sub stared at Sohrab, her brown eyes so wide, I was pretty sure they were about to pop out of her face.
“I guess I could write about the insidious illusion that the United States military-industrial complex is a benign force for good in the world, when it is really just a soulless machine for the oppression, exploitation, and destruction of people who look more like me than you, if you want.”
More silence.
Someone whispered, “Wow.”
Then everyone was talking at once, and Sohrab was sent to Principal Weinberg.
After class, I hung out by the principal’s office, waiting for Sohrab to be let out. What was his problem? Just write the essay, dude. It isn’t going to get you slapped with a fatwa to imagine a date. It was his own fault he was in trouble now.
Still, I hoped the shit he was in wasn’t deep.
A few people walked by, giving me curious glances and waving. I nodded back.
It was exactly twenty-eight minutes before Sohrab walked out. I know because I was on my phone, and the battery was about to give out. He managed a smile when he saw me.
“I should’ve known you’d be here,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a very you thing to do.”
I didn’t know what that meant either but decided to let it go. He didn’t look worse for wear, although he’d already looked kind of horrible that day, like he hadn’t slept in a very long time. Now that I thought about it, though, he seemed to be a little more tired every time I saw him. “You look paler than usual,” I said.
Sohrab brushed off my concern. “I’m fine.”
“You in trouble?” I asked.
“I managed to avoid detention, though I have been asked to show some restraint when I speak up in class.”
“That’s fair.”
“No,” Sohrab said. “It is really terrible actually. They might as well put up a sign outside the school. ‘Please refrain from voicing your opinions so as not to challenge how we see the world through the lens of our privilege.’”
“That’s a long sign.”
He nearly growled at me. “Not everything is a joke.”
“Not everything is a fight either. It was just a stupid essay topic. There was no reason to say all that.”
“If we’re always silent, no one will ever see the world as we see it.”
“Fair. But if you’re always lecturing people, they just tune you out. Like Zar and I do all the time.”
He made a face. “So how do I decide when to speak and when not to?”
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot actually.”
“Really? You’ve been thinking? That’s new.”
“Look who has jokes now.”
He grinned and I realized it had been a while since I’d seen him smile. It seemed like he was grim all the time now, and maybe that was a little on me. I always went to him when there was something big or weighty to discuss. For fun stuff, like talking about girls or video games, I went to Zar.
So I decided to spare him all my confusion about Renaissance Man and my dad. It’d be good for him to just chill for a while.
“What are you considering speaking out about?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it. You want to go see a movie or something?”
“It’s the middle of the day, Danyal.”
“That just means tickets are cheaper.”
“We have classes.”
“What’s your point?”
“I hate him,” Intezar said. “He’s dead to me.”
I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the first time that Sohrab had been dead to Intezar. It had been happening with increasing frequency over the years.
The increased tension between my two friends might have sort of slightly been a little bit my fault. I’d been flying high after convincing Sohrab Sabsvari, of all people, to skip class to catch a movie. In my excitement, I let slip that Intezar had a crush on Natari Smith and that I thought he should totally ask Natari out.
This had apparently led to Sohrab calling Zar later that night to explain to him exactly how doing that would land Zar in hell.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut, yes, but Sohrab should have as well. Honestly, if he kept getting himself killed in this manner, some day he might not be able to come back to life.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Zar said. “I’ve had enough of that guy.”
I shrugged as Intezar and I looked around the cafeteria, searching for a place to sit. I would’ve rather just gone outside. The smell of stale meat loaf made me a little sick, but Zar liked to be indoors when he ate. It is the one principle he has in his life, so I put up with it without too much complaint.
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The search for a place in the world is an awkward thing, and it’s worse in a school cafeteria than anywhere else. There you aren’t looking for a place among strangers. You’re looking for a place among people you sort of know, and so you hope to be welcome everywhere but know that you’re not.
We could have decided to sit with the Muslim Students’ Association kids at the farthest corner of the cafeteria. I knew they’d make room for us. Sohrab waved at us from their table, like he did every day, though today he did so with some hesitation.
Zar wouldn’t ever do it. He thought that the MSA judged him for having had girlfriends, and he was probably right about that.
We weren’t close to any cheerleaders, unfortunately, and we weren’t nerds. We were not in any clubs, or into any sports, and while we were friendly with a lot of people, we were really only friends with each other.
“We kind of suck,” I said under my breath.
If he heard me, Intezar ignored what I’d said. Instead, he yelled “Dibs” and ran toward an empty table that opened up across the room, his food teetering perilously on the cheap brown plastic tray he was carrying. I followed with as much dignity as I could manage under the circumstances.
“So what did you decide about Churchill?” Zar asked, once we were settled.
“I don’t know. It’s rough. I’m still reading about the famine and, dude, I think I’m going to have to talk about it. It’s like… I can’t imagine not doing it, you know? I can’t get the pictures out of my head. And there’s the whole thing with my family stuff—”
“Tippett is going to hate it if you go after Churchill. That’s his boy.”
“Yeah. Anyway, can we talk about something else? I’d rather not think about the famine while we’re eating.”
Zar nodded. “Fine. You still have to tell me what happened with Sohrab in English. I keep hearing stories.”
“I thought he was dead to you.”
“We tell stories about people who’re in the ground all the time.”
I sighed but told him what had gone down.
“That’s insane, yaar. He’s starting to lose it. All those super intense books he’s been reading have gotten in his head. Those crazy YouTube imam videos he loves aren’t helping either,” Zar said. “You should talk to him.”
“He seemed better yesterday. It’ll be fine. He’s just getting more religious, that’s all.”
“You say that like it’s a normal thing.”
“Um… it is?”
Intezar shook his head. “It’s not good, okay?”
“Isn’t it the definition of good?”
“Not for everyone. Religion is like alcohol.… Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to explain it, yaar. Look, everyone has a tolerance level with alcohol, right? And everyone’s tolerance level is different.”
I had no way of knowing this and neither did Intezar, except that we’d heard about it on TV and in the movies, and as those were our primary sources of information about the world, I accepted his statement as true.
“Some people can take a lot of religion and they’re fine. I mean, you know, they never have any fun, but whatever. That’s their problem. They’re fine. Other people, people like Sohrab, can’t deal with it. They have a little bit of religion and it goes to their head and they end up throwing it up all over their friends and strangers and the world.”
“That… actually does make sense.”
“I’m basically the wisdom font.”
“Have you ever found the wisdom font? I looked. It doesn’t come with Word.”
He shrugged. “I just use Times New Roman. Anyway, it isn’t my theory. It’s in the Quran.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yeah. It says that the Quran is so heavy that if it had been revealed to a mountain, the mountain would’ve cracked under its weight. Some people crack under its weight too. Not everyone can handle it.”
“Okay, but I already talked to him. Why don’t you try?”
“Because I don’t see dead people.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Besides, he and I don’t speak the same language anymore.”
I didn’t tell him it wasn’t true, because it was, and I didn’t tell him to work it out with Sohrab, because I didn’t know how he could.
CHAPTER TEN
I hate sunshine. Despise it. I know that the sun is necessary for life on Earth and stuff, but if it could be a little less of a dick in the mornings, that’d be peachy. You know those weird people who wake up smiling, ready to face the day? Yeah. I’m not one of those awful, horrible, no-good people. I get up like a human should: mildly irritated and generally pessimistic about what will happen during the next eighteen hours.
That particular day, I was following my morning routine—cursing and covering my eyes with a pillow—when my phone rang. What kind of monster calls you in the morning on a weekend? It felt like only minutes ago I’d fallen back asleep after finishing the dawn prayer with my dad. I fumbled for my phone and answered without checking who it was.
“What?”
“Oh no. I woke you, didn’t I?”
I sat bolt upright, forgiving the sun and the sky and all the stars instantly when I heard Kaval’s voice. “Hey. No, it’s cool. This is the best part of waking up.”
“I’m not coffee, Danyal.”
True, but you are brown and hot and make hearts race, so you’re almost there. I managed not to say that, though. “Sorry. It’s just early.”
“It’s ten thirty.”
“Yeah. What’s your point?”
“Nothing, I guess. Hey, I was wondering if you’ve got enough on Churchill to come over? I wrote you some notes. I don’t mean to bug you about it, but I know the other picks are really buckling down and—”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you in an hour?”
“We live five minutes away.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’ve got to do my hair, and I’ve got my weekend skin-care regimen—”
“Uff. You’re such a girl.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
Kaval laughed. “Just get over here when you can. I’ll be home.”
What Kaval failed to mention was that she was going to be home alone. Was that why she’d invited me over? If it was, what did it mean, if it meant anything?
I gave an awkward little wave when she opened the door. Her hair was wet and undone, and she looked very different. It took me a moment to realize that it was because, for the first time in many years, I was seeing her without makeup. She still looked beautiful.
“You’re early. I didn’t have a chance to get ready.”
“You look good,” I said.
“Whatever. I’ve got nothing on.”
“Except clothes. Unfortunately.” I gasped as soon as I said that out loud. That thought had been just for me.
Luckily, Kaval giggled. “Get in here. Is it okay if we go up to my room?”
“Uh… yeah. Sure. Yes.”
“You know where it is, right?” She held up a soaked lock of hair apologetically. “I’m going to go dry my hair.”
I made my way through the sprawling, opulent Sabsvari home. I was very familiar with it, not only because I’d spent so much time at Sohrab’s place growing up, or even because I came over so often to cook food Mrs. Sabsvari could take credit for, but also because the floor plan was pretty similar to my parents’ house.
Of course, unlike my parents, the Sabsvaris actually had money, and it showed in the eclectic decorations on the walls, the handwoven rugs running the length of entire corridors, and the heavy, substantial nature of their furniture.
My mom got our furniture at IKEA, and my dad grumbled endlessly about having to put it together with my less-than-enthusiastic help.
Thinking about it now, I could understand why my mother was so reluctant to ask for Kaval’s hand for me. Her life would be different in our house. Way different, actually, when I moved out of my parents’ place. It wasn’t someth
ing Kaval would care about, though, if we were in love. Mom was just old-fashioned in her thinking.
I got to Kaval’s door and knocked for some reason before letting myself in. It was an awesome room, which smelled like cotton candy and peonies. On the wall by her bed, there was a huge poster of an old dude with weird hair and his tongue sticking out. Isaac Newton, I think. Or was it the guy who discovered gravity… Einstein? Did Newton discover gravity? Whatever. I know that there was an apple involved.
Next to the poster hung a massive television, and across from that was a giant collage of pictures of Kaval, obviously taken by a professional in a photo studio. Was having their picture taken and put up in their room something people did? Was it something I should be doing?
Anyway, she had a white desk with nothing on it but a MacBook Pro and a solved Rubik’s Cube. I picked it up and messed around with it, then looked for somewhere to sit. It was weird to sit at someone else’s desk. It was way weirder to sit on a girl’s bed. I decided to plunk myself down on a giant purple beanbag that was lying in a corner.
I have to admit I got pretty absorbed in the stupid puzzle. I was just about ready to peel off all the little colored stickers and then put them back on so that it looked like I’d solved it, when Kaval said, “Hey.”
I jumped a little, and the cube fell from my hands, rolling under the bed. “Sorry,” I said.
“No worries. I’ll get it later.” She grabbed her laptop. “We have to leave the door open. If Sohrab gets home and we’re in here with the door closed, he’ll have a cow.”
“Sure,” I said. Honestly, I wasn’t even supposed to be up here, open door or not. All the aunties in the world would freak out. Then again, from what I knew of Kaval, she’d enjoy that.
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Kaval was smiling when I handed her my notes, but that didn’t last long at all. Her brow started to furrow as she read more and more, and within five minutes, she was full-on scowling. “What is this?”
“Um… my notes for Renaissance Man?”
“You can’t write this. Tippett doesn’t want to hear about how the British treated Indian people.” She looked down at the pages I’d handed her. “They stripped the wives of those who couldn’t pay their taxes in public,” she read, “and took sharp edges of split bamboo…” She shuddered. “You can’t get onstage and say all this at school.”
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