I kiss her on the cheek.
“What is this gift for?” She touches her cheek.
“You’re pretty cool, that’s all.”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit warm, but you, habibti, are the very coolest,” she says, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. I wish I had the handkerchief she gave me at the pyramids. She’s really sweating. I guess she’s nervous about meeting Ahmed. It’s kind of sweet.
“The hardest thing for you will be patience,” Sittu says.
“With Baba?”
“With yourself.”
She takes my hand as if she’s going to tell my fortune. “Love, whether it be for a child or a parent or a very cute boy, is difficult, but you can’t let it beat you down.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Well, you make sure you find yourself something beautiful to wear for your birthday tomorrow.”
“I guess so much has been happening, I forgot.”
“I didn’t.” Sittu puts money into my palm, closes my fingers over it, and lets go.
“Baba gave me money,” I say, trying to give it back to her.
Sittu clicks her tongue at me and I know I better not argue. “Shukran,” I say.
She smiles, and says, “You know, I think I will take some of Deanna’s advices and put on some lipstick.” She stands. I go to follow her, but she tells me to wait for Deanna and walks toward the escalator.
“Sittu,” I call to her. “The bathroom is right here.”
She stops and turns to me. “I’ll use the one in the café downstairs. When you’re done, meet me there. It’s at the far end of the food court.”
“We will,” I say.
She steps onto the escalator. “Habibti,” she calls to me.
“Yes?”
“Take your time shopping.” She winks, and then she’s out of sight.
chapter
EIGHTEEN
“Where’s Sittu?” Deanna asks a moment later.
“She went to meet Ahmed.”
“Already?”
“Well, you’ve been gone a long time.”
“Do you really want to know what I was doing in there?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. Maybe you should eat more fiber.” Deanna glares at me and I change the subject. “Sittu seemed a little nervous.”
“How cute!”
“She said we should take our time before meeting her in the café.”
“Then let’s take our time. Hey, there’s a movie theater over there.”
We walk over to the entrance. “Wasn’t this out, like, two years ago?” I point to the poster advertising the Hannah Montana movie.
“I saw it,” Deanna mumbles. It’s actually kind of nice to see that even Deanna has a dorky side. “Well, it wasn’t my choice. My mom doesn’t like to take me to R-rated movies, and it was the only thing playing in the theaters at the time.”
“Your mom will take you to demonstrations, but she won’t take you to R-rated movies?” I regret this as soon as I say it.
“You just don’t get it.” Deanna starts toward the escalator.
“I’m sorry!” I run after her and catch her before she gets on. “I didn’t mean to bring it all up again.”
“Look, Mar, when you say such clueless stuff, it just makes me mad. So let’s stop talking about demonstrations and justice and Egypt and pretend nothing is happening outside this mall. Okay?”
“Deanna, I want to understand. I really do. But I guess I never cared enough about something to consider protesting or marching.”
“You sign all those petitions I email you.”
“That’s because you’re my BFF and I love you.”
“Well”—Deanna puts her arm around me—“I guess I love you too.” I can hear her smiling.
“Hey, Sittu gave me this,” I say, opening my palm. “She wants me to buy something nice for my birthday.
“Then let’s find you an awesome outfit. Let’s check out the lower level.” Deanna drops her arm and steps onto the escalator.
I go to follow her but pull back. Ever since I was four, when I tripped and fell on one, I hesitate to take the first step.
“Mariam, come on!” Deanna shouts up to me. She’s already halfway down.
I try to step again, but I can’t do it.
“Don’t rush me!” I shout to her. “You know I hate these things.”
There’s a woman and a little boy waiting behind me. I move out of their way. The boy, who can’t be any older than three, jumps on and runs down a few steps until his mother catches him. I was never that fearless. Why am I such a wimp?
The next thing I know, Deanna is climbing up the escalator.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I yell to her.
“If you won’t come down, I’m coming to get you.”
Deanna passes the boy and then his mother; then she is at the top, reaching for my hand, stepping in place like she’s on the StairMaster in her basement.
“This is stupid,” I say. “I can do it. I just need a second.”
“Of course you can do it. You climbed up the freakin’ Great Pyramid.”
“I turned around.”
“Well, you almost made it to the top and you climbed down, and that was a lot harder than this. Listen,” Deanna says, breathing heavily, “climbing up this thing in the wrong direction is one thing, but stepping off it in the wrong direction is dangerous. So if you don’t want me to fall and cut up my face at the bottom, you’ll suck it up and step on.” She reaches out for my hand. “Trust me.”
I grab on to her hand. I hold on to Deanna for dear life until we reach the bottom and get off safely.
Deanna slaps me on the back.
“Shukran,” I say. “Aren’t you tired of always saving my ass?”
“Friends don’t leave friends behind,” she says.
There’s a big ice-skating rink in front of us.
“Sittu wasn’t kidding.”
“I guess not,” I say. “But it doesn’t seem very popular.” The ice is completely empty, and as we get closer, I can see that it’s so smooth, it looks like it’s never been skated on.
“You want to skate?” I ask.
“Why not? How many kids back at school can say they went ice-skating in Egypt?”
“I don’t think many kids at school can say they’ve done anything in Egypt.”
We walk over to the ticket booth, which has a sign in Arabic and English: Skate Rental.
“There’s no one here,” I say.
“Maybe it’s closed for the holiday?”
I don’t respond. I don’t want to go back to arguing about why we’re here and not at Tahrir Square.
“Well, there’s the food court,” Deanna says, looking toward the other side of the rink. “Let’s get a juice or something.”
Sittu said she was meeting Ahmed at a café, and the last thing I want to do is mess up her date. We are walking away from the skate rental booth when a man starts shouting at us.
“Madams! Please, one moment!”
By the time he catches up to us, he’s breathing so hard I’m worried he may have a heart attack.
“You’re open?” Deanna asks.
“Too much ful,” the man says, huffing and puffing and patting his huge belly.
“What’s ful?” Deanna asks.
“Fava beans,” I say.
“Fava beans?” The man sounds insulted. “Ful is Egypt’s national dish. So much more than just fava beans.”
“Mar, all the times I’ve eaten over at your place and we never had ful?”
“I’m allergic to it,” I say, knowing what’s coming next.
“What?” the man says. “You’re not Egyptian, then?”
“She is,” Deanna says.
&nb
sp; “Egyptian and allergic to ful…” The man sounds as disappointed as if he had been told he couldn’t eat ful anymore.
“So can we rent skates?” I ask.
“Of course.”
Deanna and I try on several pairs before we find ones that fit and have blades sharp enough to use.
“You have to put these on.” I hand her skate guards.
“What for?”
“You need them to walk,” I say.
“We’re only going a few feet to the ice.” She stands up and, after one step, falls back to the bench.
“Don’t say anything,” she says. “I get it.”
I help her put her guards on, then quickly put on mine. “Ready?”
“I guess.”
“It’ll be fun,” I reassure her.
Deanna grabs my arm to steady herself. The two of us wobble our way toward the ice. “We’re having so much trouble, and we’re not even on the ice yet!” Deanna laughs so loud, she sounds like a foghorn.
“We’re having trouble?” I laugh. “I’m not the one holding on for dear life.”
“Okay, fine. But this was your idea.”
“Guards off,” I say.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just left them on?”
I shake my head.
“Fine,” she says.
“Come on. I’ll help you.” I step onto the ice, and now it’s me reaching out to Deanna. For once, it’s nice to be able to help her. Deanna grabs on to my hand but has too much forward momentum, so we both fall on our butts.
I hear laughter, and when I look up, a group of guys are watching us from the food court on the far side of the rink. My first thought is to get off the ice, like, now, but then I think, Who cares what these idiots think? My second thought is that the mall isn’t so deserted after all, and now I’m even more worried about Asmaa.
“You said you had me.”
“Well, let me lead.” I stand up, then reach down and help her up. “You can hold on to me for balance, but try not to lean into me too much, or we’ll both land on our butts again.”
“Okay,” Deanna says, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard her sound hesitant. “Are those guys still watching us?”
“Forget them,” I say.
“Don’t let go,” she says as we scrape slowly along the ice.
“You’re doing it,” I say.
“Still, don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
We manage to make it around twice. Both times we pass the boys, our audience claps. Then the owner shouts to us that we have ten more minutes before our time is up.
“Thank God,” Deanna says.
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “You want to try and go solo?”
“Okay.”
When I let go, Deanna skates about two steps and then she’s down.
“Let me help you up.” I reach for her hand.
“No, I’m just going to crawl my way to the edge.”
“You can’t crawl on the ice. Please, take my hand.”
I lead her off the ice.
“We still have time,” she says. “Show me what you’ve got.”
I make sure Deanna has her guards back on properly before I get back on the ice and fly. I’ve missed this. I used to skate a lot. I took lessons when I was younger. Baba loved to take me skating on Saturday afternoons. He never tried it himself, but he said it made him happy to watch me. I think he secretly wanted me to be an Olympic figure skater, but he never pressured me. Maybe because he was so pressured as a kid. Yet the way he looked when I’d wave to him as I skated around the ice, I could see he had big hopes for me.
“Way to go,” Deanna shouts as I speed skate by.
I feel like I can do anything. I skate to the center of the rink. Maneuvering backward, arms stretched out wide, I spin and pull my arms into my body. I spin faster and faster, then do the one thing I’ve never been able to do: stop without losing my balance. I stop exactly on my mark.
I did it! Baba would always call me his ballerina on ice, but I never felt like one until now.
I hear applause. When I look up, the group of guys has grown. They’re watching me and shouting what seems to be the Arabic equivalent of “Go, girl! GO!”
I bow. I’m never this bold, but hey, I just did a scratch spin for the first time in years.
“Shukran!” I shout to the guys. They’re all dressed pretty much the same—jeans and short-sleeved polo shirts, but there is nothing uniform about their sizes. The two bookends are close to six feet and string-bean thin. Two inner guys are probably only a few inches taller than me, and they’re apple shaped. The guy in the middle is monster size: basketball-player tall and football-player wide.
They applaud again, and I turn to make my way toward the exit, not wanting to blow my moment of glory by falling on my face, when I see him—Hassan.
He’s sitting in the food court, and he’s not alone. He’s with some girl who’s wearing a blue hijab. If he were any closer to her, he’d be sitting on her lap. I stop and stare. That’s when he kisses the girl, right there, on her hand. And it’s in that moment I know I’m really not into him. Sure, he’s cute—and yes, what a sexy dimple—but not even one tiny jolt of jealousy hits my heart. I really couldn’t care less. But I look over at Deanna. She’s looking in Hassan’s direction. Please, oh, please, don’t see him; don’t recognize him. As I skate closer to her, I can tell from the way she’s staring that she’s noticed him.
Maybe Deanna feels like I do and couldn’t care less. When I reach her, I jump off the ice.
“Ready to go,” I say. I take a step and trip into Deanna.
She stops me from falling this time. “Don’t forget to put on your guards,” she reminds me, handing me a set. She sounds sad. As I fix my skates, she asks, “Do you see who’s over there?”
“Who? Where?” I ask, no longer concentrating on my feet.
“He kissed her hand,” she says. It’s clear her heart has been Tasered.
Hassan is now laughing with the girl. Baba was right after all: avoid Egyptian guys. “I’m sorry.”
“Is my mascara smeared?” she asks.
I look closely at her face. I’ve never seen her cry before.
“No, not at all. Bet you’re glad you paid extra for the waterproof kind,” I joke, trying to lighten the tension.
“I know you want to make me feel better, but you’re kinda sucking at it.” She runs her hand lightly over her cheek to double check. “They’re probably freakin’ engaged. But he was so flirting with me! Sittu had to make him go home. He was into me, right?”
“Of course he was,” I try to reassure her.
“Come on. Let’s go find Sittu at the café.”
She nods, but when we go to turn in our skates for our shoes, the guy who eats too much ful is nowhere to be found.
“This is just great,” Deanna says, leaning into me for balance, and I can see in her eyes she’s really hurting—the kind of hurting crying doesn’t help. “Where is that guy?”
“He’s probably in the food court,” I joke, but Deanna isn’t finding anything funny right now.
“You know, if I had a cell phone that worked here, we could just call Sittu so we wouldn’t have to find her,” Deanna says.
I know what she really means. We wouldn’t have to walk through the food court and pass Hassan on our way to meet Sittu at the café.
“Didn’t Sittu say I could buy a phone at the mall? But first I need my shoes. Where did that guy go?”
“Listen. Sit here.” I help Deanna sit down on the bench. “I can walk faster in these things than you. I’ll look around for him.” Deanna looks over at a young couple standing in front of the skate rental booth. They’re not kissing or even holding hands, but you can tell from the goofy smiles on their faces they’r
e really into each other.
“You know, Mar, what hurts the most is that for the first time in my life, I felt like I could just be me. I even felt pretty.”
“Pretty? Deanna, you’re beautiful.”
“I’m a freak. I was a freak back home, and I’m a freak here.”
“You’re not a freak. And if you were, so what? Who says freaks aren’t cool? I’m a freak too.”
“Okay, Mar, we’re cool. It’s just some days I hate looking like this.”
“Stop it,” I say. The couple looks at us. “They’re closed,” I snap. They walk away.
“Mar, calm down.”
“No, I’m tired of being calm. You’re one of the most beautiful, brilliant—no, not one of. You are the most beautiful and brilliant person I know. Are you going to let some guy make you doubt that?”
“Now you sound like me. Mar, you always treat me like I’m all that, and you don’t get how scared I am inside, just like you.”
“But, Deanna, you’re so much braver than I am. You’ll go up to anyone and just start talking to them. You tell people exactly what you think,” I say.
“I have to. Look, I act all tough because I got tired of being bullied. Do you know what it was like at my last school? People think everyone in San Francisco is all hippie and nice, but kids in San Francisco are mean too. Do you think Sphinx Face is an insult? You should have heard the other names I’ve been called. They all thought I was stuck up and wasn’t friendly because I wasn’t smiling at them, then when they found out I just can’t smile, they felt sorry for me. And no one wants to be friends with someone they feel sorry for.”
“I never felt sorry for you.” I want to say something more to make Deanna feel better, but then I remember why I stopped telling my parents when I was sad—it’s exhausting to have people trying to cheer you up.
“Hey.” Deanna grabs my hand. “Thanks. Really.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For getting it. And for thinking I’m perfect when I’m not.”
“You know,” I say, “you may talk tough, but you don’t just talk, you act. You have guts. You wanted to go to the protest today. To stand up for what’s right. I was the one who was scared, too scared to do the things that matter.”
Deanna sighs. “You should go and find the skate rental guy.”
Rebels by Accident Page 14
