“What are they saying?” I ask. My father’s English is better than mine, so he can understand the words.
“They are talking about the United Nations,” my father tells me. “Some people are saying that the Americans and the UN will send soldiers to Kosova to keep the peace.”
“But what does it mean?” I ask. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes, it could be,” he says.
“Do you think Cousin Zana is safe?”
“I don’t know, Drita.”
“But Nënë is so worried about that.”
“I know, but there’s nothing we can do. Miss Mirfue checks every day on the computer. All we can do is hope.”
Suddenly, I feel so bad about everything. I can’t stop the tears that are coming to my eyes.
My father turns the mirror so he can see my face. I think now he notices my dirty hair.
“Poor Drita, did you have a hard day?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Oh, Baba, what are we going to do? You didn’t get the job and that school is so hard for me.”
“Zot, Drita, we have to do what the Albanian people always do when things are difficult,” he says. “Next time, we must try harder.”
14
Maxie
“LOOK AT HER,” Brandee says, “stuck up.”
“She thinks she’s alla that,” Kayla says.
“What’s she following us around for?” says Miss Sha, otherwise known as Shonte.
“Would you be quiet already, you’re going to make me miss my shot,” I say.
It’s recess and we’re in the yard. I close one eye and focus on the sweet spot my daddy told me about. It’s on the backboard, right above the basket. I take my time, aim and throw.
The ball flies through the air like a rocket, taps the board real light and spins into the basket with a big swoosh. I’ve always been good at sports. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll wind up playing for the New York Liberty.
“All right, now,” goes Brandee. “Enough showing off. Let’s choose up sides.”
Shonte runs off to get Tasha and Tiffany B. for Kayla and Brandee’s team. On my side, it’s April, Emani, Jordania, me and Tiffany M.
“Let’s play,” Brandee says, slapping the ball away from April and dribbling it between her legs. When it comes to b-ball, that Brandee is the world’s biggest hot dog.
“But Jordy can’t play,” Emani says.
Jordania nods her head. “Yeah, I hurt my hand in music class.”
That’s a real shame for us because ever since she went to basketball camp last summer, Jordania’s been everyone’s top player after me and Brandee.
“I don’t want to play if it’s four against five. It ain’t fair,” says Tiffany M.
That’s when Drita steps up.
“I play,” she says.
“Forget it, Drita Draino,” Brandee says.
Boy, I’m wishing I never thought up that stupid joke. But Drita looks her right in the eye.
“I play,” she goes again and reaches for the ball. Brandee knocks her hand away. Hard.
“Hands off, scrub,” Brandee says.
In case you want to know, “scrub” is a name we use for someone who’s new to basketball and doesn’t know anything. It’s kind of like an insult. Well, not kind of. It is an insult.
Drita looks at me.
“C’mon, Brandee,” Jordy says. “Who knows, maybe they got basketball in Russia.”
“They don’t got no basketball in Russia, dope. She ain’t playing,” Brandee says.
If there’s one thing I hate, its being bossed around. Especially by someone think she knows everything, like Brandee.
“For the one thing, the girl don’t come from Russia. She comes from Kosovo. For another, I’m the captain of this team and I say she can be on my side,” I say back.
“Fine. Whatever. We still gonna beat you,” sniffs Brandee.
“That’s right!” says Kayla.
“Jordy, you the ref, throw out,” Brandee says, tossing her the ball.
I look over at Drita. One thing she got going for her is her height. She’s tall and thin, and looks more like a fifth grader than a fourth grader. And for a basketball scrub, she doesn’t look nervous at all.
“You be the point guard. You know what that is?”
But Drita don’t say nothing, just grits her teeth and watches as Jordy throws the ball high into the center of the court.
Smack! goes the ball. Brandee whacks it away from Emani. Tasha scoops up the ball. She may be little, but she’s fast. She dribbles it close to the ground and passes to Kayla.
“Just try to keep the ball away from Brandee,” I yell to my homeys.
Unfortunately, that’s right when Kayla passes back to Brandee.
My daddy says that there are two kinds of players in basketball: the kind that shares the ball and plays for the good of the whole team, and the kind that hogs the ball so that they can get all the glory for themselves. Brandee definitely falls into the last category.
Homegirl fakes like she’s gonna pass to someone, but instead, she goes right and then left. Now Tasha, Shonte, Tiffany and Kayla all rush in behind her, blocking my girls. Now none of us can get to Brandee and it looks like she’s got a free shot at our basket.
But then out of nowhere, there’s Drita, coming in after Brandee from the other side. Brandee fakes to the side but Drita stays with her, crouching over her and bumping into her with her leg. Everywhere Brandee moves, there is Drita, with a lot of scrambling going on between the rest of us.
“Check out the scrub!” says Tiffany.
“You go, girl!” yells Emani.
“Stay on her, Drito!” Jordy says from the sidelines, and no one notices she got Drita’s name wrong.
“Get out of my face!” Brandee yells, because finally someone is making her work and she’s not used to that.
But Brandee’s still got some surprise moves left. She ducks fast under Drita’s arm and makes a shot at the basket. The ball flies toward the net, but misses and rebounds off of the backboard.
Kayla, Brandee, me and Tasha make a rush for the ball, but Drita’s there first. She practically takes the ball away right out from Brandee’s hands. But Drita’s in a bad position. She’s boxed in by Tasha and Kayla now. She passes to me. I take a couple of steps back and pass to Tiffany M. Bam! Tiffany scores.
“Great assist!” I yell at Drita.
“Wooah! What defense!” says Emani, slapping her hand.
But now Brandee’s screaming too.
“That girl hit me with her elbow!” she yells.
“Did not!” Emani yells back.
“Wait a second,” Jordania says. “I’m the ref and I saw the whole thing. She didn’t touch you.”
“You lie!” Brandee howls.
“It was a foul!” Kayla says.
“Jerk!” Brandee screeches. “Cheater!”
“Stop, stop!” I yell, trying to get in between them, because now Brandee is all up in Drita’s face. She smacks Drita hard, right across the cheek.
“What are you doing?” I yell.
“Get your hands off me, Maxie!” she screams, because I got her by the shirt.
But I’m so mad, I can’t even think about what I’m doing. I hit Brandee hard right in the stomach.
“Ow!” Brandee yells. She’s sitting in the dirt with tears coming down her face.
“See how you like it, you bully!” I scream at her. All my friends’ faces look shocked. They back away from me like, Who you gonna hit next? I turn around to see where Drita went, but she’s gone.
Across the yard comes Miss Salvato.
15
DRITA
WHEN I AM LIVING IN KOSOVA and there’s a war, I always have one big worry. I am afraid that I will be a frikacake. For an Albanian person, this is the worst thing to be—a coward. Even children should fight back.
But when Brandee hits me, I can’t. I can’t move, or make a fist. I can’t raise my arm to hit her back.
All I can do is stand there with my hands at my side.
“Yaaaaa!” they are all screaming around me. It hurts my face where Brandee hits me. But the sound they make hurts more—like fire alarms going off inside my ears. Brandee is shouting loudest of all. I know she is saying names about me.
“Stop, stop!” another girl yells back. It is the small girl from the banjë. I know her name too. Maxie.
And then she punches Brandee hard. I don’t know why she does this for me. Maybe they just hate each other, these American girls. Maybe they like to fight.
In Kosova, I have seen many fights. One time I saw some Serbian soldiers kicking a man on the street so much that he had blood coming out of his mouth. But even though I know this fight is not like that, it seems just as bad to me.
So when my teacher blows her whistle to stop, I don’t listen like I am supposed to. Instead, I run past the fighting girls, into my school, down the hall and to the girls’ banjë. I will hide there till lunch is over. I will hide all day if I have to.
I will not make my shame worse by letting them see me cry.
16
Maxie
“SHE HIT ME, MR. LITTMAN! She hit me!” Brandee yells, pointing her ugly finger at me. “I fell down and ripped my best pants too. My mom’s gonna be mad!”
“Shut up about your stupid mother,” I say back.
“Don’t bust on my mother!” Brandee screams.
“I’ll bust on your mother if I want to bust on your mother!” I yell.
“Sit down, both of you, and lower your voices,” Mr. Littman commands. So me and Brandee sit down on opposite ends of the couch in his office because now instead of being my good friend since second grade, Brandee is my worst enemy.
“I would like to hear what happened,” he says. “Now, who is going to go first?”
I’ll give you three guesses who that’s gonna be.
“Me and Kayla were just playing a game and-and-and-and she come and-and-and-and she hit me! And then when she hit me she laugh, Mr. Littman! She laugh at me!” Brandee says.
“Is that true, Maxie?” Mr. L. asks me.
So now I tell him what really happened: how Brandee was beating up Drita for no reason, and I tried to stop her.
“It was an accident!” Brandee screeches.
“Ask Miss Salvato, Mr. Littman, if you don’t believe me. She saw everything that happened,” I say.
“I plan to,” says Mr. Littman.
Now Brandee opens her big mouth. “But that girl ruined our game,” Brandee howls. I just knew she was going to get herself in trouble.
“If you hit Drita,” Mr. Littman says, “then this is a very serious matter, Brandee. You know how I feel about bullying.”
“Ha! Ha!” I say right in Brandee’s face because she deserves it. But I guess that’s a mistake because now Mr. Littman turns his X-ray eyes on me.
“I wouldn’t feel too confident if I were you, Maxie. Hitting is not allowed at PS 18 for any reason.”
“Are you going to call my house?” I ask him because now it’s my turn to be shaking in my shoes.
“You know the rules.”
Unfortunately for me, I do.
17
DRITA
WHEN I ARRIVE HOME, the sound of the American news show fills my house.
“Hello, Gjyshe, hello, Nënë,” I say. I try to speak loudly so they will hear me above the television set.
“Ah, Drita, here you are at last. Let me fix you something,” my grandmother says, getting up from the couch. “Go speak to your mother.”
I put away my coat and join my mother.
“Nënë, why is the television so loud?” I ask her.
My mother’s eyes follow Gjyshe from the room. “Drita, I was watching Zana.”
“Zana?” I ask her.
“Yes, she was on the television. She said things are very bad for her in Kosova.”
“Really?” I say, feeling so confused about this. Why would my cousin be on television? But before I can question her, Nënë asks me about my day.
“How are all your friends?” she says.
For one moment, I think I will tell my mother everything. But then I notice her face. Just speaking about my school makes her worried look go away.
“Today we played basketball,” I tell her because at least that part is not a lie.
“I am so happy for you,” my mother says.
Now my grandmother comes in with a glass of milk and some biskota for me.
“Gjyshe, Drita is doing so well at her new school. Aren’t you proud of her?” my mother asks.
“Oh, Dashi! I am always proud of my Drita,” my grandmother says, handing me my snack. She smiles at me too.
For the rest of the day and until bedtime, I think this is my hardest job, to hide the truth from my family.
Finally, when nighttime comes and I am in my bed, I think my bad day is over, and my lies too, but then my grandmother comes into the room.
“Are you awake?” she whispers.
In the dark, I can see her long gray hair resting on her shoulders like a girl. The night makes her old white nightgown into a purple one.
Gjyshe slides herself into the bed next to me. I close my eyes and roll onto my arm, like I am still sleeping.
“Come now, Drita, stop pretending, I know you’re awake,” Gjyshe says.
From the living room, now I hear the sounds of the comedy shows. A child makes a joke and then there is the sound of laughter. This is how it is on all the programs: families smiling and laughing and hugging one another.
“How did you know?”
Gjyshe smiles at me, breathing out her old smell, like lemons. Even with no lights, I can see the dark place in her smile where her tooth is missing. My grandmother used to have a fake tooth before the war, but I like her old smile better.
“What is wrong, zemra?” she says. Suddenly, I feel tears coming to my eyes.
“Oh, Gjyshe, they were so mean to me in the school,” I say, and then I tell about playing basketball and the big fight. I talk for a long time and while I am talking, my grandmother listens, a serious look on her face.
“What kind of school is this with so much hitting?” she says.
“No. You’re not supposed to do that,” I explain. “You get in trouble for that.”
“So these girls got in trouble? For fighting?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Listen, I think you are a brave girl,” she says finally. “Other children would not even try to make a friend.”
“What does that matter?” I say. “They don’t like me.”
“What about this one girl, the one who helped you?” she asks. “Maybe she likes you. She did a good thing for you, I think.”
I think about Maxie and what she did.
“Well, she did talk to me a few times. But she’s so different from me,” I tell her.
“Of course she’s different. Who would want to be friends with someone just the same as themselves? It would be as interesting as looking in a mirror. But maybe inside this girl is just like you—full of ideas and plans.”
“All right. Tomorrow I will talk to her. But please, don’t tell Nënë what happened,” I beg her, “she thinks I have lots of friends.”
“You shouldn’t deceive your parents, Drita.”
Now I remember something I want to ask my grandmother.
“Gjyshe, was Zana really on the TV set?” I ask her.
“Who told you that?” Gjyshe asks.
“Nënë,” I tell her.
A troubled look passes over my grandmother’s old face.
“Your mother has been upset. Her imagination is playing tricks on her,” she says.
“You see? That’s why I can’t upset her more. She has been so sad lately. Please, Gjyshe. Don’t tell Nënë about the fight,” I beg her.
My grandmother sighs.
“All right, Drita. I promise you. But now you must get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day. You will see,” sh
e says, kissing me good night.
Now I am so tired, I can’t stop the yawning that comes on me.
“Natën e mirë, my Drita,” Gjyshe whispers. Soon I am asleep.
18
Maxie
SO ME AND BRANDEE get the same punishment for fighting, which is: benched for two weeks. “Benched” is what they call it at my school when you get no recess or yard time and you have to sit on the bench near the principal’s office. Let me tell you, that’s no fun because after a while that bench feels hard on your behind.
After Mr. Littman called my house, my grandma decided I needed consequences at home too. So now I got no TV, playdates or phone privileges for two whole weeks either.
And that’s not the worst part. The worst part is, I didn’t even get to talk to my daddy about it because he’s been so busy with work. I don’t even want to know what he’s going to say about everything.
“I guess the next two weeks won’t be much fun,” I say to myself. But then I notice someone walking over to me.
It’s Drita.
“Hello, Maxie,” she says.
“Hey! That sounds pretty good,” I tell her because just for a second her English sounded almost normal. I think of something I’ve been wanting to ask her.
“Where’d you learn to play basketball?” I say, but she just looks at me and shrugs because she doesn’t understand. Then I get this idea of how I can talk to her better. I go over to Gladys the yard lady.
“Maxie, you’re benched,” she says before I can even open my mouth.
“I know, Gladys, but I really, really, really need to get a book from my classroom pretty please with sugar on top! It’s for a report!” You’re not really supposed to go back to your classroom once it’s recess-time, especially if you’re benched. Good thing for me, Gladys is a friend of mine. We always crack each other up with jokes and stuff.
“Okay,” Gladys says. “You got two minutes.”
It’s four flights up to my classroom, but I swear I get there in one minute.
Drita, My Homegirl Page 5
