by S. K. Ali
Hey, go easy on him. He hasn’t played all year.
“Let me guess, is that from Nuah?” Tats has walked back.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because this.” She holds up her phone. A picture of me texting with a smile on my face. I look happy. Like the way happy should look.
“Can I use that for my profile pic?”
“Sure,” she says, leaning over to read my texts. “Let’s go hang with him. He’s playing basketball. Let’s go watch.”
“At the mosque? Friday night drop-in?”
“So? Is it a guys-only mosque?”
“No. My uncle’s not like that and he runs the place. There’s girls’ floor hockey going on right now too.”
“So let’s go. We cut the party short.” She leaves off saying “for you.” We left the party for you. “And the night is young! First day of freedom! Let’s go!”
I laugh. “To the mosque! YEAH.”
• • •
Sarah is in the foyer setting up a Ramadan fund-raising drive display.
“I just realized I’m dressed kind of weird for this place,” Tats whispers. “Look at that girl. She looks like she’s from a fairy tale or something.”
Sarah’s wearing a high-waisted mint green chiffon dress paired with a taupe hijab tied short and close to her face, with a chunky white-and-gold necklace, a statement piece, adorning her neckline. She does look royal.
She waves us over. “Assalamu alaikum! Can you girls give me a hand?”
I introduce Tats and we help move a table in between two tall cardboard minaret-shaped cutouts. Each minaret is a thermometer with money amounts replacing the temperature marks.
“It’s a generational contest this year,” Sarah says, pointing at the labels on the minarets. One says ADULTS, the other YOUTH. “We’re going to see who can raise more money.”
“Cool, but is there a scarf I can wear?” Tats asks. I should have remembered that she had on shorts. I should have set her up before we came.
“It’s not a problem, but if you want something to cover with, come with me,” says Sarah. “Janna, can you put out the forms? They’re mixed up in that bag.”
I nod and begin sorting. There are fund-raising forms mixed with other literature. I open a pamphlet that’s titled Domestic Violence: A Hidden Crime. At the bottom of a block of writing describing women’s shelters are Sarah’s name and phone number, as a support person.
Sarah and Sausun. I’d thought they were so different from each other but they’re not. They’re super big picture, into causes and things beyond their lives.
In Sausun’s case, it makes sense. Her sister is trapped abroad.
It’s like she’s forced into advocacy. Actually, it makes sense for Sarah, too. She does it for religion.
Something Mr. Ram said comes back to me: the why you do something is important. The Wiyyah, in Arabic.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t do anything about the monster before. The why wasn’t there.
Because all I felt was this shame. Like as if I had something to do with it. I don’t even know why I felt that.
The shame should have been all his but I chose to carry it around this whole time.
What if there are others? Like Sausun had asked?
What if there’s someone else, maybe playing floor hockey right now, feeling what I’d felt?
I close the pamphlet. I don’t want a single other girl to carry what’s only his.
I’m shifting the shame. He needs to feel it.
The doors to the gym off the foyer fling open. The sound of dribbling spills out, punctuated with the bang of the doors shutting.
A bunch of guys, sweaty and laughing, make their way to the water fountain.
The monster’s one of them.
He’s feeling good enough to come to Friday night drop-in at the mosque? After yesterday?
I drop the pamphlet on the table and look right at him. I want him to see me. I need him to see me, see that I’m here too, that I belong in this space.
I stand because I’m strong enough.
He notices me, from where he’s waiting at the water fountain, but looks away.
I walk but my eyes remain on him. I know he sees me moving because he flinches.
The gym doors bang open again and it’s Nuah and Muhammad, their T-shirts soaking.
“You okay?” It’s almost Muhammad’s way of salaams. His standard You okay? nods or queries.
“No,” I say, heading to Amu’s office. “But I will be.”
The monster looks up. He’s heard me. He moves out of the line for the water fountain, his eyes watchful, glancing from me to the mosque’s front doors. Coward.
Through the glass window of the office reception area, I see Nuah near the fountain now. He waves, his face breaking into a big smile on seeing me.
If I need backup, there’s Nuah. He found the monster with me on the basement stairwell at Dad’s house.
But I don’t need backup. I’m enough.
• • •
When I come out, Amu is beside me, insisting that he drive me home. He wants to gather as a family.
While he goes into the gym to find Muhammad, I sit on the couch in the reception room. I need to send a text. I need to give Sausun hope.
I didn’t write it out and burn the pages. I said it out loud. It’s not mine to carry anymore.
Who’d you say it out loud to?
My uncle.
She sends me a thumbs-up. Then, Too bad you don’t make a good Niqabi Ninja. I listened to the recording. An “oozing slime fest”? A “big empty husk of nothingness”?
Too bad back, because that’s why I’m texting you. I’m in to help your sister.
Um, why don’t you wait to see your audition video? You actually stopped to wiggle your eyebrows at me. Before chasing the perv out of his debut performance.
Fine, I can be the camera/editing gal then.
Fine then.
Muhammad raps on the window and makes a leaving motion. I walk out to the crowded foyer to collect Tats.
She’s at the fund-raising table wearing an abaya over her shorts, a scarf around her neck. There’s a group of guys from basketball and girls from floor hockey collected around the table.
“So this is the form you fill out,” Tats says. “Come on, guys, we can get a head start!”
Sarah points at Tats and mouths, Where did you find her? She’s awesome! and indicates the YOUTH minaret thermometer. It’s at three hundred dollars already.
• • •
“Ya Allah. My little one.” When Amu lets go of hugging me, Mom moves in, holding me by my shoulders and looking into my face.
“Oh, Janna, why didn’t you come to me?” She gathers me in her arms and I go slack.
There’s nothing for my breath to get snagged on inside me anymore.
Muhammad puts a hand out to me.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he keeps repeating. “If I’d known about that, that . . .”
He looks at Amu, not wanting to use profanity in front of him.
“Monster?” I say, still in Mom’s hug.
“Monster, yeah.” Muhammad turns away, his voice quieting.
I reach an arm to him. But I’m still in Mom’s hug, breathing.
• • •
We walk to Mr. Ram’s remembrance gathering the next day. It’s hot and Mom wanted me to wear a light dress, but I wore pants. I need a pocket for the mini gummy bears pack that Muhammad gave me the other day.
Tats is wearing a long black skirt. When we near the community center, she stops and pulls a scarf out of her bag.
“For my head, for the Muslim prayers, you know,” she says, draping the scarf around her hair. Her bangs and braid peek out of the front and back. “I wanted to be respectful.”
I smile. “Mr. Ram’s Hindu. But you can keep your scarf on if you want.”
Ms. Kolbinsky and Sandra are sitting on a bench right outside the center.
Nuah’s by the door.
>
I walk over to say salaam, gummy bears in hand.
• • •
Afterward, on the way out, he tells me the one about the muffin. The one that made Mr. Ram Belly-Laugh smile.
Two muffins were sitting in the oven. One looks over at the other and says, “Man, it’s HOT in here!” The second one screams, “AHHH! A talking muffin!”
I laugh, because of the person who’s saying it. Nuah.
I’m having a Mr. Ram moment. That day when I left him alone in his apartment, he told me what the poet Rumi had said. That if you love the Divine, you can love everything, be kind to everyone, see someone’s joke the way they want you to.
I can’t imagine what it means to love everyone. But I’m just going to start right here, by loving a bit more of myself.
And maybe then the rest will follow.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. K. Ali is a teacher based in Toronto whose writing on Muslim culture and life has appeared in the Toronto Star. Her family includes Muslim scholars consistently listed in The 500 Most Influential Muslims in the World, and her insight into Muslim culture is both personal and far-reaching. She lives with her family and a massive (he’d say “muscled”) cat named Yeti. Find her on Twitter @Sajidahwrites.
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/S-K-Ali
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
* * *
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
Acknowledgments Biblovegraphy
These are the lives consulted, the people who allowed me to write this book. Listed are some of the “books” they’ve written into my life—things they’ve taught me through them being them. Thank you.
Ahmad, I Believe They Can Fly: A Dad’s Guide to Rearing Children
Zuhra, The Grace Inherent in Grit: A Mom’s Memoir
John, I Agent-with-Class, What’s Your Superpower?
Zareen, In the Mind of an Editor Extraordinaire
Uzma, BFF Critique Partners For Life: Nurture or Nature?
Rukhsana, Paving the Way for Others to Party on the Porch
Rania, Kindred Spirits Exist
Ausma, Success Has Three Ss: Sincerity, Support, Sisterhood
Glenna, How to Read a First Draft and Survive
Richard, The Art of Writing for When the Craft Is Boring as Hell
Leona, TWELVE: Discovering Student Potential During the Awkward Years
Shaiza, Picking Up the Phone at 3 A.M. and Other Friendship Hacks
Amie, Check That Off, Sis!!! On Being a Life-Lister Sister
Zakiya, The Girl in the Writer’s Eye
MYNA, Kumbaya Allah: 1980s Memories
WNDB, Mission Possible: Mirrors and Windows for Every Child
Amanda, Sana, Bushra, and Saira, The Ancient Sister-in-Law Pact: Love and Grace, Always
Khalil, Khalid, and Zenyah, That’s Not a Phone but a Foot: A Reflection on Patience When Your Aunt Thinks She’s Funny
Sahar, I Was a Serial Story Tester and Lived to Tell about It
Johanne, Dawood, and Muhammad, Chicken Pot Pie for the Soul: 101 Nourishing Conversations
Anwaar, Books and the Brother-in-Law: A Podcast
Shakil, Baby Brother Starts with a Capital B
Faisal, Step-In, Step-Up: A Sibling Support Manual
Jochua, Pretty Much, Not Exactly: The Understated Awesome Impact of a Stepson
Sakeina, Invaluable Input: A Bibliophile’s Meditations on the Shaping of a Book
Hajara, Unflagging: A Guide to Cheerleading from the Tiny Beginning
Bilqis, A Keen Eye: Wielding Insight and Wisdom-Beyond-Your-Years with Care
Hamza, An Introduction to Kindness in the Age of Post-Irony
Jez, Love, Simply Love
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Sajidah Kutty
Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Erica Rose Levine
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SALAAM READS and its logo are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Jacket design by Chloë Foglia
Interior design by Hilary Zarycky
Jacket photograph copyright © 2017 by Samia El-Hassani
Hand-lettering by Nancy Howell
The text for this book was set in Adobe Garamond Pro.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Ali, S. K., author.
Title: Saints and misfits / S. K. Ali. Description: First edition. | New York : Salaam Reads, [2017] | Summary: Fifteen-year-old Janna Yusuf, a Flannery O’Connor-obsessed book nerd and the daughter of the only divorced mother at their mosque, tries to make sense of the events that follow when her best friend’s cousin—a holy star in the Muslim community—attempts to assault her at the end of sophomore year.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016041455 (print) | ISBN 9781481499248 (hardcover) |
ISBN 9781481499262 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Muslims—United States—Fiction. | Identity—Fiction. | Divorce—Fiction. | Sexual abuse—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Adolescence. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Sexual Abuse.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A436 Sai 2017 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041455
