Doesn’t she understand that this situation is bothering me? I think. I’m upset right now, but she is already packed up and ready to head to class.
“I’m coming,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance.
CHAPTER 4
Thankfully, Dana is not on the bus home. Her new Official Best Friend, Bridget, tells everyone that Dana has basketball practice. “She’ll only be on the bus in the morning,” she says.
Usually I read my book of Greek mythology on the ride home, but today I’m too freaked out to read. It was really weird to have the lunch monitor wave me off as if I was complaining about something that wasn’t a big deal. Maybe when teachers and parents talk about bullying, they’re talking about hitting or shoving or saying mean things to people on social media.
Bus Sixty-Two stops in front of our small townhouse at 5 Hollow Woods Lane. Baba wanted this house, according to my mother, because hollow sounds like hilou, which means “pretty” in Arabic. He said it was a good omen.
My dad is really into names. Farah means “joy,” because when I was born, they were pretty thrilled. (I can’t blame them.) Samir, in Arabic, means “someone who’s a lot of fun to be with.” And yes, that’s my little brother one hundred percent.
That’s why it hurt to see people at lunch making fun of him and his friends.
I help Samir hop off the last step on the bus. Mama’s at work, so I unlock the door with my key. Since Mama started as a cashier at Harbortown Supermart, she usually gets home about an hour after we do.
We follow our after-school routine: Put our shoes in the basket by the door, because Mama doesn’t let us wear them inside, then have a snack and relax before homework.
In the kitchen, I give Samir some crayons and paper while I wash and chop apples. Mama’s new schedule means that I take care of him more and more. I don’t mind, because my parents worry about money. They think I don’t know this, but come on. Baba sighs whenever he checks the mail and sees more bills. You don’t have to be gifted to put it all together.
While I chop, I listen to Samir hum while drawing a picture of what might be a yellow bus. He’s working on his grip, carefully sketching black circles as tires.
“Emmms?” he asks me hopefully when I put the apple slices in a bowl before him. “Please?”
“Not too many,” I say in my secret-soft voice. From the bottom cabinet, I pull out a bag of M&Ms—his favorite.
Like I said, I’m his hero.
He excitedly separates them into piles by color: red, green, yellow, blue, one stray orange candy. Then he counts how many he has in each pile.
He’s getting really good with his numbers. I’ll tell Mama later. She keeps a notebook where she writes down information like this to share with his doctors.
While he eats, I notice a note on the far counter.
Dear Farah, Please start working on the essay for the Magnet Academy. Also, please set the oven to 375 degrees. When it’s preheated, put the chicken in. Love, Mama
P.S.: Don’t let Samir eat any candy! It will ruin his appetite.
Holy hummus, I think. Guess I won’t tell her about the M&Ms after all.
Mama left the essay directions under her note. I read them over for the hundredth time. In three hundred words or less, it says, explain what you can contribute to Magnet Academy’s student body.
Part of me wants to say that I can’t imagine not going to Magnet. Mama has been dreaming about it. Allie has been dreaming about it. And to tell the truth, so have I.
I’ve heard all about the laboratories. And they give every student a laptop. There’s a science fair every month. Allie and I have already agreed that we’ll be partners for all of them.
While Samir colors and eats illegal M&Ms, I take out my newest rock and polish it with a soft cloth. Polishing my rock collection helps me relax and think. Harbortown is really boring for me. Can I say that in my essay? I mean, it’s true.
Here’s an example. Today in science, we looked at leaves under a microscope. I found a dead fly on the windowsill and put it under the glass, but Winston (who else?) told on me. Mr. Richie is my favorite teacher of all time, but even he told me to throw the fly away and focus on the leaf.
Allie and I have been using her father’s microscope to look at leaves since second grade. I’ve studied tons of leaves. Guess what I’ve never seen up close before?
A dead bug.
I’d like to be in a school where they get as excited about that as I do. How can I explain that in an essay? Also, I’m pretty sure there won’t be girls like Dana and Bridget at a school like Magnet. That’s another thing I don’t know how to explain.
When Mama comes home, I’m about to tell her what happened on the bus. But right away, she asks about my essay. Again.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it,” I explain before she can complain. “Polishing helps me do that.”
“So you’re just writing in your head?”
“Exactly!”
“Well, that’s good. Then you should be able to wash the breakfast dishes. That’s polishing too.”
I groan, but Samir laughs—until Mama tells him that he’s now old enough to dry.
CHAPTER 5
For the next few mornings on the bus, Dana pokes Samir every time she passes by him. Usually she does it so quickly that he doesn’t even know who it was. She laughs, along with Bridget, at his confusion.
Allie says to tell the bus driver what’s going on. But how can I talk to Ms. Juniper? She’s not exactly friendly. Other bus drivers give out lollipops on Fridays. Ms. Juniper hands out stickers from a roll that’s so old the stickers don’t even stick anymore. And she’s always yelling at us to hurry up as we get on and off the bus.
I decide that no matter what Ms. Juniper’s rules are, I need to sit next to my brother. Every day I wait until she closes the big door and drives off from our bus stop. Then I sneak up and sit beside him.
That Friday, I am again sitting with Samir on the bus. I keep my head down so Ms. Juniper won’t notice. “Look outside,” I tell him. The mist clings to the trees, and everything looks ghostly white. “There’s so much fog today. It’s like a big cloud fell from the sky!”
At the next stop, I see Dana. She’s carrying her red backpack and wearing tall, black cowboy boots. I imagine those boots stomping on my head.
Gripping Samir’s hand, I pretend to read my mythology book. Tremors ripple through the bus as Dana climbs the steps and heads down the aisle.
“Dana! Back here!” Bridget shouts.
However, when Dana reaches my seat, she stops. I keep looking at my book—the story of Athena turning Arachne into a spider.
“Take your seats!” Ms. Juniper calls from the front.
But Dana still hovers over us. “Hey!” she says, poking me on the shoulder.
Slowly, I look up at her freckled face, wishing I could turn her into a spider.
“Are you his sister?”
I nod, because my voice doesn’t seem to work.
“What’s your name?” she asks in her terrible whisper.
“Farah,” I reply in my own whisper.
“Fa-roh? Like… like pharaoh?” She snickers. “Like someone from Egypt?”
I almost tell her that my parents were born in a place close to Egypt. But she doesn’t really care.
“Seats!” Ms. Juniper bellows again.
Dana bends down. Her face is so close that I can count her freckles and see the creases in her pink lip gloss. “I see you staring at me during lunch. Stay out of my way, Pharaoh.” And then she is gone.
For the rest of the ride, that name, Pharaoh, bugs me. It’s the first time anyone at Harbortown has made fun of me because I have an Arabic name. Why didn’t I answer her, and tell her to not call me that?
Because you’re scared, I answer myself.
By
the time we arrive at school, I’m stuck in a daydream in which Dana stuffs me into my locker.
“Let’s go, you two,” says Ms. Juniper, looking at Samir and me in her long mirror. “You’re the last ones off.”
“Sorry,” I say. Maybe I should tell Ms. Juniper, I think. I mean, she probably doesn’t know. She can’t worry about what kids are doing on the bus when she’s driving the bus. As we walk toward the front of the bus, I decide to speak up. “Ms. Juniper, the tall, redheaded girl who sits in the back is bullying us.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that.” She turns in her seat to face me. “She seems like a nice girl. What’s she doing?”
“She’s calling us names.”
“Like?”
“Like… like… pharaoh.”
She scrunches her eyebrows together. “I don’t get it. Is she touching you or hitting you?”
“Umm… no.”
“She slapped my hand one time,” Samir pipes up.
“Yes! That’s true!” I add, glad my brother has a good memory.
“Well, she told me about that, and said you pulled her hair.” Ms. Juniper wags a finger at Samir. “On her first day too. It’s hard to be the new kid. You should be nicer to her.”
I can’t think of anything to say. I’m shocked. Dana is more clever—and sneaky—than I thought. No matter what I say now, Ms. Juniper won’t believe me.
“I can’t hold up the other buses,” Ms. Juniper says. She pulls on her lever to open the door.
“Okay.” I sigh and head down the steps after Samir.
“And by the way,” she adds, before closing the door, “no sitting with the kindergarten kids! I won’t tell you again. And try not to make a big deal about such a little thing. Bullying is serious, you know.”
“Fawah, is that giwl a bully?” Samir asks me as we hurry to the school’s front door.
“No. Don’t worry about her,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, during science, Allie, four other AA kids, and I are called to the guidance counselor’s office.
There are fifteen students in AA. The six of us are the only ones with grades high enough to apply to Magnet. Winston is one of them. He’s almost as good in his classes as he is at tattling. Lauren is another student who’s been chosen to apply. She has been playing the violin since she was five, and she’s awesome at it. Adaego is with us too. She’s a math whiz. Her parents hired a special teacher to challenge her. She’s doing trigonometry now.
Enrique is the last of our crew. He is a jock who plays basketball, football, soccer, and baseball. He’s also supersmart and nice. His father pushes him hard, hoping one day Enrique will get a college scholarship. All that does is stress out Enrique. Today, he’s wearing a Hurricanes jersey. “I bet you got that for Christmas,” I say as we walk down the hall.
“How’d you know?”
“There’s a clue,” I say. I point to the round sticker on his shoulder that says large.
“Ha! You are a genius, Farah Rocks,” he says, peeling it off.
“Hold on,” I tell everyone, stopping at the water fountain.
“You can’t do that!” Winston says as I take a drink.
Enrique and Allie also take sips.
“We’re supposed to go right to the office,” Winston complains. He worries about everything.
“Calm down,” says Adaego.
“But Mr. Richie said to go straight there,” Winston insists.
“Holy hummus,” I tell him. “Chill out.”
“I’m allergic to hummus,” he says. “Come on. She’s waiting.”
I know the guidance counselor, Ms. Loft, pretty well. She helps Mama with all of Samir’s paperwork. In her office, she’s sitting behind her big desk. Back in October, she had a baby girl. There are pictures of her all over the desk and the windowsill.
“Welcome, everybody,” she says. “Take a seat.” There’s a dark food stain on the shoulder of her red jacket. A pencil is jammed in her bun to keep it from falling apart.
“As you know, we selected the six of you to apply to Magnet. We feel you each have a strong chance to be accepted,” Ms. Loft says. “Our school has a solid record. In the last five years,” she adds as proof, “thirty-two out of thirty-eight Harbortown students who applied were accepted.”
Lauren says, “This is really exciting!”
“I hope we all get in,” says Enrique. Everyone else lets out a small cheer.
“That’s our goal,” says Ms. Loft. “I hope you’re working on your essays. And remember—Magnet wants all your grades, including for this quarter, which ends in a few weeks.”
Ms. Loft looks around carefully at each of us. Then she asks, in a serious voice, “Are you all up to the challenge of the Magnet Academy?”
Everyone shouts, “Yes!”
I nod, even though I feel a flash of worry. For the past two years, Magnet is everything I’ve wanted. It’s been my main focus.
But that was before Dana Denver.
I can’t help but wonder: What will happen to Samir if I leave him alone here next year?
After the meeting, I ask Ms. Loft if I can stay for a few extra minutes.
She smiles at me after everyone leaves and asks, “What’s up, Farah?”
“It’s about the new girl at Harbortown, Dana Denver,” I start to say.
She interrupts me. “Oh, I’m so glad you met her! Did you know she’s my new neighbor?”
“N–neighbor?”
“Yes! Sweet girl. Her mom is also very nice. Dana plays basketball with my daughter sometimes.” She shrugs. “She’s lovely. Have you gotten to know her?”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I have,” I reply, then say that I need to get back to class.
“But what did you want to ask me?” She seems confused as she hands me a new hall pass.
“Never mind. You answered it,” I tell her. As I walk back to class, I think that Dana may just have every adult I know completely fooled.
CHAPTER 6
During “shursh” (that’s how Baba says church), the only place where Samir will usually be quiet is on Baba’s lap. Mama sits next to me, listening to Father Alex.
We all stand when he reads from the Gospel. Baba lifts Samir, who rests his head on Baba’s shoulder and dozes off. Samir’s feet, stuffed in his Tommy Turtle sneakers, dangle in the air.
Behind Father Alex is the stained-glass window my parents bought. I really hate that window. As the Gospel is being read, I count up how many family vacations and light-up sneakers and summer art camps that window has cost me. That window means I wear every Halloween costume two years in a row (the first year it’s too big, and the second year it’s too tight). That window is why we never, ever eat at a restaurant unless it’s a kids-eat-free deal.
When we sit again, Samir murmurs something in his sleep. Baba raises his eyebrows at me.
I nod yes. I know what he’s asking. A second later, he shifts Samir onto my lap.
“Shou aziza bintkoum,” one of the aunties whispers behind me in Arabic. Baba grins at her. He thanks her for saying what a nice girl I am.
During the rest of the mass, I hold Samir. I feel angry about how those kids at school laughed at him. I wish I could protect him like this, all the time, from everything.
* * *
Later that evening, Mama cooks our big meal of the week: koosa mahshi. It’s yellow squash stuffed with rice and beef, served over hot rice and roasted almonds. Sunday is the only day we have a real family dinner because of Mama’s new job and all Baba’s extra hours.
While we eat, Mama makes us all share one good thing that happened this week. “It’s a Hajjar tradition,” she insists.
Baba starts. “Well,” he begins, rubbing the palms of his hands together, “I had a rough week, actually. No raise this year.
Again.”
I feel terrible. I know my parents hoped he’d get more money this year.
“But I do have some good news. Two things, actually.” He holds up two fingers. “Is that okay?”
“Of cawse!” says Samir generously. We all laugh.
“I think Farah will like number one,” Baba says. “They finished building the labyrinth at the library.”
Finally! “Let’s go as soon as it opens!” I say.
“What’s the second thing?” Mama asks.
“We found some red stone yesterday,” Baba says. “Look.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the photo. “See how bretty?” He hands the phone to me.
He’s right—it’s a beautiful lava-red.
Mama nods at me. “Something good,” she prompts.
“Allie and I found the beginning of a bird’s nest in the maple tree at recess,” I say.
We found it one day when I convinced Allie to stay away from the monkey bars. That’s where Dana and Bridget hang out. Allie wanted to talk to Bridget, who’s being nicer than ever in health class, but I guess she joined me since I am her Official Best Friend. As we stood by the tree, we looked up and saw a clump of twigs and grass blades swirled up between the branches.
I haven’t told my parents about Dana. Not yet. I don’t like to add more stress. So all I say is, “We’re going to keep track as the bird builds it.”
“That’s very special,” Mama says. She touches Samir’s shoulder gently. “Your turn.”
“Thewe’s a new giwl on the bus,” he says.
I freeze, wondering what he will say.
“Mean?” Baba asks, smiling.
I almost think Baba is saying Dana is mean, but he’s saying the word for who in Arabic. But the word sure does fit.
“She has wed haiwh,” Samir adds.
“Ahmar,” Mama says. “How unique.”
“She’s a big giwl, like Fah-wah.”
They both turn to me. “Is she a fifth grader?” Baba asks.
“Not sure.” I don’t want Samir to mention what Dana is doing on the bus, so I change the subject by telling Mama, “Your turn.”
Farah Rocks Fifth Grade Page 2
