She holds me tightly, then gently pulls my hands away from my face so she can kiss my cheek. “That doesn’t mean you are alone. We solve problems together, habibti,” she says.
We’re quiet while I think about her words. “Dana acts like an angel around grown-ups,” I mumble.
Mama shakes her head. “Yes, I know kids like that.”
I exhale in relief. I knew my mother would understand.
“If I go to Magnet, she will find a way to bully him. I know it!” I say.
“But Farah,” she says, hugging me close, “protecting Samir is my job. And Baba’s job. If you go to Magnet, we will make sure Samir is okay at Harbortown.”
I’m quiet as we weave our way back through the maze and then as we drive home. I think through everything that’s happened. My fight with Allie, Samir being bullied, me being bullied, my failing grades.
Mama understood me so well just now at the labyrinth. I should have known that she wouldn’t be like Ms. Juniper or the lunch monitor. I should have known that, even though she and Baba seem tired and stressed, they would have made sure Samir was safe. I don’t have to solve everything on my own.
We pull in to our driveway just as the bus arrives. Samir clambers down. Ms. Juniper gives me an odd wave, and I wave back at her. I see Bridget’s face in the window. She’s sitting alone, and she’s glaring at me.
That night at dinner, Baba gives me his own version of an Important Talk. It’s shorter than Mama’s. “You are a good sister to Samir. But,” and he pauses, “even if you think you cannot talk to anyone at school, you can still talk to me and your mama. The Hajjars don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“Yes,” I say, looking down at my plate.
“And… ,” he says, “don’t you eber, eber again forge my signature. There is only one Abdallah Hajjar in this house. Me.”
That night, before bedtime, I lie on my bed and make a list.
How Can I Fix This Problem?
Make sure to apologize to Mr. Richie and Ms. Loft.
Apologize to Mama and Baba every day for at least a hundred years.
Figure out whether or not I still have an Official Best Friend.
Try really, really hard to get into Magnet.
Going to Magnet is what I’ve always wanted, and I still want it. I really want to go to a science fair every month. And I want to learn Latin!
But there are two problems. My awful, rotten, stinking grades and the essay I still haven’t written.
I dig the essay form out of a pile and read the question again: In three hundred words or less, explain what you can contribute to Magnet Academy’s student body.
I get an idea, and I pull out a new sheet of paper. Maybe, I think, I can put the two problems together and solve them at the same time.
I begin writing.
CHAPTER 16
The next day, I go to Ms. Loft’s office during my lunch period. She is standing by the file cabinet. A Cheerio is glued to her elbow with dried milk.
“Hello, Farah.” She actually seems happy to see me. “Sit down.” She pulls a chair close to her desk. “I’ve been waiting to solve this mystery.”
My throat feels as dry as dust, but I try to explain. “Even you seemed to think Dana was awesome. I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you what she was doing.”
“I would have listened, Farah,” she says.
“But Dana is your neighbor! You said she was a really nice girl.”
“Farah, you didn’t even give me a chance to help.” She says this softly, and I know she is right. I think about what Mama said about how protecting Samir is her and Baba’s job too, and that I should have told them. I didn’t even give them a way to help me. I just tried to fix it all on my own.
“I really do want to go to Magnet,” I tell her. “Did I ruin everything?”
“Well, the essay is a big factor, and you’re a great writer.” She takes the draft that I hand to her. “I’ll read this and give you some suggestions. But Farah,” she adds, “don’t get your hopes up.”
Now I feel like a deflated balloon. “There’s something else I need from you too,” I tell her.
She glances up. “What’s that?”
“We have a bully problem,” I say, “and adults don’t always listen.”
“I’m listening now,” she says.
And together, we make a plan.
* * *
I walk down the hallway to the Reading Room. I’m starving, and now I only have about ten minutes to eat my lunch.
The light is already on. Someone is sitting in my favorite spot by the crystal. It’s Allie, and she has her shiny, black hair in a ponytail. I suddenly feel nervous and shy.
“Hi, Farah Rocks,” she says. She points at the crystal. “What kind is this?”
I sit down. “Just plain quartz.”
“Oh,” she says, picking up a chunk of sushi with her chopsticks. “Not feldspar?”
“Nope.” I unzip my lunch pouch.
“So what happened on the bus?” she asks.
“Didn’t your best friend, Bridget, tell you about it?” I know I’m being rude, but I can’t help it.
“Come on, Farah.” Allie puts down her chopsticks. “She’s not my best friend, and you know it.” She sighs. “I heard you got suspended from the bus. I was so worried.”
I stay quiet and just eat the sandwich that Mama packed for me.
“You know,” Allie says after a few minutes, “a few days ago, I figured out Bridget’s plan. She was only pretending to be my friend so I could tutor Dana. She was afraid she’d get kicked off the basketball team, so Bridget thought she’d use me to help.”
I don’t answer.
“I wanted to tell you. I thought you could help me figure out what Bridget was up to. But it’s been hard to talk to you lately. You’ve been acting so weird.”
I don’t say anything. My throat closes up on me, like I could cry at any second. I’ve done to Allie exactly what I did to my parents and my teachers. I totally blocked her out and didn’t let her help me. She wanted to be a friend, but I didn’t let her.
So many thoughts swirl around in my head that my mouth doesn’t seem to work. Eventually, because I’m not talking, Allie packs up her lunch pouch and leaves.
I want to call her back and say, “I’m sorry!” but my tongue feels like a heavy rock in my mouth.
* * *
During language arts, Mr. Richie hands me a copy of the grammar quiz. We have to make sure the nouns and the pronouns agree. There are forty questions.
“Just do your best,” he says kindly to me.
I bring it back seven minutes later, while everyone else is still working. He scans my answers, then looks up at me. His eyes sparkle like polished stones. “Welcome back, Farah Rocks,” he says, grinning.
Since I finish early, I take the hall pass and go to the bathroom. While washing my hands, I study my face in the mirror.
It’s been a strange week, but now that the old Farah is back, I feel better. Except for Allie, things feel normal again.
Suddenly another face appears behind me in the mirror. A face that is framed with red hair.
Holy hummus, I think. She’s going to flush my head, right here, right now, and there will be no witnesses.
Swiveling around, I try not to panic. She glares at me, and I put my hands up in front of me. If Dana is going to flush me, she’s going to get the fight of her life.
“Chill out, Pharaoh,” she says. She approaches the sink, keeping her distance from me. “I’m not going to touch you.”
“What do you want?” I snap.
“To use the bathroom. Duh.” She doesn’t go into a stall, though. She just stands in front of the mirror and pulls a lip gloss tube from her pocket. “Enjoying your bus suspension?”
“It’s okay.” I inch toward the door. She doesn’t come after me. “I’m going back to class.”
“Well, I’m going back to Texas.” She slides the pink lip gloss across her lips. “My parents might get back together.” Then she does something weird—she smiles. “The suspension freaked them both out. They think their separation is hurting me.” She laughs. “So my dad wants us to come back. We’re leaving in a few weeks.” She enters the stall. I hear the lock bar slide into place.
“Okay, well, see you,” I say awkwardly.
“See you, Pharaoh!” she calls out.
As I walk back to class, I think about how I might now understand why Dana is a bully.
But I’m still glad she’s moving back to Texas.
* * *
After school, I stop by Ms. Loft’s office. She returns my Magnet Academy essay with some comments. “Thank you so much,” I say.
She adds, “And I’m working on my end of the deal.”
That evening, I type the essay up on our family computer. I use Ms. Loft’s fixes and check my spelling along the way. Here’s what I write:
Dear Admissions Officer:
I may not seem like the perfect candidate for the Magnet Academy, especially if you look at my third quarter report card. But the Magnet Academy would be a super opportunity for me.
And for you.
Until the second quarter, my grades were always straight A’s. Not because I’m a nerd, which is what some people at my school will tell you. And not because I eat a lot of hummus, which the ladies at church say is good for my brain.
It’s because I love to learn. You should see my rock collection in my room. I like math too. Numbers dance around in my head all the time. They make patterns that I can see. I can read a chapter book in one day (if it’s a Saturday).
Do you know what else I love as much as I love to learn? My family. I especially love my little brother, Samir, even though some people don’t really understand him. He was born too early, and that’s why he has some challenges. But some people see only his challenges. They don’t understand how smart and funny he actually is.
I was worried about leaving Samir alone at Harbortown Elementary/Middle School. We had a bully problem, and he was teased a lot. I thought I could protect my brother if I stayed at Harbortown with him. I started to do badly in classes on purpose, so that I wouldn’t be accepted to your amazing school.
I’m learning that I have to let other people know when I need help, instead of always trying to do everything myself.
I hope you’ll ignore, if you can, my third quarter grades. (Try hard!) Think about this essay, or my first and second quarter report cards, or my entrance test.
I promise, if you let me attend the Magnet Academy, I’ll be a hardworking student who treats everyone with kindness. Because being kind is as important as being smart.
Yours sincerely,
Farah Hajjar
(Farah Rocks)
I hit Print and slip the paper into a large, yellow envelope. I’m sad, because I doubt I will be accepted. But I’m also relieved. At least I can say I tried my best. That’s what the old Farah would have done.
The old Farah would have also shown this essay to Allie before mailing it. But I’m afraid I’ve ruined that friendship forever.
And that makes me sadder than anything else.
CHAPTER 17
On Thursday, I stay after school. I hang out in the library and finish my homework. Then, at exactly four p.m., I head to the cafeteria. The teachers and staff have their weekly meeting today, and I am going to be their special guest.
Mr. Richie is there. Ms. Juniper and the bus drivers, who’ve just finished dropping off all the kids, are there too. So is the lunch monitor, even though she’s not wearing her blue apron.
Ms. Loft leads the meeting. “We have had a bully problem at Harbortown for the last several weeks,” she explains. “And even though we talk about bullying a lot, we missed it this time.” She turns to me. “Fifth grader Farah Hajjar wants to say something to us, from a student’s point of view.”
I stand up, and then I freeze. There sure are a lot of people in this room. Mr. Richie waves at me and gives me a thumbs-up. I suck in a deep breath, exhale, and start talking.
“As students, we always hear that we should tell you if there’s a bullying problem. But sometimes we think of bullying in big ways. Like, maybe you imagine someone getting stuffed in a locker. Or someone getting pounded in the face on the playground. But bullying happens in other ways too. Quieter ways.”
I explain what happened on the bus for the past month. While I describe the poking and the name- calling, I notice Ms. Juniper in the back. She looks sad.
Ms. Loft tells everyone we should discuss what I’ve said. Mr. Richie speaks first. He thinks Harbortown needs to handle bully reports differently. “We should interview the kids separately first,” he says, “before we put them together. This way, everyone feels comfortable telling us the whole story.”
Ms. Loft says she will look into the school code to see if there’s more advice on how to do this. And Ms. Juniper raises her hand to say that she will ask her supervisor how drivers should handle problems on the bus.
After the meeting, Mr. Richie stands with me outside on the curb, waiting for Mama to pick me up. “I’m glad you spoke in our meeting today,” he tells me. “Sometimes adults forget what it was like to be a kid.”
“I should’ve told you what was happening.”
“You’re a smart girl,” he says, shrugging. “You probably thought you could handle it on your own.”
“Yeah. I did think that. But I was wrong.”
At that moment, we see Mama’s car pulling up.
“I sent in my Magnet application,” I say. “Keep your fingers crossed for me!”
“For sure, Farah Rocks!” Mr. Richie says. He smiles as I get into the car, then waves as we drive away.
• • •
The next day at recess, Allie is kneeling under the maple tree. I haven’t really seen her since we met in the Reading Room last week. I’ve told Mama about how I lied to Allie too. She said that I owed my Official Best Friend an apology.
“It might not fix everything, but it’s still the right thing to do,” she told me last night.
“Hey. What are you doing?” I ask Allie now.
She looks up. In her hands are twigs and small stems from leaves. “Collecting scraps.”
“For what?”
“For the bird.” She points up at the tree. I look up and see that the bird has started a new nest. “I think she’ll see it if I put it in the corner of that branch,” she says.
Standing on her tiptoes, she crams the clump of twigs into the elbow of the branch. “There.” She claps her hands together to knock off the dirt.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” I blurt out. “And for running off that day at your house. I wish I had told you what was happening.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asks.
“I guess I thought you were becoming friends with Bridget again. And you kept saying Dana wasn’t so bad. I thought you didn’t really get it. You didn’t see how much they bothered me.”
“I’m sorry too. I should’ve been a better friend,” Allie says. “But after a while, I thought you didn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
Holy hummus, I think. I didn’t realize I’d made Allie feel that way.
“Sorry—a hundred times,” I say.
“Sorry—a million times,” she says back.
We sit together under the tree, and I tell her all the details I have kept secret from her. She especially wants to know about the fight and how I spoke at the teachers’ meeting about bullying.
“You know,” Allie says when I finish, “I still can’t believe you did what you did.” She shakes her head. “You failed test
s and quizzes to get bad grades. On purpose!”
“It was actually hard work,” I tell her. “I’m kind of gifted at that.”
She looks stunned and then bursts out laughing.
And that’s it—we’re Official Best Friends again.
That’s the thing about real best friends. Once you forgive, everything goes right back to normal.
Farah Hajjar
5 Hollow Woods Lane
Granite, PA 19100
Dear Ms. Hajjar,
The Magnet Academy is pleased to accept your application to its sixth-grade class! Congratulations! This is a major recognition of your academic achievement.
We were very impressed with your personal essay. It shows good character. You will make a great addition to our school.
There is a student and parent orientation in August, at which you will learn more about our school.
Get ready for a great year!
Sincerely,
The Magnet Academy
Farah’s Holy Hummus Recipe
Ingredients:
8-oz. can chickpeas
2 Tbsp tahini (sesame seed paste)
2 Tbsp lemon juice
pinch of salt
1/2 tsp ground cumin
4 Tbsp water
1 Tbsp olive oil
pinch of paprika
pita bread, wheat crackers, or vegetables
Equipment:
can opener
blender or food processor
spoon
plate
What to Do:
Ask an adult to help you open the can of chickpeas and drain the water. Rinse out the beans in a bowl and put them in a food processor.
Add the tahini, lemon juice, salt, cumin, and water. Blend the ingredients together until you have a creamy texture.
Use a clean spoon to taste your hummus. Add anything else that seems to be missing. Maybe more salt? More lemon? It’s your hummus, so make it the way you like it!
Farah Rocks Fifth Grade Page 6
