Dedication For Amma and Abba . . . and Nana, of course In memory of Nana Abu, Pyarijan, Dada, and Dulhan Chachi Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Part One Escape Best Friends Beach Food Teatime The Perfect Day Home The Worst Day Tangle Math Class My Family’s Outsides Visiting Grandmothers Dadi Seeds of Hope Nana Nana Nana My Grandmother Nana’s Hands Blue Cocoon Motia and Mehndi Part Two On Land Settle Nurah Haqq My Mother Language Barrier Language Which Land Is Mine? Hotel Little Stop My Family Ammi Says Where? Part Three The Rec Center Warm Welcome Blue Cocoon Trophy Case TV School Morning The First Day of School Language Arts Science Class Hands Math Class Decisions Coloring 101 Lunchtime Second Day of School Aidan Lab Partner Clothes Autumn Sweet in Comfort Suites Comfort in Comfort Suites The Ways of Rice House Hunting A New House Lunchtime Skype Calls Walking to the Rec Center Rec Center Cold Karachi American Winter Baba’s Patience Birds After School Bright-Yellow Flyer Teatime Skin Dollop of Hope Pep Talk Stahr Camouflage Imagine Difference Swim Tryouts Strokes Alyson Owais Masjid Junaid Hair School Stand Out Fall Parent Conferences Amphibian On the Way Home Swim Team Part Four My Mother’s Belly Back Home Doubts Before Bed My Father’s Answer Anger Swimming The Moment Teatime Part Five The House Raspberry Google Baby Sizes Nurah Haqq Skype Fajr Prayer Before Sunrise Nana’s Worries Swim Meets Where Is My Mother? Almost Neighbors The Next Day Teatime Plans of Penelope Staying Together The Surprise Leftover Paint Art Class My Art Teacher The Words of Ms. White Swim Meets Swim Meet Extra Sleep Afternoons Help Delayed Teatime Getting Better Part Six Bullied The Bus Jay Did You Know? The Incident I Wish Sunday School Pep Talk Courage Time Temper Inside The Incident Tomorrow Aftermath Terrorist Attack Knock on the Door Facts Art Class After the Terrorist Attack Part Seven Looks Jealousy Owais’s Room Extra Practice Star Athlete Instead of Pointers False Promises Before the Locker Rooms Locker Rooms Girls’ Locker Room Waiting Probably Lifeguard Stretcher Hospital Sorry Fighter Home Visit For My Brother Later Part Eight In America Dadi Airport Babysitting Hardware Store—$14.99 Garden Deadheading Chess Junaid Conspirator The Walk Home Weighing Down of Words Aidan Decision The Mirror No Longer Lab Trying Again Melty Circles of Joy Unwanted Practice Spring Conferences Part Nine Owais’s Room Without Owais Offerings Returning My Father Thirsty Friends Hobbies of My Brother Who Do We Have? Stamina Sunday School Masjid Lobby Final Art Project Final Swim Meet Coach Kelly’s Warm-Up Diving Block 50 Yards Final Swim Meet Owais’s Turn Medal Newspaper Summer Visitor Teatime For My Mother So Windy Day Author’s Note Glossary Nurah’s Aloo Kabab Lunch Recipe Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright About the Publisher Part One Escape I grab Asna’s hand, palm to palm, nail to nail, and lean in, but Nana’s hand yanks my shoulder. Don’t you know about the father who went in to get the mother who went in to get the brother who went in to get the baby? The sea swallowed them up. These waves are not to be played in. But Nana . . . I’m a swimmer! Nana gives me a look, a flash of gray-ringed eyes. A look that makes me swallow my words up whole. Best Friends My grandmother Nana watches us, so we stay on the sand. After watching camels roam in the surf, their pom-poms taunting us, a balloon seller bobbing by, red yellow blue green circles looking d o w n at us, an elderly beggar woman (with too many wrinkles to count), and black crows, shrieking for food and company, Asna and I trace our names over and over, watching the waves slurp them up. I watch Nana right back. Beach Food For lunch: Soft mutton that my fingers shred easily. Biryani rice. Brown, saffron gold, white ghee-soaked grains that gently slip off my spoon. For dessert: A white box tied with string Asna and I sneak our hands in. Buttery biscuits from the bakery, a dot of jelly in the middle. For tea: Roasted corn, its teeth more black than yellow. Chips saltier than the sea. Teatime When the sun is dipping, and Nana goes in the villa to pray with Nana Abu, we tiptoe in finally. The waves pull hard but we smile anyway stuff our laughter in our cheeks giddy with getting away with it. After a few waves guilt strikes. We turn to tiptoe back, but my glasses fall and even though I try to grab them, the sea sucks them up, never to return. The Perfect Day If I could choose a day to live over and over, I’d choose today. Camel rides on the sand, the feel of stiff fur. Memories of the sun setting in our hair, sandy eyelashes. Home After the bumpy ride home from the beach we are served scoops of gold— Nana’s mango ice cream and Baba’s news. The Worst Day If I could choose from all the days on this earth to live over and over, I’d skip today. Tangle Just when my grandmother Dadi’s mind becomes so tangled that she doesn’t remember my name anymore, Baba, my father, gets the news: a job offer in America. He says Yes because my uncle is here to help. He says Yes because schools there are better. He says Yes because of “job security.” He says Yes. The Yes slices our old world away. We will travel. Mile upon mile. Mile upon mile. While my grandmother’s mind tangles up more. Tangle upon tangle. Tangle upon tangle. Math Class While I wait for my new glasses to be ready, reading is fuzzier but numbers are still sharp in my mind. The teacher taps her desk, picks and flicks chipped rosy polish, the color of my gums, while we are supposed to be solving for x, a, and b. But I am counting hours, minutes, seconds. How many seconds do I have if I leave in 53 days? Swift pencil marks On paper Calculate 53 days × 24 hours × 60 minutes × 60 seconds = 4,579,200 seconds. I like math because there’s always one answer. 6 + 7 will always = 13 (my age). I like math because numbers don’t change their minds. I wish Baba wasn’t like a number right now. I wish Baba would change his mind and let us stay. My Family’s Outsides Me I have a bump on my nose— the doctor calls it a deviated septum. My nose is always stuffy, and a little crooked, and even though I don’t want people to notice my nose, it is always making noise, so it gets noticed anyway, especially when it gets extra stuffy after I go for a swim, which is my favorite thing, ever, which is every day. My eyebrows are not inverted delicate Vs like my father’s but straight bushy lines like my mother’s. My face is practical, too practical, but it envies my hair, a black mirror that in the brightest sunlight turns brown. My hair is always smooth and silky, it makes friends easily with my fingers and the comb. If I choose to cover my hair, like my mother, what will my face envy? My Big Brother Owais, who is 2 years and 2 days older than me, 732 days to be exact, doesn’t want to move either. His eyebrows hug each other as he pushes dal and rice around his plate, around and around. Instead of packing, he visits the swimming pool. Diving deep into the water, over and over again. Instead of packing, he visits the tennis courts, slicing the ball easily over the net. He slices the ball so hard and so far away, that when the ball finally hits the net, he sinks to his knees and doesn’t have the energy to get up. Ammi: My Mother Original owner of the thick bushy eyebrows. My mother’s brows are straight lines like Owais and me. If you were to pour tea, and add a little milk, and count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, that would be the color of my skin. If you were to pour tea, and add milk, you would need to pour, pour, pour, and count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 until the color of my mother’s skin. My mother, Ammi, is prettier than me. I know it in the way she lingers at the mirror and I don’t. Her delicate features boast at more beauty while mine have already accepted who they are. But there is one thing of mine that is better than hers. Her hair knots easily, and mine never does. Her smile doesn’t reach all the way to her
