“Muhammad, it’s nothing. I’ll handle it.”
“It’s nothing? I tell you my stuff. You’re helping me with one of the most important things in life—getting married.” He turns to me and waits.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want his sympathy or anger or it’ll-be-okays. It won’t change a thing.
“Why do you shut Mom and me out? If you don’t want to talk to me, at least talk to her.”
I open my eyes. His voice is breaking.
“You act like Mom is some enemy. I know you think she ruined things by leaving Dad.” He looks away and turns the key in the ignition. “But she didn’t.”
“She did. She moved out. She talks about patience and forbearance being part of Islam, but she didn’t put up with anything in her life!” I’m yelling and crying at the same time.
“Janna, there was nothing to leave. Dad was already gone.”
“No, you’re lying, he married Linda after!”
“I’m not going to get into it.”
“You hate Dad!”
“No, I just love Mom, too,” he says quietly. We’re pulling into the parking garage.
My phone rings. Tats. I’m done talking to Muhammad so I pick up.
“Just got in! OMG, Dad took forever with the cottage. What happened with Jeremy yesterday?”
“Can’t talk now. Roof tomorrow after my math exam? At eleven?”
“Okay. Did you meet with him?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome. Why can’t you talk now? And what’s wrong with your voice?”
“I have to cram for my math exam. I’ve had a weird, busy day. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, but don’t change that you agreed to go to the party on Friday! If you do, I won’t talk to you. Ever.”
“Whatever, Tats. Like that’s the most important thing.”
“It’s the only thing for me right now. Marjorie even added me on Facebook.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Bye.”
She’ll drag me to that party.
SAINTS
The math exam is nothing like the one Soon-Lee and I studied. We glance at each other before she twists the ends of her hair and gets started and before I flop down on my desk. The exam is only on the stuff we studied in class. None of the new work outlined in “A Course Review” appears. None of what I studied intensively until three a.m. is on it.
I do the best I can, reaching into the recesses of my mind to remember old formulas, and then spend the rest of the period calculating the lowest mark I can get on this exam without throwing my math grade for the term out the window. In another universe, the calculations I do to figure this out would be worthy of some academic merit.
I feel like roaring when Mr. Mason releases us. He has a strict policy on no one leaving until everyone is done, so we have to wait until the clock strikes eleven and Soon-Lee puts her pen down.
“What were you working on until the bitter end?” I’m incredulous at her prowess.
“That last trigonometric function wasn’t as easy as it looked.”
“I’m going to fail. All I studied was the new stuff.” I avoid a group of freshmen, rushing by clutching armloads of books, fright covering their faces. I look behind, and sure enough, they’re entering Mr. Mason’s room for their exam. It’s the freshman enriched math group. I wish I could stop one of them and give them sage advice about the future and bootlegged exams.
“I hope you don’t fail. Then I’ll be the only girl in the program next year.”
“You studied everything?” I pause by the stairway doors that lead to the third floor and the teacher’s old storage room. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I did. I didn’t want to take a risk.”
“Well, we go our separate ways here. I hope it’s not forever.”
She leans in and gives me a hug. “Janna, I love you. Thanks for being my study pal. We’ll meet up in the summer. And I’m sure I’ll see you in enriched math in the fall.”
“If not, we’ll meet to deal with the goonies.”
She walks away and turns. “And the Pringles. Don’t forget about tackling them.”
And the monster. Don’t forget about tackling the monster, a small voice adds.
? ? ?
I open the door and start climbing. Technically I’m going up, but inside, I’m going downhill. I can’t take a failing grade on top of what’s happening in my life. It’s not supposed to be like this. School is supposed to be the best part.
When I open the roof hatch, the place is empty. Tats hasn’t arrived yet.
I take off my backpack and lie down. The sun is almost directly above, and I let it heat my face.
What if I pretend to have fallen asleep? Then I won’t have to talk to Tats. And rehash everything.
I take out my phone and check Dad’s message. Your competitors don’t know what you’re made of. They don’t know what you’re capable of. They don’t need to know. Strike when you’re ready. Let them know your power.
That sounds scary. If Muhammad saw this, he’d go on and on about how ruthless Dad is.
Am I like Dad? Or even like Mom? She kicked butt when she needed to.
The only thing I know is I refuse to be one of Mom’s idolized Silent Sufferers.
My phone pings: Thy apologies, plural, accepted.
It’s a text from Nuah.
I sit up. At least you got to know the real me: mean.
I don’t buy that. There’s nice in there.
I look in the distance, at the chain-link fence bordering the parking lot.
Something tells me you see nice everywhere. Even serial killers.
Whoa, that’s a big leap. From Janna to Charles Manson.
Okay, maybe my kernel can sometimes be nice.
Kernel?
Yeah, Mr. Ram talks in fruit allegories.
I can tell this is going to be deep.
Some people have nice-looking husks with nothing inside. Some people have dried husks but there’s fruit and even a nice kernel in there.
Ah, knew Mr. Ram was spiritual. Spiritual AND smart, good combo there.
I decide to be brave. Nuah’s seen me and Jeremy together in the video, and I need to know what he thinks about it. Did you see the video?
There’s no reply. Then, The cat on the skateboard? Hilarious.
I pause. Yes, lol. Also yes to the question you texted on Sunday.
Hence he sent the video.
Yes.
Need help?
No. Anyways, I’m busy with exams.
Duas for you.
Thanks & salaams. I add a turtle emoji with a thumbs-up.
I lie down. The phone pings. It’s a video of a skateboarding cat. I watch it over and over. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.
? ? ?
When Tats finally arrives, I am almost asleep.
She settles in and demands a recount of Sunday at the lake. I mumble a synopsis and then ask if I can be silent to tan.
She nods and begins a conversation with herself about me.
Tats 1: “Okay, so we’re a hundred percent sure he likes you.”
Tats 2: “No, make that two hundred percent, because any guy who shows a girl his nerdy side right away is, like, double sure she’s the one. I mean, birds?”
Tats 1: “Yeah, but actually, he is sort of ultra geeky. You can tell that right away. He’s on the tech crew, hello?”
Tats 2: “But actually again, he’s on the baseball team too. So that makes him only half-nerdy.”