Nine, Ten Page 7

  Naheed nodded. She could do that. She just hadn’t. Because it was easier to have the unwanted attention on someone else than to have to explain.

  All the time. And have people stare.

  And ask more questions.

  “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be Naheed the Muslim girl. I wish I could just be Naheed.”

  Her mother laughed. “And who would that be?”

  Naheed shrugged her shoulders up to her ears.

  “Be strong. And don’t let silly boys who tease you ruin your day.” Her mother kissed her daughter on the top of her head. “There will be silly boys always. Their words cannot hurt you if you don’t let them. If you know who you are. Now, tomorrow is Tuesday. A fresh start, right? And remember I have to leave for work early. So get some sleep now, okay?”

  Naheed’s mother lifted herself from the bed. “Good night, Naheed.”

  “Good night, Mommy.”

  “And good night, Nouri,” their mother said.

  Nouri didn’t miss a beat. “Good night, Mommy,” she answered. So Nouri had been awake the whole time.

  Figures.

  When their mother had left the room, Nouri sat up and leaned over to her sister’s bed. “Did they really think you were bald?”

  “Yes, isn’t that hysterical?” Naheed held out her hand to her little sister. It was actually nice to be able just to reach out and hold her sister’s hand while they lay in their beds.

  “With all your black hair?” Nouri scooted closer and petted her sister’s head. She took a thick strand and let it slip through her fingers, around and around.

  “Naheed?” Nouri said after a beat.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Naheed said. “I can fix it tomorrow. At least I’m not bald.”

  And both sisters dived into their pillows, trying to muffle their giggles.

  September 10, 2001

  5:45 p.m. EDT

  Shanksville, Pennsylvania

  The ride home wasn’t exactly the way Will had imagined it would be when he realized he had invited Claire to come bike riding with them. The boys rode three across, peddling as hard as they could. The sun was already painting colors low in the sky. Will needed to get home before dinner or his mother would be worried, and then really angry when he showed up, because she had been so worried.

  Alex had twisted his ankle, Ben had scraped his leg on a large stick that somehow found its way into the “ring,” and Will had bent his left pinkie so far back he couldn’t feel it anymore. He was going to pay the price for that for a while. Hopefully, it would heal before basketball tryouts. But he felt most like an idiot for asking Claire to join him and then ignoring her completely.

  “She’ll get over it,” Ben told Will. When they heard a car behind them, they fell back into a single line until it passed.

  “You know Claire, she’s not a girly girl. She’s fine,” Alex shouted up ahead.

  “We should have just stopped,” Will said, mostly telling himself.

  Ben sped up beside him. “You like her, don’t you?”

  Will didn’t need to answer.

  “Hey, man. I’m sorry,” Alex said, dropping back on the other side.

  Ben and Alex got home first, and Will rode the last quarter mile by himself. He could see the lights on in his kitchen window. His mom was probably making dinner. The girls were probably watching TV or taking a bath. It wasn’t so different, really, than it had ever been. Will’s dad had sometimes been home for only five or six nights a month anyway.

  And yet everything was different.

  Will came to a stop at the end of his driveway. He looked up. It wasn’t dark yet, but the sky had that hint of fall, of night coming early and taking the day away. If he got back on his bike now, he could be at Claire’s house in three minutes. And home again before dinner.

  He had no idea what he was going to do or say, or even if trying to talk to Claire was the right thing to do. He knew only that he had to do something, because doing nothing would feel worse.

  * * *

  When he turned ten, Will had had a real party at the bowling alley over in Somerset. It was one of the few times his dad was going to be around on his actual birthday, and besides, hitting that two-digit number was a big deal, wasn’t it?

  “Of course I’ll be there.”

  But that year was also the year that kids in his grade had started shifting into separate categories, some willingly and others not so willingly. There was smart and not so smart. Higher math groups and lower reading levels. Popular girls and the girls that sat alone. Boys that could throw a ball, and boys that constantly got beaned in the head with the volleyball no matter how hard they tried to return the volley. In a class so small, it just looked all the more obvious who was who.

  “I don’t know what to do about my birthday,” Will told his dad.

  “About that boy from school?”

  “Yeah. I don’t really want him to come to my party.”

  They were picking up sticks from the front lawn, sticks and branches that had fallen in the last rainstorm. When Will’s dad was home, he wanted to do as many chores and repairs around the house as he could. Will always tagged along and helped.

  “Then don’t invite him.”

  “But he’ll have his feelings hurt.” Will threw one long branch into the woods behind their house and followed after his dad. “And we were okay friends last year.”

  “Then invite him.”

  “But I don’t really want him to be there. He’ll ruin everything. He’s gotten so weird, and loud about it too.”

  “Well, you’ve got to make a decision.”

  “But how?”

  Will’s dad was holding a bundle of wood and leaves in his arms. He looked like a tree himself, tall and strong, like nothing could ever hurt him. He knew everything.

  “Jump ahead in time and ask yourself how you will feel if you don’t invite him.”

  So Will closed his eyes. And he could imagine his party, everything going so well, all the presents he would get, the hot dogs and ice-cream cake, and then everyone would go home and it would have been a perfect day.

  “Okay,” Will said. “I did. Great party.”

  His dad went on, “And then how are you going to feel when you see this boy in your class the next day?”

  Will closed his eyes again.

  He would go back to school, and this kid would be the only one from his class that wasn’t talking about it. Maybe everyone else would be talking about their bowling scores or asking Will if he liked their gifts. Or just raving about how much fun they’d had at his party. Everyone but that one kid. Just imagining that felt pretty bad already.

  “So I have to decide by what will make me feel worse?” Will asked his dad. “Not what will make me feel better?”

  His dad dumped his armload of branches onto a pile behind the shed. “It’s not about what makes you feel better or worse. If it’s the right thing to do and you know it, you should do it.”

  “Even if my party sucks?” Will said, but he knew the answer.

  9/11

  September 11, 2001

  7:15 a.m. EDT

  Columbus, Ohio

  Two years ago Naheed had come home from elementary school and announced she was going to be a heart surgeon when she grew up. In health class they had done a unit on body systems, bones, nerves, and organs.

  And on the circulatory system. And the heart.

  The heart was the center of everything, pumping blood to everywhere in the body, carrying oxygen to all vital parts, including the brain. Naheed wanted to be the one who fixed the heart.

  “Why a surgeon?” her father asked. He was a neurologist; her mother, a pediatrician.

  “Because I’m good with my hands.” Naheed held up all ten fingers, as if seeing them would be explanation enough.

  Her parents laughed, but Naheed could tell they were pleased, and science became her favor
ite subject. Until yesterday, that is, and today Naheed didn’t even want to go to school.

  “Naheed, you look tired. Are you tired? Don’t you feel well?” Naheed’s mother put her hand to Naheed’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

  “I’m not warm,” Naheed said. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

  “Oh no, that’s our fault,” Aunt Judith said. She was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. “Uncle and I are so sorry. But don’t worry, you girls will get your rooms back this afternoon.”

  Nouri jumped up from her seat and into Aunt Judith’s lap. “Oh no, you’re leaving? I don’t want you to leave.”

  Nouri always knew just what to say, because she meant it. She would never have gotten herself into this jam. Nouri would have been happy explaining to Eliza what her head covering was and why she wore it. And that would have been the end of that.

  But then again, to be fair, Nouri wasn’t in middle school yet.

  “Oh, you are such a sweetie,” Aunt Judith said, hugging Nouri. “Yes, we have a flight back this afternoon. So we all need to say good-bye this morning before you leave for school.”

  At the mention of the word “school,” Naheed must have groaned out loud, at which point Nouri felt the need to share with Aunt Judith an account of the two boys who had been teasing her older sister. And it all happened just as their father was coming down for breakfast, followed by Uncle Iman.

  “What is this?” Uncle Iman asked. “Who was harassing my niece about her hijab?” He took up a lot of room in the kitchen, and it wasn’t because of his size.

  “No one,” Naheed said quickly. She shot a warning look to her sister.

  “Well, is this true?” Naheed’s father asked.

  “She can handle it, eshgham. We talked about it last night,” Naheed’s mother broke in. She poured both men their coffee.

  “But you didn’t tell your father,” Uncle Iman said.

  “There was nothing to tell,” Naheed went on, but she was beginning to see her story growing wings and feathers and flying away, too far for her ever to catch again. “I will take care of it today. And if I can’t, I promise I will tell you, Baba.”

  Naheed’s father looked at his brother and then at his watch. “Well, I have to make rounds this morning. We can talk this afternoon. I know you can handle it, azizam.”

  Naheed’s father kissed the top of her head.

  “I can,” Naheed said. “I will.”

  She had a plan.

  September 11, 2001

  8:07 a.m. EDT

  Shanksville, Pennsylvania

  “Remember my birthday party in third grade?” Will was asking his mother.

  “Not exactly, why?”

  “Because it sucked.”

  Will’s mother laughed, which was good to hear. She didn’t laugh like she used to, and Will liked being able to make his mother even a little happy.

  She was rushing around in her usual morning ritual, making breakfast and lunch, putting on her eye makeup while looking at her reflection in the toaster oven. His sisters were still upstairs.

  Last night going over to Claire’s house had been a bust.

  What had he been thinking?

  The problem was he hadn’t had a plan, not really. Just the idea that he would try to explain to Claire something he couldn’t understand himself: why he had acted like such a jerk.

  When he got to her house, he realized he probably needed a little something more than that. He stood thinking for a serious half a minute or so. It didn’t seem likely that knocking on her front door and possibly seeing her mom or dad, or even her older brother, was the right move.

  He had seen old movies where the guy stood on the lawn and threw little pebbles at the girl’s bedroom window, and that did seem kind of romantic, especially if Claire had seen the same movies. But Will didn’t know which window was Claire’s, which made him think those old movies were really misleading and probably shouldn’t be shown on television.

  Maybe he would spot her up there on the second floor. Then, as luck would have it, and Will sure needed some, Claire walked right out her front door.

  “What are you doing here?” She was surprised, if not anything better, like happy to see him.

  “Nothing.” This seemed to be Will’s go-to response lately, and that definitely wasn’t going to work in this case. “I mean,” Will said, “I came to apologize.”

  Claire looked at him, and for a tiny second something close to a smile nearly moved across her eyes and mouth.

  Not a bad move, Will was about to congratulate himself. Nothing like a sincere apology. Girls liked that. Except maybe he looked a little too smug a little too soon.

  “Forget it, Will,” Claire threw back. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. Go back and play with your friends. Next time just don’t ask me to be your cheering section, okay?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I’ve got better things to do.” Claire stepped down onto the grass, as if Will had already left, and started calling for her cat.

  “Here, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty.”

  “You’re looking for your cat?” Will asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  This was not going well.

  “Why do you want him inside? It’s so nice out,” Will tried. “I think it’s going to be warm tonight.”

  Girls loved their cats, right? And talking about the weather seemed pretty safe.

  “Because there are coyotes and bobcats, and I’d really like my cat not to be eaten this evening, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Can I help you look, at least?”

  Claire shrugged.

  They found the cat, but neither the potential conversation nor the afternoon was redeemed. He said he was sorry again, Claire went inside, and Will rode home.

  * * *

  “Does this have something to do with your late-night excursion?” Will’s mother asked. She dropped sandwiches into the girls’ lunch boxes.

  “It was six thirty, Mom. Not exactly late-night.”

  And she laughed again. Twice in one morning might have been a record for the year. “Well, does it?” she asked.

  “Kinda.”

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  His mother looked at him thoughtfully. “There are some things you really need your dad for, don’t you?”

  She hadn’t ever talked like that before. Just stating it out loud, acknowledging what the loss of his father meant to Will.

  Will felt bad, worse than he had a second ago, but it also felt good, in a way, to have someone else who understood how bad he felt. And all of a sudden Will felt like crying, the way that kind of sorrow would swoop in and punch him in the gut. He was almost used to it. He could use his dad’s advice right now. If not his advice, just his presence.

  Will felt like crying, but he didn’t. It passed, more quickly than it might have a year ago, or even six months. Instead he asked his mom, “Are you mad at Dad?”

  “For dying like that?” she asked.

  Will nodded.

  “Well, yeah. I was. I still am, sometimes. But I understand, and I love him for the man he was. The man he’ll always be. That was your dad. He couldn’t be any other way. He would never walk away from something. He’d never let someone else’s hands get dirty but not his.”

  Will’s mom sat down at the kitchen table with her son. “I know you’re angry. I get why. I don’t want to talk you out of it, but I want you to understand.”

  “I understand. I’m not dumb,” Will said. He kept his eyes down on his hands, his hands down on the table. “I know he did a good thing. He tried to help someone. But I just wish—”

  “I do too.”

  “And then I get mad at that other man, for having a stroke or whatever he had, like he shouldn’t have been driving, but then I know that doesn’t make sense either.”

  Will knew his mom wanted to hug him, put her arms around him and take h
im on her lap, and make everything all better, the way she could when he was little. He was really glad she didn’t try.

  “But it was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it? Dad getting out of his rig on the highway that way,” Will went on. “If he could do it again, he wouldn’t do that.”

  Will’s mother shrugged. Her shoulders were trembling, but she continued. She was stronger than she looked. “Your dad wasn’t one to regret things, but yes, I’m sure he would do it differently.” She wiped her eyes and stood up. “You’d better hurry if you want to catch the bus.”

  “I might just ride my bike today, if that’s okay.”

  His mother smiled. “It’s okay.”

  September 11, 2001

  5:30 a.m. PDT

  Los Angeles, California

  On the other end, three thousand miles away in New York City, a phone was ringing and ringing but no one was answering.

  C’mon. C’mon. Pick up, Mom. Pick up.

  Aimee had set her alarm so she could reach her mom before her mom called her, before her mom left for her meeting. She wanted to tell her everything. Tell her about her first day. About how she met one nice girl and one mean one. About gym class—You wouldn’t believe what the gym teacher’s name is—and about math, and lunch period. She would have to bring a snack from now on, she would inform her mom.

  She wanted to say she was sorry.

  She was sorry for being rude on the phone and pretending she couldn’t hear her mom. She was sorry she’d had a horrible, horrible, horrible day, but she shouldn’t have taken it out on her mother. She wanted to tell her mom how much she just missed her. And couldn’t wait for her to get back.

  Though she might not want to share how she had thought her mom and dad were getting divorced, even if all that had been cleared up last night at the restaurant.

  It was a weekday, Monday, but Aimee’s dad had wanted to take her out to a nice dinner. Aimee glanced across the menu to the prices as she was picking what she might want to eat. It was expensive.

  She ran her fingers over the real tablecloth and noticed the napkins were cloth too. “Why did we come to such a fancy place?” Aimee asked her dad from across the table.