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
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
