The Art of Secrets (4 page)

On WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 7, on the back of a Human Resources flier that outlines smart precautions to take during cold-and-flu season,

Farooq Khan, U.S. citizen,

writes a list of prayer intentions for the coming days.

1. Offer prayers of gratitude that we have remained safe during this crisis.

2. Recognize before God that I am responsible for my family—for all members of my family, and for their actions.

3. Ask for the help of God and his angels to prove Salman innocent of setting the fire, so that our hearts may be clean.

4. Even if Salman is responsible for this foolish and serious crime, pray that my wife and daughter remain innocent in the eyes of God, and so may their angels testify.

5. Moreover, if Salman is truly guilty of this crime, pray that God will hear my account on the Day of Judgment and will forgive a man who suspected the truth, but chose to remain silent.

6. Pray that my family will not be punished for receiving the good things provided by my community at this time of crisis, even when we may be responsible for the crisis ourselves.

7. Promise to pledge even more zakat for the poor, according to how much $$ the auction raises for us.

8. Pray that my family is kept safe from all winter sickness.

Th
at evening, after completing the work in a chemistry book chapter called “Forces, Electrons and Bonds,”

Saba Khan, sophomore,

directs her attention to matters less theoretical, more practical.

My angel Beti got a new phone + gave me her old one! She says I need it because I'm “notorious,” not only because of the fire. I told her to get out of town—but if you can't believe your BFFL, who can you believe?

Imagine that before all this craziness began, my bold girl Beti had stood in the Highsmith caf + addressed the student body. (Which, in fact, she would gladly do. Beti thinks public speaking is in her blood, because 100 years ago her grandparents had a radio show in the Philippines.) Anyway, if Beti had asked, “Classmates, do you know Saba Khan?” the 3 most popular answers would have been, “Sorry,” “No idea,” + “Never heard of her.” Or maybe, “Is she one of those scarf girls?”

Uh, negative. I take a very immodest pride in my hair. Sometimes I wear it down, sometimes I pin it back. Every morning before school, I smile into my bedroom mirror + ask: What shall I do with these gorgeous shiny tresses today?

What a colossal waste of time. Did I really think my shorter haircut would help? All that research, all those magazines. Nobody noticed.

I do accept blame for my former invisibility. I stayed quiet, smiled constantly like the village idiot + avoided conflict. My goal? To survive my lovely Highsmith experience without any emotional scarring. I was happy to coast. The idea of being popular was so far from reality that I honestly never considered it a possibility. My girls + I hang out at school, eat lunch together, share notes, etc—but when it comes to parties + weekend stuff, I'm stuck at home, always within view of Ammi's watchdog eyes.

“Wait, is she one of the scarf girls?”

I've had my Facebook account forever. 2 months ago, I had 34 friends. A few from homeroom, girls on the tennis team—a flurry of friendly camaraderie when I first opened the account.

Then this chemistry experiment: We added fire.

Today on Beti's old/my new phone, I checked Facebook: 752 friend requests. At this rate, I'll have more than 1000 FBFs by the end of the month, mostly kids I've never met. Thanks to updates, I now know more about some of these random people than I do about my own squirrelly brother.

The opposite of invisible is not simply visible. The opposite of invisible is
prominent
. Without even meaning to, that's what I've become. The fire put me dead center on the school social map.

Before the fire, I took pride in 3 things: 1) my tennis game, which is fierce + always getting better, 2) my hair, which is naturally wavy
yet still
does what I tell it to, and 3) my freakishly small hands, which Ammi tells me are a good thing, a family trait—“delicate but strong” + they do look spectacular when she hennas them for my birthday every summer.

Since the fire, I have a new kind of pride. In any school, kids cluster around the girl who's at the center of all the drama. Now they mob me at the bus stop. They invite me to parties. Complete strangers stop at my locker to “check in,” ask how I'm doing.

It's a weird kind of popular, I guess. Popularity by pity. But no weirder than other ways of getting noticed—being pretty, having money, hooking up. Most of us will take it any way we can. My girls Beti + Danielle are down with it, for sure. “Ride it out,” they say, “see where it takes you.”

Come one, come all. Please join me in the spotlight! Everybody's invited.
Friend me!

And then there's Mr. STEVE. Possibly the strangest + definitely the most radical way the fire changed my life: “In a relationship with Steve Davinski.” Now that would be a status update!

Only I would never, ever put that on Facebook. I couldn't risk having Ammi + Papa find out.

Also, is that status precisely, technically accurate?

Even before I met Steve, I knew who he was. He's bigger than life. He moves around the school like a grinning, curly-haired giant, surrounded by his less attractive minions—the constant traveling wall of Steve Davinski.

For a long time, I didn't give him much thought. He was just the infamous “Steve ‘the creeping vine' Da-vine-ski.”

+ so when he first said hello . . . I figured he might be one of those people who are attracted to drama, too. After all, he's 6'9”. He is, like,
genetically designed
to be the center of attention.

+ one day, at that classic romantic campus spot known as “Tarzan's Shack,” Steve glanced in my direction. + for whatever reason at all, he decided to shine that goofy charm all over me.

I actually felt skeptical when he approached me. He's a senior. He could have any straight girl in the school. Plus, I heard what the girls said: He's like a weed, he takes over, he “chokes all the life around him,” . . . all that.

But hey, I like cute boys. I'm not exactly immune to how fine his butt looks in those dorky khakis.

The fire took everything from my family. But the funny thing is, it also gave me things, like Beti's phone. It gave me a new identity at school. It gave me Steve.

The girls say it's time I stop questioning it. Ride it out, see where it takes me . . . + maybe even . . . enjoy it!

Meanwhile, in a basement rec room strewn with Nerf balls, pool cues and an impressive array of video game equipment,

Steve Davinski, senior,

shares some brotherly wisdom with Don Davinski, age 11.

For me, bro, the easiest thing in the world is getting a girl to like me. Simple as when ole “Da-
vine
-ski” drops basketballs through the net. Simple as winning student government elections.

Not everyone can do these things, I guess. But to me they feel as natural as slipping feet into size 16 shoes. I'm guessing it will be that way for you, too, someday.

I'm not bragging, Dawg. You should watch me, learn from me. Seduction of the opposite sex is simple. It's a combination of three things: logic, practice, and strategy. It really works, you can be confident. And
confidence
is one of the major factors that make a person look
super hot
in the eyes of other people.

Logic, practice, strategy—write those down, why don't you?

So get this: About a month ago, I found this chick Saba Khan sitting alone outside, in a part of campus called Tarlan's Track. We all call it “Tarzan's Shack,” but you get fined a quarter if any teacher hears you. The Shack is pretty cool. Some hippie doctor named Tarlan built it for gym classes about a billion years ago. Basically it's these jungle gyms and high-ropes equipment constructed in a big old circle. Nowadays it's totally neglected and covered in ivy, but it's still pretty cool. I'll show it to you sometime.

Anyway, I'd heard Saba sometimes hung out there during free periods, and I went looking for her. In the fall, the ivy on the rusted bars turns bright red. And this babe was sitting there, alone, surrounded by this color, doing her math homework.

Actually she's one of those girls you might not notice if you aren't looking for her, but once you see her, you realize she's pretty. Pretty-like-a-picture, I mean, rather than pretty-like-a-hot-girl-in-a-music-video. She's on the quiet side, but it's like . . . maybe she knows she doesn't need to make a lot of noise to get your attention. She always has this little grin that suggests she's keeping a secret. Plus, she's got the kind of hair Mom would say is “lovely” just because it's shiny and thick, but the way she lets it curve around her face just adds to the mystery.

For a week, the whole school had been talking about Saba, because of the fire. Obviously I was curious about her, too. I figured maybe there was something there for me, right?

I sat on a bench a few feet away from her. “Hey,” I said, real casual. When she looked up, I gave her a wave and a grin. Not a quick one.

Logic.
Okay, bro, so here's how it starts: The experience of romance is pleasurable for humans. Saba Khan is human. Therefore, we can assume that the very human Saba Khan enjoys the pleasure of romance.

So Saba said hi and then went back to her calculator.

I scooted along the bench, maybe a foot closer. “I'm Steve,” I said.

Suddenly her eyes had the tiniest, flirtiest hint of an attitude. “I know who you are,
Steve
,” she said.

I told her I'd seen her around, too. I wanted to tease her a little, 'cause girls can't resist that, so I asked her, “What's your name?”

She looked at me crazy, like she couldn't believe I didn't know her name. “
Should
I know your name?” I asked, all innocent.

She looked down at her homework and sort of grinned. She said something like, “Gee, guess I'm not as famous as I thought.”

Finally I told her I was playing. I said, “Saba Khan, I know who you are.”

That made her laugh. She lifted a hand to her dark hair and combed her fingers through it for no reason. And Dawg, her hair is super shiny.

Okay,
practice.
Here's a bit of Big Stevie history for you: I had my first date in seventh grade. I wasn't much older than you. I bought a hot cocoa for this new chick in my class, Jessica Lee, during a field trip to the planetarium. We skipped out on the “Ride the Rings of Saturn” tour, and Jessica and I got to know each other's heavenly bodies instead. That was, like, six years ago. Believe me, bro, there's been
a lot
of hot cocoa in the past six years. By now I've got a reputation to live up to. And lucky Saba only benefits from this experience.

I told her I was sorry for what had happened to her family. She said thanks, and I said something like, “It totally blows,” and she agreed. Then she glanced back at the school to see if anyone might be around, like, watching us.

Strategy.
So this is the most important part. You want to identify the situations in which you are presented in the best possible way.

I scooted even closer. By now our knees were almost touching. “Are you gonna come to the basketball games this winter? Looks like we'll have a killer team.”

She said something like, “Cool, good luck with that.”

I asked her if she ever went to the games last year, and she said she didn't. She was like, “Maybe sometime, though . . .”

Now this? This was just a wee bit freaky-deaky. At Highsmith, everyone comes to the home games. I said something like, “Oh, don't you like sports?”

She closed her math book, then stretched, a
biiiigg
stretch—long arms out in front of her, clasping her hands, and she actually
rolled her eyes
a little, dude, as if she was rejecting any guilt about the matter. “I love sports, Steve. Did you go to any girls' tennis matches this year?”

I said no, and before I could even make up an excuse she leaned forward and interrupted me. “But don't you
like
sports?”

Okay, now I like girls who can tease, the ones who can give and take. I said something like, “Fair enough. How about a campus tour, then? I can give you a private tour, show you all the secret spots around here.”

She was like, “Actually I'm a sophomore. If I didn't know my way around by now, I'd have to be some kind of
moron
. Don't you think?”

I stared at her, not sure if I should agree or disagree. This girl was cagey.

The wind picked up, and the leaves around us started to rattle and click. To me it sounded like a crowd cheering me on. I knew the passing bell would ring any minute.

At this point, a lot of guys would have given up, waited for the game bell to ring. But here's what I've found: When it comes to romance, just like in other areas, persistence pays off. If you don't succeed with the first strategy, try an alternative one from your playbook, right? For example, try to notice something about her that nobody else does.

My eyes took a quick physical survey, from the tip of her head to her pretty little hands resting on her notebook.

I teased her about those hands—said they were the world's tiniest hands.

She smiled again, suddenly shy, pulling her hands against her stomach like she was hiding them from me. “They're not so small.”

“Here, let's compare.” I held up my right hand, palm toward her. “C'mon.”

She hesitated, but then she slowly lifted her left hand. She pressed it softly against mine and held it there. Her whole open hand, fingers and all, fit safely into my palm. Her eyes never left mine as we touched.

Confident. I liked that.

I said something like, “Look at that, no contest.” And the truth is, bro, I was already looking ahead to a win.