The Garden of My Imaan (17 page)

Two Toads

T
he Glen Meadow Student Council school elections were two days away and excitement was building by the hour. Voting for the executive council was in the gymnasium but class representatives—one from each homeroom—were being elected in their own homerooms.

The campaign was at a fever pitch. Marwa was the only one who still seemed cool and collected. The rest of us zipped around her in high gear, like wind-up toys just let loose.

My father told me that a campaign speech was terribly important, especially if one wanted to sway the undecided block. “You sound a bit tentative,” he said, reviewing what I had written. “You need to sound sure about yourself. Your words should exude confidence. You need to convey that you are up to the job. Don’t be afraid to embellish your strengths.” Sentence by sentence, he underlined phrases, struck through words, scribbled a few notes, and drew smiley faces beside the parts he liked.

I put my old speech on the table and next to it, a brand new piece of paper. First, I jotted down all my strengths:

And then I started over on my speech.

When I was finally done, I practiced several times in front of Mom and Amma and Badi Amma. OCD was helpful in her own crazy sort of way. First she instructed me to stand tall. When my posture didn’t satisfy her, she tried to show me how, even though she still looked crooked to me. Then she told me to speak more clearly and not eat up my words.

“How do you know I am mumbling?” I asked. “You don’t even speak English that well.”

“Aii!” she screeched. “We know English. Hello, bye, come, go, God Bless
Umrica …
You see?”

“She is absolutely right,” Mom said. “Please enunciate better and pull yourself out of your slouch, will you?”

Our music teacher had given us some lines to say to practice our enunciation in class. I repeated them at home until my throat was dry and my voice hoarse:
Two toads terribly tired trotting down the road. Two toads terribly tired trotting down the road … Two toads terribly tired … Two toads …

Winnie gave me last-minute instructions in homeroom. “Take deep breaths,” she said. “Close your eyes and count backwards from ten … slowly.”

My hands were clammy and my throat felt dry. I decided to go over the speech in my head one last time. When I couldn’t remember my opening line, I panicked! Frantically I dug in my pocket for the scrap of paper and reviewed everything word by word.

When it was time for the speeches, Juliana sprang out of her seat and strode up like a warrior to the front of the room. She swept her hands over her perfect hair and smoothed down the sides of her perfect new sweater. “Hello, everyone,” she said cheerily. “You all know who I am so I don’t have to introduce myself. But I will tell you that I want to be your class rep and I want your vote.”

She went on to tell us why she was the better choice and gave reasons why a vote for her was a vote for success and reform. But I wasn’t listening anymore; I was too busy chewing on my nails and going over my speech in my head.

When Juliana was done, everyone clapped loudly and she bowed with a dramatic flourish. The applause felt endless. I looked at Winnie nervously and she gave me a hearty thumbs-up. Mrs. Holmes turned to me. I looked over at Winnie again and she smiled and crossed her fingers. “Good luck,” she mouthed silently.

I walked to the front of the room, aware that everyone’s attention was focused on me. I pulled myself out of my slouch and scanned my audience. Twenty-six pairs of eyes
were focused on me. Twenty-six pairs of ears were tuned in on me. I opened my mouth to speak and this is what popped out: “
Two toads terribly tired trotting down the road.
”

At first the silence was deafening, but then the room exploded. Juliana rolled her eyes and Morgan and Nicole doubled up. Winnie dropped her head into her hands and Leah and Madison avoided my eyes. I was mortified.

I laughed nervously. “Ooops … I’m sorry. I got mixed up. You know how Mrs. Benson had us repeat … you know, in music? Okay, anyway … I’m going to start over again.”

I looked to Mrs. Doyle for help; she nodded sympathetically and motioned me on. I took a deep breath, just as Winnie had advised.

Hello, friends
, I began, flawlessly this time
. I am Aliya and I want to represent you in the school council.

When I was done, I walked back to my seat quickly and sat down. I felt a little numb and my mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. I did hear some applause; some kids clapped more heartily than others. Winnie’s claps, I noticed, were the loudest. Juliana’s were the phoniest.

“How did I do?” I whispered to Winnie.

She held up her thumb. “Great speech.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Except maybe what happened at the beginning?”

“Let’s not talk about that, okay?” I said.

Voting began at twelve o’clock. Five minutes later, it was completed.

“I think you clinched it,” Winnie said.

Mrs. Doyle rapped for attention. I sucked in air and crossed my fingers under my desk. Juliana, Morgan, and Nicole locked arms and hung on to each other like links in a chain.

Mrs. Doyle began with a motivational speech:
Regardless of the outcome, I congratulate those with the courage to participate in this democratic process
, et cetera, et cetera.

Juliana’s finger twirled and her mouth moved, mimicking our teacher.

At last Mrs. Doyle turned to the whiteboard to report the outcome of the election. In her elegant cursive, she wrote
A-l-i-y-a
, then
J-u-l-i-a-n-a
. She put a great big 1 next to my name and a great big 1 next to Juliana’s. We were neck and neck so far!

Then Mrs. Doyle slanted a great big 0 next to the 1 by my name. Next to Juliana’s she wrote a great, big … 6!

Aliya: 10

Juliana: 16

It was all over. The class had spoken. Winnie squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She brought her finger and thumb together so they almost touched. “It was this close. You would’ve definitely been the best representative.”

I appreciated her encouraging words, but I felt like the rug had been yanked from under me. Friendship bracelets and baseball cards had trumped ninety-nine fake diamonds.
I scrambled to remember Badi Amma’s emergency pep talk. It was something about being proud of myself no matter what, but my great-grandmother’s words didn’t provide much comfort now. Juliana was the class rep. I was not. I was simply Aliya. Aliya, the loser.

Aliya, the weirdo.

Aliya, the alien.

Aliya, the girl who didn’t have a boyfriend.

I was still reeling from my defeat when Winnie slid back into her desk. She had heard some news on the way back from the girls’ room.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she gasped. “Not in a million, trillion years!”

For a split second, I had a wild thought. Had Mrs. Doyle miscounted the votes? My heart raced. “What?” I hissed. “What happened?”

There’d been an upset in Mr. Gallagher’s homeroom. Marwa had won!

I couldn’t believe my ears! Marwa had beat Camden to become the fifth-grade student representative to the council from Mr. Gallagher’s homeroom! I was completely flummoxed! How could it be? How had she done it?

“What’s her secret, Winnie?”

“It’s no secret,” she said. “Marwa’s a pretty gutsy kid.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “There was always something
special about her. I knew it from day one. I just couldn’t figure out what until now.”

This was huge. Marwa, newly arrived from Morocco by way of Michigan. Marwa, the Muslim girl in hijab with smelly cheese in her lunch box, had made a statement at Glen Meadow School! She was a winner!

I was happy for her and I wanted her to know it. After class, I elbowed my way through a human wall three kids deep.

“Nice job, Marwa,” I said. “You did it! You’ll make a great class rep.”

“Insha’ Allah,” she said. “God willing. And you?”

I pointed my thumb downward and shook my head.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had my fingers crossed for you.”

“You should’ve heard Marwa’s speech,” Maggie gushed. “It was totally inspiring.”

That made me wonder. Did Marwa win because her speech had been more forceful than mine? Did she have better word choice?

“What did you say exactly?” I asked Marwa.

Sarah answered for her. “She stood there, looking so calm and serene. And then, she said—and I quote—’Friends, we are in this together. We can make a difference if we stick to each other like glue. This is not about you or about me … it is about us, working together and working hand in hand!’“

Marwa smiled. “Those weren’t my exact words,” she said.

“Oh well, maybe not a direct quote, but close enough,” Sarah said.

I didn’t get it. Wasn’t that my message too? Didn’t I also say something along those lines?

Maybe the difference wasn’t in the message but in the messenger?

Losers and Winners

D
id you congratulate Juliana?” Baba asked.

I hadn’t. Her smile had looked mean and gloating, so I’d avoided her for the rest of the day.

“I hate her, Baba!” I cried.

“That’s a pretty strong word,” my father said.

“I mean it! She always beats me at everything and she rolls her eyes when I walk by and she’s always telling me how much she hates spicy foods!”

“Hmm,” Baba said. “But what if you had walked up to her right away and congratulated her on her victory? It might have made a lasting impact.”

I stared at him. Had he not heard a single word I said? “She’s got so much going for her: great outfits and fabulous vacations and a really fancy car, and what do I have, huh?”

Baba ruffled my hair. “You’ve got plenty too, honey.”

“Yeah, right!” I sniffled.

My father drew me close. “You have a loving family and a nice home. You have a great life too.”

I hugged my dad back. I did have a great life; it was just that Juliana also had Josh on top of everything else. “Anyway, plenty of people congratulated her,” I muttered. “She didn’t need to hear it from me.”

“But she did. An Aliya handshake—why that would have been something else!” Baba smiled. “It doesn’t hurt to be nice, you know.”

“Tell that to her!” I said. “She’s the mean one!”

“That would be her parents’ job,” my father said.

“Fat chance,” I said. “Her dad doesn’t even live with her and I bet her mom doesn’t tell her either because she’s probably mean too!”

“A twist of
good
, a sprinkle of
kind
, and a dash of
nice
,” Baba said in a dopey voice.

“Huh?”

Baba smiled. “It’s a recipe for getting along.”

“You say the weirdest things, Baba,” I said. “Stop right now!”

Juliana walked by, popping her gum and accompanied by her entourage.

“Congrats, Juliana,” I said.

Part of me felt like a phony but another part of me was remembering something I’d heard recently.
What’s wrong with making someone feel good? It’s only a teeny white lie and it’s not hurting anyone
. I could almost hear Marwa speaking in my ear.

Juliana blew a big bubble and I waited for the sharp pop. But it didn’t come. With a whoosh it lost all its air and disappeared back into her mouth.

“Thanks,” she said, giving me a skeptical look.

“I wanted to tell you on Friday, but I couldn’t because there were a hundred kids surrounding you.”

A little smile appeared and her perfect teeth glistened. “It was a pretty good race.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll make a good team, Josh and me,” she said.

“Marwa will be great too,” I said. “She’ll probably bring really good ideas to the meetings.”

“We’ll see,” Juliana said. But she didn’t roll her eyes.

“It’s pretty amazing that she won,” I said. “I mean, she practically just got here.”

“Yeah, well … weird things happen all the time,” Juliana said.

The morning bell rang and we hurried in. We had never walked together before.

“Hey,” Juliana said suddenly. “What the heck did toads have to do with anything anyway?”

I turned a deep, hot red. I had hoped that everyone had forgotten my slip. “Um … it just slipped out,” I said sheepishly. “You know how Mrs. Benson makes us practice enunciation during music? I’d practiced the words so often they just …”

I waited for her to say something mean but she only said, “Oh, so that’s what happened! And you didn’t let it bother you. Wow. I never would’ve been able to do my speech after that.”

Juliana popped her gum again, but for some reason it didn’t bother me quite so much anymore. I figured Baba’s recipe was working.

We had just reached our lockers when I heard someone chanting.

“Here comes the loser! Make way for the loser!”

Austin! He was standing near the door, beating a pencil against a book like a drum. I looked at Juliana.

“I’m talking about you, loser!” he growled.

And then something strange happened. It was like I was a parakeet who had been locked in a cage forever and someone came along at last and opened the tiny door. I whirled around.

“Shut up!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You just shut up! I am not a loser!”

And then I pushed him so hard with both my hands that he fell back two whole steps.

“Wh …? Hey!” He threw out his arms, trying to catch his balance.

“Woo-hoo!” Juliana whooped. “Way to go!”

I jabbed my finger toward him. “Get lost!” I screamed again. “And never, never,
ever
call me that again!”

Juliana held her hand up for a high five and I slapped my palm against hers, hard.

I turned to Austin one more time and screamed, “Jerk!” I was hot all over but my heart wasn’t hammering like it usually did. I wondered if being fearless felt a little like this.