Grounded, page 13
So they can also understand why Dad can’t just replace Mom so easily.
So I tell them about Mom.
The things I hold close, the things I don’t want to forget, and even the funny things.
In my investigation of Mom—not missing but gone from this earth, awaiting in another dimension—I learned that she liked to dance but did it so badly, everyone always asked her to stop, but one person never did: Dad.
I learned this fact from Dad.
Adam said the reason he’d asked her to stop was because she did this one dance of hers whenever she saw him down the hall at school, the school where she taught and he studied. “Am I upset now that I asked her to stop dancing? Now that she’s gone? No, not at all,” Adam had said when I’d asked him for more details. “Because I was actually saving her from embarrassing herself.”
Then he showed me how she danced. I’d laughed, but later, in my room alone, I’d learned each step of it.
“How did she dance?” Feek interrupts. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, show us,” Nora says, a smile on her face.
That smile makes me get up. I plant my feet shoulder-width apart and cement them into the ground. Then, from the hip up, I move forward and back, and lift up my arms and lock my elbows at my waist and then swivel my wrists around each other without touching.
“Okay, now that’s bad,” Feek laughs. “Your legs aren’t moving.”
Sami laughs too, and I sit down and beam at him. Maybe one day I’ll tell him Mom danced like him.
Nora’s still grinning, but she’s become quiet.
My heart aches for Hanna. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose your mom. As much as Mom gets on my nerves sometimes, deep down I know it’s because I want more of her. I know it’s because she’s everything to me.
I’ve been so absorbed with all my NokNok drama when Hanna has been dealing with so much more. And, to make matters worse, we were so hard on her.
I look at Hanna in her MONA T-shirt and hoodie, and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.
“I’m so sorry, Hanna,” I say. “About what you’re going through and for talking about my mom so much.”
Hanna swats away my words as if they are bothersome flies. “You don’t need to be sorry about that. If my mom was still alive, I’d talk about her all the time too. I know my mom would be someone like Congresswoman Najjar, changing the world.”
I’m relieved I didn’t offend Hanna, but now I feel dishonest, letting her think that my love for my mom is so pure and uncomplicated when I spent this whole weekend feeling sad and disappointed. Most of the day, I wanted to pull away from her.
I sigh so loudly that it surprises me, and suddenly I’m sharing things I never thought I’d tell these kids. “I am really proud of my mom, but that changing-the-world part is hard. Like, this was supposed to be a special weekend just for us, and we were going to the Chocolate Garden, which is my favorite place in the world, so I was planning all this content around it. But then we got here, and she was so busy at MONA all weekend that by the time we got to the Chocolate Garden, it was closed.”
Sami and Hanna both offer sympathetic glances, but I can tell they don’t get why this is such a big deal to me. “I know it sounds like I’m whining because I didn’t get to go to some candy store, but it’s more that my mom is there but we’re not really together, if that makes any sense.”
There’s a long pause, and I’m surprised when Feek says, “I feel that. My dad’s gone all the time.”
Did I really just say that aloud?
Then I hear Nora say, “My mom belongs to everyone but me,” and it’s like someone slaps me upside my head and says, this is what you’ve been feeling. This is what you’ve been knowing. How come you didn’t figure this out before now, Feek?
“Yeah . . .” I rub the back of my head. “Who said everybody else gets to have them?”
Three sets of eyes look back at me confused.
“My dad belongs to everyone else, like your mom. Why do they get to have them?”
“Your dad’s a politician too?” Nora asks.
“No, he’s an, um . . . lyricist.” Explaining my dad’s job is tricky. He doesn’t call himself a rapper, although he definitely sounds like one. He doesn’t call himself a poet, although he definitely sounds like one of those too.
Sami speaks quietly to himself like he’s figuring out a math problem, “Lyricist . . . Stiles . . . Like Salaam Stiles? The Muslim Lyricist? Salaam Stiles is your dad?!”
“Who?” Nora asks.
“Yeah—” I say, before being cut off by Hanna and Sami.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?!”
“I went to his show!”
“My dad LOVES him!”
“Is he here? In the airport?”
“My brother plays his stuff all the time!”
“We have his book! Would your dad sign it?”
My eyes dart to my gate. Mom’s still lying down. Nora and I share a look.
“Shh, remember Ruqi,” Nora tells them.
If thank you and you’re welcome can be said with eyes, Nora and I do.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you about my dad. Sometimes, it’s just easier.”
When Hanna and Sami look confused, I explain further.
“People act funny. They forget that public figures and their families are people too. Probably why the Hoffmans are being secretive about who they are.”
When everyone leans in and looks at me strangely, I realize my mistake. Oh no!
“The Hoffmans? What secret?” Sami asks.
“You know the Hoffmans?” Nora asks.
“Tell us everything you know,” Hanna says.
“It . . . I wasn’t keeping it from you just to be doing it. The Hoffmans want it a secret. It’s obvious.” I sigh. No point in hiding it now. “Keep it quiet, please? The Hoffmans are probably Doc and Lala Hoffa.”
“No way!” Nora exclaims.
Hanna’s eyes bug out.
Now Sami asks, “Who?”
“How do you know?” Hanna asks.
I tell them about the party and the cookie names and even show them the flier with their same floor.
“But I still don’t get it,” Sami says. “Wouldn’t being a celebrity help the cat to be found? Why keep that a secret?”
I try explaining again. “People lose their minds when celebrities are involved. What if people create a ruckus to get Cookie’s cat or demand a huge reward? Or worse, sell it? What would the tabloid sites say about her losing her cat in the airport? I don’t know Cookie’s exact reasons, but it’s clear she doesn’t want her Lala Hoffa self involved in this.”
The other kids nod.
“So, your dad knows Lala Hoffa? I love her! Is your dad here?” Nora asks.
“No, he had to fly right after Fajr for his next show . . . to LA . . . I think LA. Some city with an L. All I know is I barely saw him this weekend, and he’s not coming home to Philly with us. And I don’t know if he’s coming back after this show or if he has to go straight to another one.”
Hanna is typing fast into her phone. She looks up and says, “He’s going to London. He has a few shows there. Then a program with Georgetown University’s MSA next week, but nothing for at least a week after that. He’ll probably be home then.”
I should be happy to learn that, but I feel like I got slapped upside the head again.
“Yeah . . . I guess I should just start googling my dad.”
Hanna flushes red and Sami looks away, clearly uncomfortable.
The machine creaks again.
When everyone startles, I say, “It does that sometimes.”
I look at my shoes. Creases on the sides. Small and faint, but definitely there.
“He didn’t care anyway,” I mutter.
“Huh?” Hanna asks.
I’m tempted to change the subject, but Hanna and even Nora have been so real.
“These sneaks,” I say. “He likes to wear these kind. So I got them for the conference and kept them perfect. The way he keeps his perfect. But they got messed up from running.”
“They still look perfect,” Sami says, trying to be nice.
“It’s cool. He’s too busy to notice.”
“I know the feeling. It’s so not right,” Nora says, in the way people do when they’re trying to give a hug with their words. Hanna looks like she might actually hug me.
I shake my head. “He’s a big deal. How’s he supposed to have time for little people?”
“But Feek—” Nora begins.
“Thing is . . .” I cut her and that too-soft voice off again. “He doesn’t see I’m not just some little kid anymore, you know? I’ll be thirteen in a few months. And I’m getting good at this lyricist thing too. My dad promised to look at my stuff, but he was running late for his flight. But I know my dad and I could perform together. I just need a chance.”
“A father and son team? That would be cool,” Sami says. Nora looks excited too. Hanna looks doubtful.
“My stuff is good,” I tell her, touching my notebook. “It’s not that E-I-E-I-O stuff I did at the sky lounge.”
“Could we hear something you wrote?” Hanna asks.
“I mean . . .” I stop when I hear the shaky way my voice sounds. Take a breath. Look calm.
“My stuff’s good. That’s no lie. But I’m working on it. Maybe this morning was a sign. It wasn’t worth my dad’s time yet. How am I going to share a stage with ‘the Salaam Stiles,’ saying unfinished lines any kind of way? It’s not just my writing. I need to get my performance right too.”
Now both Hanna and Nora look doubtful, but Sami . . . His eyes are wide, and he looks like someone just slapped him upside his head too.
“It’s exhausting to perform,” I blurt out.
Wait. Where did that come from? Karate isn’t performing! It’s a martial art! It’s self-defense. It’s a sport!
And karate isn’t exhausting. Sure, there are times when it gets complicated and I’m stressed about learning a new move, but I love karate. When I’m doing karate, I’m strong. Confident. I’m maneuvering and strategizing and doing my thing.
That’s not the kind of performing I’m exhausted by.
“I hate trying to hide my feelings.” I say. “And failing. I hate being Scaredy-Cat Sami.”
“Scaredy-Cat Sami?” Feek repeats. I know he’s only repeating what I said, but heat crawls up my neck.
“It’s what the kids at school call me.” I look at my lap. “It’s been my nickname since first grade. When we were little, my brother would tease me too. About how I overthink things and worry about worst-case scenarios. He called me Squirrelly Sami.”
“Oh, Sami, that’s awful,” says Nora.
“It’s fine,” I say automatically.
Except. I shake my head.
“It’s not fine,” I say aloud for the first time. “I’m sick of it. Always having to prove I’m not who they think I am when the truth is I am who people think I am. I am squirrelly. I do get scared. I’m always expecting the worst thing to happen. I know it annoys everyone. My parents pretend it doesn’t, but I see how they exchange looks. I know what they’re thinking.”
“If you overthink things, so what?” Nora says. “Your over-thinking helped us today.”
I frown. “How?”
“Back in the restricted area. You ran through all sorts of different scenarios, didn’t you? You helped get Hanna and Ruqi to join us from the storage closet.”
“And it was your idea to hide behind the potted plants to figure out our next move undetected,” Hanna points out.
“That’s right.” Feek nods. “There was nothing squirrelly or scaredy-cat about you today. Even if you felt scared while helping, you still helped. You did the brave thing.”
No one is laughing at me. No one’s telling me to buck up and get on with it. Or practice a breathing technique. They’re listening to me. But they’ve only known me a few hours. They don’t know me like the kids in school do. Like Ibrahim. They don’t have the fully Sami story.
“I’m always trying to live up to my brother,” I tell them. “Everyone always goes on and on about him. Including my parents. I was hoping maybe if they saw me in my first competition, they’d see I wasn’t just how they think I am. They’d see there might be other sides to Sami too.”
“Why don’t you just tell your parents you don’t like being seen as something you’re not?” I say, looking at Sami’s face. “My dad just lets me say whatever I feel.”
I don’t want anyone to think I’m boasting about Dad, so I quickly add, “But maybe that’s because my mom’s gone. So he wants to be extra nice.”
When I say that part—to make Sami, Feek, and even Nora feel better about their situations—something hits me.
Even though Dad has to be double the parent, he chooses to be double nice instead of double strict.
I never thought of things that way before.
Like right now I’m sitting here with everyone because I sneaked away when Dad fell asleep at our gate. But I sneaked away knowing that even if he woke up and saw me gone, he’d read the text I sent him—Went to apologize to the other kids for getting them in trouble—and maybe he’d be a little upset, but not enough to come stalking over to get me. He’d be happy I was doing the right thing.
He’d be reasonable.
He lets me be like he let Mom dance.
And I like that.
Maybe he thought he was being reasonable when he tried to get married at MONA. Maybe he thought I’d be happy if he got a new mom for me.
What Nora asked before comes back to me. Is it really terrible if your dad is trying to find you a new mom?
It is terrible.
But Dad doesn’t know I feel that way.
I laugh suddenly, breaking the somber mood that everyone’s in as we’re sitting here thinking of our own problems. “I told you guys to talk to your parents, like it’s so easy, but this whole thing started because I didn’t want to talk to my dad.”
“Why?” Nora asks, leaning forward. “Do you think something will happen if you tell him what you found out? Do you think he’ll get mad?”
“No, he’d never get mad.” I shake my head adamantly. “He’ll just talk about it.”
“It?” Sami asks, confused, before realization dawns in his eyes. “Ohh . . . you mean, a new mom?”
I nod, afraid to speak, because there it is, sadness bubbling inside again.
“So let’s pretend we’re your dad. Just say it to us,” Feek says.
“Yeah, Hanna. You’re looking for this cat all over the airport because you care about her, but what about your own heart?” Nora says. “Imagine it’s a little creature too.”
I stare at Nora.
My heart. That’s the part of me that’s hurting the most, that I’d shoved into hiding . . . but who said she, my heart, wanted to be treated like that?
Sami straightens up and sits tall. “I’ll be Hanna’s dad,” he whispers. Then he turns to me and speaks in a deep voice. “Hanna, did you want to talk to me?”
Even though I’m crying, I laugh through the tears and practice sharing my heart with Sami, Feek, and Nora.
I practice and practice, and then I tell Sami it’s his turn.
Because he’s also shoved his heart aside.
Maybe each one of us has.
But it feels so good to let mine out here in this little space we’ve made between us. And I want them all to feel the same.
“I’m not sure what I’d say to my parents.” I fidget. All eyes are on me again. “It’s not like my parents are wrong. I’m not exactly calm and relaxed.”
“I mean, I stay calm and that works for me,” says Feek. “But you? Even if you’re a little squirrelly, that works for you. So what?”
So what? Feek, with the cool white sneakers and a father who is an honest-to-goodness celebrity, thinks my stressful self is a nonissue? But . . . they’ve only known me a few hours. They don’t know me like people back home do.
“I bet it helps you in karate,” adds Hanna. “Don’t you have to be on your toes to anticipate your opponent?”
“Oh. I guess that’s true,” I say slowly. “My karate friends like it when I overplan. Sensei Madea says I’m his right-hand man.”
“There you go. Who needs those kids who don’t get it?” Feek scoffs. “If they can’t see you for how cool you are, it’s their loss.”
“That’s right.” Nora nods.
I let these words sink in. It’s true they’ve only known me a few hours. But they’ve seen my stressed-out side. And they think I’m just fine—great even. Maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. Instead of trying to prove to everyone I’m like Ibrahim, maybe I should spend more time accepting myself the way I am. There are people who see me, and they like this version of Sami just fine.
“That’s really great that you have friends like that in karate, Sami,” I say. “I pretty much ruined every friendship I have this weekend.”
Sami frowns. “But how? You’ve been here all weekend.” After a pause, it dawns on him. “Oh, the whole NokNok thing?”
I shrug and glance at my phone. “It’s such a big mess, between all my NokNok posts about Snickerdoodle and my birthday being tomorrow—well, I guess it’s today, actually.”
“Nora, it’s your birthday!” Hanna yelps. “Why didn’t you tell us? Happy birthday!”
Feek is quick to bring a finger to his lips, but after he confirms that Ruqi’s sound asleep, Feek and then Sami each whisper their own birthday wishes.
Feek adds, “Man, we should have been the ones getting you a Cinna-Yum.”
I laugh. “The Cinna-Yum was actually part of my disappointment. I was pity-buying myself a cinnamon roll to make up for the Chocolate Garden being closed. And I know you guys probably think that my work on NokNok is all for attention, but I guess some of it’s competition. My two best friends passed me in their follower count, and I got carried away with this whole Snickerdoodle search because it was getting my numbers up. But it all blew up in my face.”
