After the last bell, I head to the school parking lot, my bones still aching with the silence. I’ve changed my list of ideas to a trade log, but all it shows is my mistake: iPod (broken). Kids jostle me in the hallway, but I just absorb the hits and nudges.
When I step into the mid-afternoon sun, Dan squeezes between me and the door and grabs my backpack to pull me outside, free of the crush.
“What’d Pete do?” he says.
“Nothing,” I answer automatically. I’m ready to shrug it off and slip away. I don’t want any trouble. I don’t want to ask for any help. People like Peter just get worse if you try to stand up to them. And people rarely help without expecting something in return.
Dan shakes his head. “No way he actually traded an iPod for that key chain, even if it is from Europe.”
My phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket. “Sorry—just a minute.”
It’s a text from Baba: Working late. Will bring home dinner, inshallah.
He’s used a chicken-leg icon. I taught him how to find the emojis during a downpour in Athens, to distract him from worrying that the moisture in our cheap hostel room would warp the rebab’s wood.
Baba and the rebab. I promised myself I’d get it back. Dan might know how to help—he did find the rebab again in the first place—and even if he does want something in return, so what? I’m at a dead end.
I take a deep breath. “Peter’s iPod is broken,” I say, reaching for it. “At least, I think it is. It won’t turn on.”
“What a loser. Here, give it.” Dan takes a rectangular portable charger and a white cord from his backpack. He plugs in the iPod. “This should work.”
We both lean closer, watching for any sign of life.
The iPod does nothing. How could I have been so stupid?
“Sometimes, if it’s really, really, really low, it takes a half hour to work again,” Dan says. When he glances at me, he’s trying to hide a smile—and failing. “I guess you’ll just have to come to soccer practice. I’ll leave it hooked up in my backpack, and it’ll be charged by the end.”
“Oh.” I fidget with my backpack straps. I mostly want to retreat to my apartment. But a part of me is actually sort of curious. I haven’t played soccer in so long. And I do need the iPod to charge.
“Okay,” I say, but it comes out hesitant and weak. I clear my throat. With more certainty this time: “Okay.”
* * *
“Come on,” Dan calls, waving me into the rec center’s courtyard. “It’s going to be awesome!”
My hand closed around the scar on my arm, I slip through the gate without lifting my gaze to the razor wire. Even under my sleeves, I can trace the long, puckered groove. The wire snagged my skin at the Iran border, and to keep silent, I bit my lip so hard it bled. When Baba touched my arm in the dark, he thought I had spilled water on myself. He didn’t even realize I had been cut until morning.
Teenagers play American football on the tarmac, not paying us any notice. I peel my fingers off the scar and hurry to catch up with Dan.
“Do you think Ms. Nolan has a mustache?” Dan asks suddenly, spinning around so he’s walking backward. He sticks a finger under his nose to demonstrate.
“I—um— No?” To be honest, I haven’t looked our language arts teacher directly in the eyes since I came to the school.
Dan sighs and lets his hand fall. “I think she does. I can’t stop thinking about it. If I fail the year-end tests, it’ll be because her mustache was so distracting.”
Mention of the tests makes my empty stomach turn. The agency said I have some flexibility, since I only just transferred. But they also said I scored on target with the students my age, and I don’t want to be held back a year. I don’t want to stick out as the oldest in class.
“Only twelve days left!” Dan grabs the front door and throws it open. “Then we’re free!”
I barely catch its handle before it starts to swing shut. Free. There are a lot worse places to be trapped than in a school. But I didn’t know that a few years ago, when I used to complain to Mor about classes. So I’m not surprised Dan thinks that way now.
A bell chirps when we walk into the rec center’s lobby. The light from the windows reflects off the white walls, making the space airy and bright. Somewhere people must be running, because I can hear sneakers squeaking on a polished floor. Upbeat music plays quietly in the background.
“Hello!” calls the lady behind the desk, cutting off a conversation she was having with a tall man. Her skin is paler than the photoshopped advertisements in Kabul. “How are you today, Dan?”
“Pretty well, Juniper. Hi, Coach.” Dan grabs a clipboard and scribbles something down.
“Hey, Dan. You’re on time, which probably means I’m late.” The man straightens from leaning on the desk and pulls his gym bag out of the way. His voice dips with an accent in a way that makes me think of hot summers and brown fields. I might have heard that sort of voice before in the camps. East African, maybe? “It was nice talking to you, Juniper.”
“Have a good practice,” she says, clicking the pen in her hand about ten times before she puts it down. Pushing her red hair behind her ear, she turns to me. “Hi there. Who are you?”
“Sami,” I answer, approaching the desk.
Dan passes me the clipboard. “He’s gonna join my team.”
Coach lifts his bag’s strap onto his shoulder, but something heavy inside shifts, and a few magazines tumble onto the floor. The covers are all animated characters punching each other or jumping off planes.
Miss Juniper stands. “What—”
“Oh, da—” Coach starts to say, but cuts himself off. Kneeling to grab the magazines, he adds quickly, “It’s fine—I’ve got it.”
Dan’s already scooping them up. He pauses to examine each of the covers, his grin getting wider and wider. I stand aside, still holding the clipboard.
“I didn’t know you had Game Informer!” Dan exclaims, lifting a magazine with a boy in a green costume wielding a sword. “That’s, like, my favorite.”
“Yeah, it’s cool.” Coach takes Dan’s gatherings. They start to slip when he grabs his bag, and he shifts them against his chest awkwardly. Laughing, his ears red under his dark skin, he says, “See you inside. Bye, Juniper.”
“Bye!” Miss Juniper sits again, tugging on the chain of her necklace.
I look back down at the clipboard. Dan’s written his name and the time we arrived, so I copy him and add mine. Under a column labeled Activities, Dan’s written SOCCER.
“I wish I could get Game Informer,” Dan tells Miss Juniper. “My dad used to give me his old copies when he was done with them. So cool. Oh, just write soccer there, Sami.”
“You know,” Miss Juniper says, “we do have tutors who could help you prep for your tests, and even some music programs…”
“No,” Dan says, flat and blunt. “Just. Soccer.”
She shakes her head but laughs. “Okay, okay. Your friend might want to try some other things, though, so I just thought I’d put it out there. Is he your new offense?”
“Yeah, looks like Pete’s detention-bound for the rest of the school year.”
I stop writing. Peter. Pete. The boy who traded me the broken iPod is the same boy who sold the bracelet and did the graffiti. So he’s stuck in detention while I’m playing on his soccer team. No wonder he hates me. No wonder the trade backfired.
When I pass the clipboard back to Miss Juniper, her necklace flashes in the sunlight. It’s gold with a charm at the end.
No, not a charm. It’s a twenty-cent euro coin.
I didn’t know people here made coins into jewelry. Miss Juniper has other things on her desk, too—her pencil holder is a cup with a map on it, her mouse pad shows the Eiffel Tower, and a travel book with pages marked by colorful tabs sits next to her keyboard.
“Okay, you’re good to go!” Miss Juniper says. “Have fun! Sami, come see me after practice and I’ll have a few forms for you to give your parents.”
“All right.” I don’t point out that I have no parents. My head’s still whirling at the sight of her necklace.
“Thanks!” Dan takes off down the hallway, and I have to run to catch up with him.
But I don’t mind. For a second, I forget about the failure of my first trade.
Because Miss Juniper wants to travel, and I have currency.
TRADE LOG
Days: 26
THINGS TO TRADE:
iPod (broken)
Coins—Afghanis: 2, Iranian rial: 1, euros (Turkey and Greece): 5 (Miss Juniper?)
COMPLETED TRADES:
1. Manchester United key chain -> iPod