“WHY DO YOU have to go to the school today?” his father asked, coming into the kitchen. Rashid had hoped to get out of the house before his father had gotten home from the hospital. So much for that idea. “Your classes do not start for another week.”
Rashid hefted the bag he had slung over his shoulder and explained, “I need a new school ID, Father.”
“What happened to your old one?” His father looked at him with a frown.
“I lost it when we were visiting with Sitto last month.” Technically, that was true. Although Rashid knew his words implied that he had accidentally left his ID behind at his grandmother’s in Palestine. “The office is open for new students to get IDs. I thought I should do it now instead of waiting until school starts.”
His father nodded, then glanced at the kitchen clock. “Will you be back by the start of Dhuhr?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I can call and see if the office will be open during the afternoon. If you wait, we can pray together, and then maybe you can take your sister. It would be good for her to see the school without so many people. It’ll help her get used to the idea of going there next year. You could introduce her to some of your friends.”
His sister already knew most of his friends, since they either lived nearby or went to mosque together. The others . . .
His father thought he understood what it was like for Rashid at school, but he had no idea. He didn’t listen. Or maybe Rashid’s cousins in Palestine were right, and it was Rashid’s fault he didn’t completely fit in, because he did not know who he was or what he wanted.
A few years ago, he would have brought his sister with him to school. But that was then. Now . . . so much had changed. He was different. His sister certainly was, and his friends . . . They all still enjoyed the comics and building robots, which held their friendships together. But Rashid could tell there were other things—like the facial hair that he had started growing earlier than anyone else in his class, and the adherence to his faith that prevented him from shaving it—that were creating an invisible wall between them.
He bit back the anger that seemed harder and harder to keep hidden and respectfully said, “Next time. I don’t know who will be there, and I don’t want her to have a bad experience.”
It was hard enough for Rashid to fit in, especially now. He didn’t want to bring Arissa. The hijab made her stand out even more than his untrimmed beard did. But Arissa didn’t seem to mind wearing it. More than once, she said that she liked the attention the hijab brought, and it helped her know exactly who her friends were. The hijab signaled who she was and that she was proud of her heritage. She said if people didn’t like it, they could just get out of her way.
Rashid wondered if it wasn’t easier for her because the hijab was so obvious and its meaning so clear. Since some of the other students chose to grow beards and mustaches, his own beard was sometimes interpreted as a personal choice instead of a mandate of faith. But it often raised questions he could see in people’s eyes that never got spoken aloud—not even by his friends. If he had been braver, he might just have sat down and talked to his friends about it and helped them understand. Instead, he let the silences get longer.
Now he felt he had only one option open to him.
“I should probably go now so I don’t have to stand in line all day,” Rashid said, feeling the weight of the bag pulling on his shoulder. “I will pray at school.” There were plenty of empty classrooms. Since it wasn’t a school day, he wouldn’t have to worry about people making fun of him washing in the bathroom first. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
His father smiled. “No need to rush. If you see people you know, you should spend time with them. You haven’t had the chance to see any of your friends this summer. The best life has balance. Maybe while you’re at school, you can see if there are any new clubs you’d like to join, although I still think you should take photos for the yearbook. The pictures you took this summer are very good.”
“I’ll look into it,” Rashid said, knowing he wouldn’t. He had other things to do. He just hoped his father would be able to understand.
“Good.” His father patted him on the arm and frowned. “Why are you taking your school bag?”
Rashid smiled to hide his nerves. “I’m bringing some notebooks and comic books and a couple of other things to put in my locker so I don’t have to bring everything on the first day. I like having stuff to read in study hall.”
He also read when his friends were late for lunch, to avoid drawing the attention of some of the football players, who liked to harass him.
“Using extra time for study is always good.” His father patted him on the arm again. “Do you have your Koran?”
“No,” Rashid said, shifting toward the door. “I’m leaving it here. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait a second.” His father disappeared out of the kitchen and returned holding a thick paperback that Rashid had no choice but to take. “You might be glad to have it at school with you.”
Rashid forced himself to thank his father, but he couldn’t meet his eyes as he walked out the door. He put the book in the bag and headed to school, still trying to decide if he was going to go through with his plan.
Was this really the time to draw the line in the sand?
He thought about the names he’d been called last year and how uncomfortable his non-Muslim friends looked when they pretended that they were all the same. That nothing had changed.
He wished nothing had changed. More than anything, he wanted to turn back the clock to before the beard and the suspicion it brought into focus. Things had already been hard then, but they had been better.
Hitching the bag so that the weight was better distributed, Rashid frowned and started walking faster. If he was going to change things, he had to do it today. He only hoped that he had the courage to do what needed to be done.