CHAPTER 3
MAKING A PLAN

When they got home, Yasmin went outside to practice. The first thing her dad had done when they’d moved was install a hoop over their garage, and Yasmin used it every chance she could.

She launched into her layups—first, two-foot layups, planting her feet right, getting enough balance and power to explode upward toward the basket. Again and again and again, trying to blow off steam.

Her rage coursed through her as she burst upward to shoot, keeping her form solid. She moved into one-foot layups, keeping her right hand and right leg in smooth motion.

Usually shooting baskets helped center her. It helped her stop focusing on problems and start working toward solutions. It wasn’t working for her now, though. She shot again and again, but it wasn’t making her feel a whole lot better. She just wanted to punch something.

She started practicing dribbling instead. She worked on her footwork, her pivots, crab dribbles, step back and sidestep, between cross, retreating. Then she started freestyling, fast as she could, the ball thwacking the concrete driveway.

She stopped, panting and sweating. It was the only time she could remember when shooting hoops didn’t help calm her down.

She went back inside, up to her room, and closed the door. She paced back and forth across her floor. Kelly’s words just kept running through her head. The sting wouldn’t go away.

She’d never been so angry—or so shaken—in her whole life.

She decided to video chat her best friend, Louise. Louise was back home in Houston, where Yasmin should be.

Louise hadn’t seen Yasmin cry that often, but Yasmin started crying as soon as her friend picked up the phone. Louise was sitting in her familiar bedroom with the pink plaid curtains and the orange palm tree lamp. Just two weeks ago, Yasmin had been with her, eating popcorn in that bedroom.

“Yasmin! What’s wrong?” Louise exclaimed. “Did you lose a game?”

“No!” Yasmin sniffled. “I’ve never cried because of a game.”

“Then what is it?” Louise asked. “Did you get in a fight with your parents? Are you having problems making friends?”

“No, nothing like that.” Yasmin shook her head. She caught her breath and calmed herself down. Finally, she said, “This girl said something racist to me today. And Mom said some people at the hospital were weird to her already too. I hate this place. I want to come home.”

Louise listened to her talk for more than fifteen minutes.

“I wish you could come home too,” Louise said finally. “We miss you. The team’s not the same without Three-Point Jones.”

Yasmin smiled.

“But since I’m pretty sure you are stuck living there, you’ll have to show them they can’t mess with you,” Louise said.

“I will,” Yasmin said.

By the time Yasmin got off the phone, half of her felt better. The other half felt worse.

There was a knock, and her dad poked his head into her room. “Come on down and eat, Yasmin. Mom told me what happened.”

Reluctantly she went downstairs. She doubted her parents would really understand how she was feeling. She sat down and started picking at the casserole Dad had made, not wanting to eat. Her parents both looked tired and worried.

“I hate this place,” Yasmin announced. “I want to leave.”

“I’m sorry about what you experienced, honey,” Dad said. He was trying to hide it, but he looked almost guilty, like he knew if it weren’t for his job she wouldn’t be going through this.

Yasmin had all kinds of new, unfamiliar thoughts running through her head.

“No one would ever talk to you like that,” she told him.

Her dad’s skin was pale. People never treated him differently because of how he looked—he fit in everywhere. She glanced over at her mom, who had deep brown skin. Then, Yasmin studied her own hand. Her skin color was somewhere between both her parents’ colors, but she was definitely brown. There was no way anyone would ever think she was white.

She hated that she was having all these thoughts. But one of them popped out before she could stop herself.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “There’s this kid named Darius in my grade. His dad’s from Iraq and his mom’s white. But his skin is lighter than mine. He pretty much looks white. No one talks about him. At least, I’ve never heard anything in the month I’ve been there.”

Her mom looked more and more upset. “Your skin is lovely the way it is,” she said. “And you never know how people’s skin will turn out when you have mixed races.” She sighed. “Yasmin, we want to help you come up with strategies for dealing with this.”

“How about moving back to Houston?” Yasmin said.

Her dad shook his head. “We’re going to give this place a shot, at least. I don’t think leaving is a reasonable solution,” he said. “But if you run into someone who’s ignorant about race, we want to help you be prepared to get through it. You’re not alone with this.”

“Also remember that so far, it’s only been one ignorant girl,” her mom said. “Most of the other kids likely don’t feel that way.”

“They might,” Yasmin said glumly. “Maybe they just aren’t as rude as Kelly, so they don’t say it to my face.”

“She shouldn’t be saying things like that to anyone, even if she doesn’t know any better,” her mom said.

Yasmin picked at her food. “No one would believe that she said it. She’s perfect.”

“She’s clearly not perfect if she’s treating other students that way,” her dad said. “I’m going up to the school to talk to your teachers tomorrow.”

“No!” Yasmin shouted. “You can’t do that!”

Her dad put his napkin down. “Why not?”

“Because then everyone will hate me, for sure!” Yasmin sat up straighter. “Please, Dad. Just let me deal with it.”

Her parents looked at each other.

“All right—for now. If it happens again, we’re going up there, though,” her mom said. “No one should be treating you that way.”

Yasmin nodded. She managed to swallow a few bites of food, then went upstairs and got ready for bed. She crawled under her covers, but she couldn’t fall asleep right away. Usually, right before she went to sleep, she’d have good thoughts. She’d think about the game and her friends and what she was going to do that weekend.

Tonight, all she could think about was whether the same thing would happen tomorrow and if the other kids felt like Kelly did.

Louise’s voice rang through her head: You’ll have to show them they can’t mess with you.

I will show them, Yasmin decided. It was the only way she could take care of this by herself. She’d prove to Kelly—and all the other kids who thought like her—that they couldn’t bring her down.

She finally felt a little better. She fell asleep with her fists curled up.