Flying Over Water Read online

  I didn’t hear any more as they walked away, but I stood frozen behind the bush, my hand aching. The pain only added to the hurt and anger consuming me. I was tired of people blaming all Muslims for the terrible actions of only a few.

  “Did you hear about the competition?” Penny called as she and Daksha hurried toward me.

  Startled, I hid the anger in my face by bending down to pick up the bottle I’d been after.

  “Yeah,” said Daksha. “If you and your partner collect the most trash, you get a prize.”

  I smoothed my features and stood up, a fake smile plastered across my lips. “Really?” I asked, feigning enthusiasm.

  “They’re going to weigh our bags in an hour,” Penny said, scurrying off as she found a couple of biscuit wrappers.

  “Thanks,” I said, and wandered off to look for Lea. The bright colors of the day had been diminished in my eyes. I looked over the now faded blue waters of the bay, back to the students, laughing, joking, and picking up trash together. Could people like Bailey ever change their minds and become true friends? I tried to rub away the pain in my palm, hoping with all my heart that Jordyn was not pretending to be my friend, just because she felt sorry for me.

  When I got home from swim practice, Mom was in the kitchen making chicken fajitas and intently watching the news. “How was practice?” she asked.

  “It was pretty good. Coach has us doing some visualization exercises. We’re supposed to close our eyes and picture ourselves swimming a perfect race.”

  “I think Coach talked to Dr. Kelley about how she can best support you,” Mom said. She reached for the remote and, sighing, turned off the TV. “That’s enough bad news for one day.”

  I leaned against the counter, searching Mom’s face. “Why? What happened?”

  Mom sliced open an avocado to make guacamole. “Nothing here in the US, but there was a terrorist attack in London at the Palace of Westminster.”

  “Was it a bomb?” I asked anxiously.

  Mom shook her head. “A man ran his car into pedestrians on the Westminster Bridge. Several people are dead, and at least fifty people are injured.”

  “Was the man driving the car a Muslim?” I asked, thinking of what Bailey had said. Bryan is dead because of these people.

  “Yes,” Mom said, “but he could just as well have been a Christian. Dylann Roof, who killed African Americans in Charleston, was a member of a Lutheran church.”

  “Did the news anchors explain it that way?” I asked.

  “No,” Mom said. “Not really.”

  The fajitas didn’t smell quite so yummy anymore. “Then kids like Bailey will hear the story and blame all Muslims, even Noura and Ammar.”

  “How are things going for them at school?” Mom asked. “Have they been treated unfairly?”

  “Well, Nick has said a couple of things, but he’s an equal-opportunity jerk. He’s not very nice to anybody.”

  “You have to speak up,” Mom said.

  “I guess, but … I don’t want Nick to bother me either.” I’d never told Mom about Nick’s cartoons, and I wasn’t about to start now. She’d end up calling Mr. Fowler, and I’d have to relive the whole Jordyn’s first bra incident.

  “You look anxious,” Mom said. “Why don’t you lay out our yoga mats, and after dinner, we’ll do a guided meditation?”

  I went for the mats, but I wasn’t sure how yoga could give me the courage to stand up to kids like Nick.

  On Sunday afternoon, I sent Coach a text.

  Me: Swimming with Noura at 2:00 today. She’s still afraid to put her face in the water.

  Coach: Want me to stop by?

  Me: That would be great!

  Coach was waiting for Noura and me with a large plastic cup, a new pair of swim goggles, and a nose clip. “Hi, Noura,” she said. “I’m happy to officially meet the girl who saved the day.”

  Noura shyly smiled. “I did not really save the day.”

  I remembered Noura’s instructions. Pretend you are a bird, flying high in the air, looking down. There is a cold, fresh breeze rushing over you. Now take a deep breath of that cold, refreshing air.

  Coach’s voice brought me back to the present. “Hey, Jordyn, tell me about what you’ve taught Noura so far.”

  I told her about using the kickboard and treading water, but that Noura was terrified to put her face in, and I was worried about messing up and making her even more afraid.

  “Why don’t we all sit by the edge of the pool for a while?” Coach asked, lowering herself down, and then patting the tiles on either side of her.

  Noura and I sat too, dangling our feet in the pool.

  Coach took the plastic cup she’d brought, filled it with water, and poured it over her head.

  “It’s like taking a shower,” I said, watching as Coach poured a second cup over her head. She handed the cup to me. “Jordyn, why don’t you try it?”

  I scooped a cupful of water and let it run down my face.

  “Noura, will you give it a try?” Coach asked. “It’s like Jordyn said, not much different than taking a shower.”

  Noura put a tiny bit of water in the cup, and then peered inside, as if it contained poison.

  “You don’t have to do it,” Coach said. “You have complete control.”

  Noura closed her eyes, puckered her face, and splashed herself.

  Coach grinned at me, while Noura sputtered and shook like a bird drying its feathers.

  “Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?” Coach asked Noura.

  “Yes, I have a little brother named Ismail,” Noura said.

  “When I teach toddlers to swim, I teach them to make balloon faces,” Coach said. “Like this.” She took a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and then slowly blew the air out. “Now, you guys try it.”

  Giggling, Noura and I made funny balloon faces at each other.

  “Jordyn, your cheeks look as round as an apple!” Noura said.

  I sucked in my deepest breath yet and then released it. “I’m imitating a puffer fish!”

  Coach slid from the side of the pool into the water. “Watch me. I’m going to take a balloon breath, keep my mouth closed, and get my chin wet.”

  After watching Coach and me get our chins wet, Noura did the same.

  “The next step is a tiny bit harder,” Coach said. “I want you to take a balloon breath, hold your nose closed with your thumb and index finger, close your eyes, and slide under the water.”

  “I am not ready.”

  “That’s perfectly fine,” Coach said. “I’ve seen it take kids as many as ten swim lessons before they were comfortable going underwater.”

  “You do not think I’m hopeless?” Noura asked.

  “No,” Coach said. “Not at all. What I want you to do is keep practicing every week with Jordyn until you’re comfortable. After she teaches you to float facedown, I’ll come back and work with you again.”

  “Wait,” Noura said. She stood for a moment, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. We gave her space. When she opened her eyes again, Noura looked more centered … more in control. “I am remembering Dr. Barakat’s words. When I truly focus, I can accomplish anything.” Noura quickly took a balloon breath, held her nose, and slid underwater!

  When she surfaced, Coach and I were cheering, but Noura’s bottom lip trembled. I didn’t understand why until I noticed two eighth-grade girls, Carter and Maria, flicking water in each other’s faces and shuddering the same way Noura had.

  I stared at my shriveled toes, not wanting to cause trouble, but then I remembered what Mom had said. Have they been treated unfairly? You have to speak up. I hadn’t stood up to Nick about the cartoon, but now I had a second chance. As we got out of the water, I whispered, “Coach, could I talk to you in private for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  We walked a couple steps away from Noura, wrapping towels around ourselves, and I said in a low voice, “Carter and Maria are over there making fun of Noura,
and I heard them whispering about her burkini in the locker room.”

  Coach’s eyes narrowed as she turned to watch them.

  I felt really bad for Noura. She had her arms crossed over her chest, like she was giving herself a hug.

  Coach marched over and peered into Noura’s eyes. “Will you trust me to take care of those girls? It’s harder to mistreat people you know, and I’d like to introduce Carter and Maria to you.”

  Noura pressed her lips together and muttered so low I had to bend down to hear her. “It happens all the time.” My eyes widened, but before I could ask her more, she turned to Coach. “Yes, I trust you.”

  After Coach walked away, Noura asked, “Jordyn, are you my friend just because you feel sorry for me?”

  “What? No! Of course not. Why would you even think such a thing?”

  Noura shivered and looked away. “I overheard you talking to Bailey at the coastal cleanup.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry about what Bailey said, but I told her she was wrong. Noura, look at me. I’m your friend because I like talking to you. You understand about my anxiety better than anyone. Remember how you taught me to breathe?”

  A tiny smile snuck across Noura’s face. “Yes, I remember. I played a small part in helping conquer your fear, and now, you will help conquer mine, by teaching me to float.”

  A few minutes later, Coach returned with Carter and Maria trailing behind her. “I think you girls know Jordyn, but I wanted to introduce you to our friend Noura. She’s new here in Tampa. Noura, meet Carter and Maria.”

  Carter stared at her feet and mumbled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Maria shook her dark hair into her eyes. “Yeah, nice to meet you.”

  “Since Noura is new here, she needs friends,” Coach said. “I’m hoping I can count on the two of you to be among them.”

  I smiled, almost feeling sorry for Carter and Maria. I didn’t think they would be making fun of Noura again any time soon, but I knew some kids wouldn’t be so open-minded and nice, even after a lecture from Coach. As Noura said, it happens all the time.

  Be careful today. Baba’s words echoed in my head as we hurried to school early that morning. I’d asked him why, but he’d just said that after the fire at the mosque and other stuff going on, it was good to be aware of our surroundings.

  But Baba didn’t have to spell it out for me. Lubna had told me earlier that week, a girl’s hijab had been torn off by a group of boys at a bus stop. They’d harassed her and told her to go back to her country. Similar incidents around the US had caused many Muslims to wonder whether girls should stop wearing hijabs for a while. Mama and Baba had talked to Imam Ibrahim about it and gotten guidance that we should do what was best for our family. Though Mama and I decided to keep wearing our scarves, Baba and Ammar had shared a certain look I recognized well: We must keep the family safe.

  Mr. Fowler had asked us to bring in our projects early so that we’d be ready to present on Friday. So, I lugged a bag weighed down with sections of Ammar’s project, while he carefully balanced his precious model. The mosque was light, but big and bulky, its minaret jutting up, making it awkward to carry. Ammar looked anxious, and I was a little worried about him. As the day of our presentation loomed closer, he grew more and more nervous. I’d helped him practice in front of the bathroom mirror, and when he relaxed, it was really, really good.

  “Walk slower,” grumbled Ammar. He lagged behind me on the sidewalk since he could barely see over the top of his model.

  “Sorry,” I said, slowing down. “Do you want some help?”

  “Just tell me if I’m going to hit something,” he said.

  “Okay. We should be there in less than ten minutes. Not many kids will be at school this early in the morning.”

  As I walked along in the bright sunshine, a pair of pale gray pigeons swooped down over me, startled by a falcon flying overhead. One whirled low and grazed my hijab, setting it askew.

  “You okay?” Ammar asked, laughing as he moved out of the way to avoid them.

  “Hah!” I grumbled. “Even the birds have an opinion about my scarf.”

  That got a smile out of him and we walked on. But it got me wondering. What would drive someone to harass a harmless girl wearing a hijab? It would probably be the same type of person who’d set fire to a mosque or a church. Or worse … kill people. I sighed, the sunshine losing some of its brilliance. Perhaps it shouldn’t amaze me so much. I’d seen such hatred and anger before, on the streets of Aleppo.

  Neighbors and friends had turned on each other during the Syrian War. Of course, some of the tensions between the different groups—tribes, ethnic communities, Christians and Muslims—had always been there, but they were stoked into hatred by President Bashar and his father. They’d learned to keep power over the country by playing one group against the other. Divide and conquer, Baba called it. When you divide the unity and strength of a people, you can destroy them because they are too busy fighting one another.

  I had thought America would be different. It was a country where immigrants had traveled from all over the world to become citizens, like Mr. Fowler said. But as we’d seen from the nightly news, there were tensions among the different racial groups and religious communities. The president had declared the Muslim ban and was building a wall to keep out other immigrants. There were protests where people carried signs declaring, BLACK LIVES MATTER. It bothered me that a group of people had to march on the street to demand that their very lives mattered. I sighed. Life was complex. After living through a civil war, I at least knew that much.

  Up ahead, I could see the steps leading to the school. “We’re nearly there,” I called out to Ammar.

  “Good,” he grumbled. “My arms are killing me.”

  I glanced back at him to see how he was doing and spotted a sleek black Mercedes. As Ammar and I veered right, up the brick path that led to the steps and main entrance, it passed by us and stopped in front of the school.

  “Ammar, the front steps are coming up,” I instructed.

  “Okay,” he responded, peering around the model to gauge the distance.

  I heard the car door open and then slam shut again, and a roar as the Mercedes drove off. I took one step at a time, keeping to Ammar’s right so that I stayed out of his way. Footsteps approached from behind as we climbed.

  Before I could tell Ammar to be careful, the boy leapt up the steps, two at a time. It was Alexander, Lea’s cousin, and he had a smirk on his face.

  “Be careful,” I called out, irritated by the way he was crowding us.

  Alexander frowned and gave me a cold stare. Instead of slowing or shifting away, he jumped on the step directly behind Ammar.

  Confused, Ammar stopped, his model teetering in his hands. Alexander surged forward, his elbow ramming into Ammar’s side.

  “Oof,” Ammar cried out, in surprise and pain.

  I dropped my bag and tried to help him. But it was too late. The model slid from Ammar’s hands. And like watching a movie in slow motion, it crashed onto the concrete steps with a sickening crunch. The front of the mosque smashed while the minaret snapped in two.

  “Oh, so sorry about that,” said Alexander with a laugh, then disappeared through the front door.

  I didn’t have the words that would put Ammar’s model back together or make him feel better. So, I just sat with him in the prayer room, lunch forgotten since neither of us had much of an appetite.

  After the accident, which had put Ammar in a fighting mood, we’d left the model, or what remained of it, on the table Mr. Fowler had set up for our presentations. Later, during social studies class, knowing looks had passed between the kids; the story was out about Alexander laughing at the accident. When I spotted Nick examining the ruined model, I thought I saw a pained look on his face. An artist viewing another’s work. When Ammar had caught him staring, Nick had quickly averted his gaze.

  As I sat in the quiet prayer room, memories tumbled back of our apartment in Aleppo bef
ore it had been destroyed. We’d huddled quietly in the dark, trying to listen to stories and poems Mama read to us by candlelight, blocking out the echoes of bombs, mortar, and gunfire in the distance. Shrugging off the old, best-forgotten thoughts, my eyes wandered across the small room, once again amazed at how much it had been transformed.

  A row of cheerful paper flowers had been “planted” beside Penny’s towering trees, their three-dimensional branches growing out of the wall, touching the ceiling. Many kids, some we didn’t even know, had added all sorts of odds and ends: snowflake cutouts, cheery red-striped curtains over the window, and even soft cushions that you could use during meditation. Daksha had added a banner with the word COEXIST where the C was a Muslim crescent, the O a Hindu om, the E a combination of the male and female symbols, the X a Star of David, the I had a pentagram instead of a dot, the S a yin-yang symbol, and for the T, a Christian cross.

  As we sat in the corner, a tall African American boy slipped inside, leaving his shoes at the door. He took a spot in front, facing the qibla, and started to pray. It was Malik, one of Lubna’s classmates. He usually kept to himself, prayed, and left. But today he gave Ammar a fist bump and a nod before leaving.

  “Hey,” said Joel, appearing at Ammar’s side. “I heard what happened. That really sucks.”

  Ammar nodded. Joel sat next to him, not making any conversation, just sitting in solidarity. Penny arrived. She stood next to the row of trees, closed her eyes, and raised her arms to the ceiling, where someone had hung a series of stars covered in foil. As usual, she stood while meditating. Other kids trickled in: Lubna and her blue-haired friend, Daksha and Lea. Some sat meditating; others read quietly, nestled against the cushions. Soon the room was filled with warmth, and a feeling of oneness settled over us.

  Before I had the chance to miss her, Jordyn walked in and sat beside me, a look of sadness and confusion on her face. “I can’t believe Alexander was such a jerk,” she whispered.

  I sighed. “I still can’t figure out whether he pushed Ammar on purpose or whether it was an accident.”