Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero: Chapters 7–12

She wore a yellow cotton sari, and her brilliant white hair was tied into a straggly bun at the nape of her neck.

She wore a yellow cotton sari, and her brilliant white hair was tied into a straggly bun at the nape of her neck.

Danial’s face resembled a thundercloud, but Yusuf ignored him. “It’s a pretty sweet prize,” he told Cameron with a coaxing smile. “Cash. Video games. A laptop.”

It was a weekly ritual. The church people ended their Sunday services at exactly twelve noon, and by twelve thirty they made their way slowly in twos and threes down the street, past the construction site. Only a few came in cars that they parked on the side of the road.

Yusuf swallowed the bile rising up in his throat. It didn’t help that he could taste cinnamon.

“Someone wrote it about me,” he finally admitted, hanging his head. Danial looked aghast. He handed over the paper hastily, as if it was contaminated with a horrible disease. “Sorry.”

“Someone wrote it about me,” he finally admitted, hanging his head. Danial looked aghast. He handed over the paper hastily, as if it was contaminated with a horrible disease. “Sorry.”

Miss Terrance handed out class copies of Ancient Civilizations and worksheets full of comprehension questions.

Jared leaned over as soon as Miss Terrance went back to her work. “You okay?” He had a raspy voice, so low it was almost a whisper.

“That’s a conspiracy theory,” Yusuf told him. TNN was always full of people with conspiracy theories.

A big blue backpack that seemed to be stuffed with bricks hit Yusuf in the head. His breath whooshed out of him. He looked up. A chest covered in plaid. Big shoulders. A bushel of curly blond hair on a very white face. Or rather, angry pink.
“Ow, sorry!” Yusuf stammered. His head felt tender.

Ethan turned around and looked at the row of lockers on either side of them. “How come you’re carrying all your stuff? Which one’s your locker?” He gave Yusuf a mocking look. “Let me guess. It’s all the way near the gym.”

“Give me some examples of robots in the real world.”
“The assembly line for car manufacturers,” Yusuf replied, remembering the documentary from last week.
“Yup. What else?”
They all thought about this. Finally Tony the seventh grader raised his hand. “Bionic legs for disabled people.”

Miss Terrance was ready for a discussion in social studies class. She stood with hands on her hips, legs spread slightly apart so that they looked like two tall buildings teetering on the spindly foundations of her heels.

Miss Terrance was ready for a discussion in social studies class. She stood with hands on her hips, legs spread slightly apart so that they looked like two tall buildings teetering on the spindly foundations of her heels.

A boy with wispy red hair raised his hand. “It was Arab terrorists. Like him.”
Yusuf felt the hair on his neck rise in protest. “Like me?” he squeaked.

At lunch, Danial talked nonstop about his morning. “Everyone was so mean, you can’t even believe it. They were chanting ‘Never forget!’ like it was a fight song or something.”
“In class?” Yusuf looked skeptical.

Danial shook his head. “My dad says it’s always just below the surface, waiting to boil over.”
“The graffiti was just the catalyst,” Yusuf whispered.

Ethan leaned back, away from Yusuf and Danial. He gave them a serious look, then said, “Catch you later,” and sauntered away to join Cameron.

“He’s being too modest,” protested Danial. “He once created a robot that brought us juice boxes from my mom’s fridge while we watched TV.”

A flowchart was basically a visual algorithm, and he could never get enough of those.

The door smashed open, startling them all. Cameron sauntered in, hands in pockets, a lopsided grin on his face. “Perfect timing!” he remarked. “I’m here to join the club.”

Friday prayers were offered in congregation in the trailer behind Abba’s dollar store, as always.

It was sweltering hot, but Abba insisted they stay inside.

Danial’s father gave a short sermon about Prophet Abraham, the father of the three monotheistic religions.

Yusuf looked longingly at the closed trailer door and blinked back the sweat from his eyes.
Mr. Khan droned on.

Danial shrugged without opening his eyes. “Your problem is that you take everything literally. Maybe God sent down rain or something. Lots of things in the Quran are metaphorical.”

“So you’ll think about it?” Yusuf asked, trying to squelch the hope that was rising in his chest.
“I’ll think about it.”

Amma ate some more fries, chewing on them thoughtfully. Her face was dark, her eyes downcast.

They got back to Frey at five thirty, the back seat of the car full of boxes for Abba. Mr. Khan was waiting for them at the dollar store with Danial. “Can’t believe we have to spectate such a violent sport,” Danial said to him dismally.

“What took you so long? The game has almost started!” Sameena Aunty reprimanded them, patting a hand over her bright pink hijab.

Coach Henderson was big and stocky, his dark hair and skin shining with sweat.

The crowd clapped and hooted as the team ran onto the field in a line. Ethan’s tall, menacing frame was unmistakable. He led the team proudly, holding his helmet under his right arm.

They passed around a copy of the Houston Chronicle. “Assault on America” was the headline in red. Then a picture of the Twin Towers, still standing, smoke billowing out. The next line was even more sinister: “Terror Hits Home.”

They passed around a copy of the Houston Chronicle. “Assault on America” was the headline in red. Then a picture of the Twin Towers, still standing, smoke billowing out. The next line was even more sinister: “Terror Hits Home.”