Zara's Rules for Record-Breaking Fun: Chapters 5–11

“You know, preseason doesn’t count,” Nana Abu says as he shuffles over to the sofa and switches on the TV, with the volume turned up extra loud.

And yet somehow they both know how many yards make a first down and what “pass interference” is, better than me.

“Why do you look so glum? Don’t you want some food?”

I don’t want to mention Naomi and the cool tub, so instead I open the bag of books and rifle through them.

I gawk at a photo of a man holding the record for the longest toenails in the world.

His nails are gnarled and twisted like the roots of a tree.

As they flash his photo onto the screen, they discuss all the records he holds and how he dominates his position.

She told me I was doing a “great job,” but the way she said it through gritted teeth made it seem like she didn’t mean it.

Last time I went, we came back with a car full of lamb chops, halal bologna, a huge box of dates, Ramadan decorations, and a jumbo Arabic alphabet floor puzzle.

“Why don’t you show us a few steps?” Mama asks.
I know how much my grandparents like to see us perform, so I stand extra tall, extend my arms, and demonstrate the shuffle hop step.

“Where?” Naano asks with a grimace. “Not in here, right?”

“How about the garage? You can put down that big piece of cardboard and tap on that?” Mama suggests. “That way you’ll muffle the sound and not disturb anyone, but you’ll still hear a tap.”

Zayd is in the other room playing with an electronic toy garbage truck. It’s making high-pitched beeps alternating with fake trash-grinding sounds.

He’s disturbing everyone way more than me, but as usual Naano doesn’t mind his noise. I swallow the bitter feeling rising inside me and tap my way over to the garage door.

Zayd returns with half a glass of lukewarm water and a bendy straw.

The straw almost goes up my nose, and as I sip, I start to cough and sputter.

I feel a slight pang of guilt for hiding my goal of breaking the world record.

“We could, if you want. But I was thinking we could make a clubhouse.”
“A clubhouse?” Gloria sounds intrigued.

“How dirty is it?” Jade wavers. “It sounds like a lot of work.”

I watch with dread as more drops fall onto my art.

I stare outside through the window as all my hard work washes into the gutters, along with my hopes of breaking the record.

Then we drape a bunch of colorful shawls and long printed scarves, abandoned from Mama’s old shalwar kameez collection, over the tops.

Then we drape a bunch of colorful shawls and long printed scarves, abandoned from Mama’s old shalwar kameez collection, over the tops.

“Gross, Zayd! I would never do that. Come on, help me think of something I can do for real. What are some things that I’m good at?”
Zayd is silent as he thinks. And thinks. When he frowns like he’s completely stumped, I feel my cheeks heat up.

Now Naano is making chutney to go with them, with some of the mint Mama planted on the side of the house. Zayd picked a bunch of it for her before he left with Baba for his swimming lesson, and she blended the fresh leaves with chili peppers and tomatoes. It’s so spicy, she keeps smacking her lips and saying “Whoo!” when she tastes it.

I skip the watery green chutney, douse my kabobs with ketchup, and grab my hoop when I’m done eating.

Once I’m on the driveway, I set up my water bottle,
turn on some upbeat bhangra music, start my timer, and then begin to Hula-Hoop.

I’m determined to go for six hours without stopping and can already see the headlines: ALMOST-11-YEAR-OLD HULA-HOOPS FOR SIX HOURS, BREAKS RECORD, AND ENTERS HALL OF FAME.

She peers into my face as closely as she can without bumping into the Hula-Hoop that’s still rotating around me.

“Do you want your water?” Melvin tries to be helpful right away.
“Sure,” I say, as Melvin stretches out his tiny arm and gingerly hands me the squeeze bottle.

“I’m good,” I say, trying to act casual even though their conversation is making my thoughts start to swirl.

“Zayd ruined everything!" I fume, and stomp into the kitchen.

“He ran into you? On purpose?” Baba’s face is stern, and he crosses his arms.

But after all the shawls and blankets are in a heap on the floor, and I see our stash of books, flashlights, and Zayd’s emergency toys, I only feel worse.

“Are you sure? Because a whole bunch of people upstairs warned me not to come down here. One of them had all this snot on his face from crying. It was pretty disgusting.”
I assume he’s talking about Zayd.