Amina's Voice by Hena Khan

Author:Hena Khan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salaam Reads / Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

13

After dinner, as I sit on my piano bench and start to practice, my mind wanders back to the ride home from the Islamic Center. Baba was filling Thaya Jaan in on plans for the carnival and how he was inviting local churches, synagogues, temples, and interfaith organizations to attend. I wondered if Soojin’s Korean church would participate again this year and made a mental note to ask her about it. But then I thought about her and Emily, and whether Soojin was starting to think the two of them had more in common than we did. Emily goes to church too.

Mustafa sat in the backseat beside me, lost in thought, and stared out the window. At dinner, when Mama asked how Sunday school was, he said “fine” in his usual monosyllabic way but gave me a warning look that I knew meant I should keep my mouth shut.

Now, sitting alone, I’m drained from the day’s events. I glance over at Mustafa sitting on the sofa, finishing up his chemistry homework. Hunched over his books in his sweatshirt and cap, he looks younger, like the old Mustafa I’ve always known.

I open up the piano cabinet and start to play a compilation of pop songs from the 1960s that Ms. Holly gave me to practice on Friday during music class.

“I know you don’t want to sing in the concert, but it would be wonderful if you could play piano and accompany the singers,” she asked with a hopeful expression.

I wanted to say, “But I do want to sing. More than anything.” But I didn’t. Instead, I agreed to do it, took the sheet music, and shoved it into my bag. As much as I love playing piano, it stinks to be stuck in the background while other people shine onstage, a soundtrack no one pays attention to, like the music piped into The Voice. My only consolation is that at least I don’t get nervous playing the piano in front of an audience. I’ve done plenty of piano recitals over the years, where Mrs. Kuckleman showcases all her students one by one, from the little ones who slowly pick out “Happy Birthday” to the most advanced players who master Mozart. And since I’m sitting on the bench and focusing on the notes on a page and not the faces in the crowd, I can forget that there are even people there.

“Is that Elvis?” Baba asks as I press the keys.

“Yeah. We’re doing music from the sixties through the eighties for our concert.”

“Uh huh uh . . . I’m all shook up . . . ,” Baba sings in a fake deep voice as he passes through the family room, making me laugh for the first time since that afternoon. The combination of playing and his goofy singing makes me feel better.

But later that night, as I brush my teeth in the bathroom, I overhear Baba and Thaya Jaan talking in the guest room next door.

“All this music all the time. You shouldn’t let Amina do so much singing and piano,” Thaya Jaan says.

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