Barakah Beats by Maleeha Siddiqui

Author:Maleeha Siddiqui [Siddiqui, Maleeha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2021-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Right, folks. You’re in luck, ’cause it’s too hot to run out on the track today,” Mr. Peters says, pacing in front of us with his clipboard. Several people make relieved sounds. I fan my face, already warm in my hijab and sweatpants and all we’ve done so far is warm-up stretches. Today, the seventh and eighth graders are standing shoulder to shoulder against one wall of the main gym. The sixth graders are taking some health class in the other gym.

“Free day!” someone to my left shouts.

“Nice try,” Ms. O’Reilly, the eighth-grade PE teacher, says. “You’re not off the hook. We’re going to treat you to something even better—fitness stations.” She waves her arms around, indicating the different equipment set up around the basketball court. Jump ropes, Hula-Hoops, mats. Some of the stations have signs with names of specific workouts on them.

“You get five minutes at each station to do the activity. Think of it like exercise speed dating. You will rotate with your group when you hear the whistle. No standing around. Mr. Peters and I are watching.”

We get numbered off and I regret standing next to Jenna when we’re split up. Instead, I go over to station ten—the jump ropes—and am greeted by Bilal and Matthew.

“Coincidence,” I say.

“Not really. We did these stations last year,” Bilal says smugly. “Mattie and I purposely counted how many people were between us. It’s only a coincidence you’re with us, too!”

A red-haired seventh-grade girl I don’t know very well joins our group. Her eyes quietly drift over the three of us in awe. Once everyone is grouped, Mr. Peters goes over to station one—labeled dance—where a speaker is set on the floor and pulls out his phone to scroll over the screen while Ms. O’Reilly goes over the rules one last time.

“Psst, Nimra.” I turn around to face Jenna at station nine. She points at Bilal and Matthew, then at me. “Dance number!” she whisper-yells.

I shake my head vehemently. Jenna plants her fists on her hips.

Her reply is cut off by the music starting. “Five minutes starts—now!” Ms. O’Reilly brings her hand down in an arc.

Matthew tosses me a set of jump ropes. I spend ten seconds disentangling it while the rest of my group starts skipping. The redheaded girl shows off by scissoring her arms.

“What. Is. This. Song?” Bilal complains between jumps. “It. Hurts. My. Ears.”

The song Mr. Peters chose isn’t—how should I say—current. The music sounds stuffy and the lyrics are really cheesy. Several other students make faces at the song choice. Mr. Peters ignores us, gleefully tapping his foot along to the rhythm. My swings become ever lazier.

When five minutes are up, Ms. O’Reilly toots her whistle and we rotate to the next station. Mr. Peters continues his Jurassic playlist.

“Good night, friends,” Bilal says, lying down on the mat we’re supposed to do push-ups on. “Wake me up when we’re listening to something from this century.”

Matthew nudges Bilal’s stomach with his foot. “Look alive. O’Reilly’s coming.”

“Let’s see if your upper body strength is as good as your lungs,” Ms.

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