Saints and Misfits by S. K. Ali

Author:S. K. Ali
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salaam Reads / Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

MONSTER, SAINTS, AND MISFITS

I’m in a car driven to Chicago by the monster.

He was the fourth person, the one Aliya said was coming along to keep Nuah company. Her “devout” cousin.

I’m sitting in the back, trying to ignore his glances in the rearview. I made sure to not sit behind him. He made sure to adjust the rearview mirror.

I am not going to open my mouth the whole way over. I am going to disappear.

Can I text Aliya to shut up with her pointless chattering next to me? And Nuah, with his dumb jokes? And Farooq, with his continued insistence on existing?

Feigning sleep, I curl down into my lap to escape those eyes in the mirror.

I pretend to be nudged awake by Aliya in front of this blank building. Blank, meaning there are no windows, signage, or any indication that things, other than nothingness, go on inside. By the looks of the surroundings, we’re in an industrial area. Cheery.

I actually brighten up a bit at this. The less this Quiz Bowl is made into a big deal, the faster I can skedaddle out of here, I surmise. This inference is quickly shattered when we get inside the building, and I realize we’ve entered through the back door of a local community cable station, STUDIO WKTN, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. That’s what the lettering along the walls tells us. Aliya gets giddy and goes charging ahead. I hang back, taking laboriously slow steps as Farooq is right behind Aliya, and the last thing I want to do is give him a thrill by colliding into him. Nuah is behind me, being Mr. Nice Guy and not passing me but moderating his pace.

We end our walk in a burst of black and bright: black stage, black furniture, black fixings lit up by lights from all directions and vantage points. A studio, with a small audience sitting across from us as we enter. Who would want to watch us get nitty-gritty with Islamic facts?

Muhammad cheers when he sees us. Saint Sarah waves us over with blue T-shirts in her hands. There are other teams huddled offstage, on the floor.

“Assalamu alaikum, we’re the blue team,” Saint Sarah says. “Wear these.”

I note with satisfaction that she doesn’t hand a T-shirt to Farooq and that he’s disappeared from our midst.

“Where’s Sausun?” I ask, loosening up now that the monster is gone. I hold up the enormous one-size-fits-all shirt that’s the color of Cookie Monster. There’s no way Sausun would wear this.

“Right here,” Sausun says. “Right in your face.”

I look up to see a tall woman in a black gown, face covered, by Saint Sarah’s side. On first glance previously, I’d dismissed this personage as someone’s mom.

She actually did it. She’s wearing niqab—well, beyond that, because her eyes are covered too by an almost sheer black fabric.

Does this mean she doesn’t have to wear a big blue T-shirt?

I wiggle some fingers at her in hello but feel more distant from her than ever before, if that’s possible.

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