This Book Won't Burn by Samira Ahmed

Author:Samira Ahmed [AHMED, SAMIRA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2024-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

“What’s that from?” Amal asks, reaching toward me over the kitchen counter.

“A bookmark from that tiny bookstore in town,” I say, handing it to her. It’s bright blue and says I’m good at judging characters on it. Hard to miss. “It was shoved in my locker with more hate notes.”

Amal frowns. “Sorry, sis.”

“You didn’t get any today, did you?” I ask. She shakes her head. “You’d tell me if you did, right?” I asked Juniper and Faiz the same question. Juniper’s gotten some more nasty notes. And she told me Faiz had a few shoved into his locker as well but tossed them without reading them. I probably should’ve done the same.

“Yessss, Mom,” Amal says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I’m happy to hear that tone—it feels… normal. “But seriously, if there’s something you should know, I’ll tell you.”

“You better, or else.”

Amal rolls her eyes then and asks, “So why did you clean the counters and shove the pile of mail into a drawer?”

I run my fingers across the now lemony-scented kitchen island. “No reason, really. It’s that—”

Amal smiles wide and wiggles her shoulders a little. “Are you expecting company? Company named Andrew?”

“Uh… no.” Why do I feel all awkward telling her? “Actually, Faiz is coming over to, um, show me how to cook keema and daal.”

“Faiz? Ooh, the plot thickens.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s no plot, okay? I’m not plotting… with him. I figured we should eat something besides pizza, burgers, and mediocre tacos.”

My sister closes her eyes like she’s gathering her strength. “Blasphemy! Indians and Taco Bell are like death-till-we-part food besties. I’m burning your desi card.”

I raise up my hands. “Forgive me, Mexican Pizza. I never meant to wrong you.”

Amal looks satisfied. “So, Faiz. You. Cooking. Or is it cooking?” She gives me a big, campy wink.

“Sometimes I forget that your sense of humor is like a cross between toddler and fifty-year-old uncle.” I make a face at my sister just as the doorbell rings.

She races me to the door and nudges me out of the way so she can open it. “Hi, Faiz,” Amal says, oh so sweetly.

“Hey,” he responds, and gives us both a shy grin as he steps inside. I take the grocery bag he’s carrying and he slips off his shoes and leaves them by the door. We walk the few steps over to the kitchen. This house is much smaller than our old one, but we do have a large kitchen island, which is great since it’s where we spend most of our time when we aren’t in our bedrooms.

I put the bag on the counter and Amal immediately starts pulling things out of it: dry red lentils, ginger, garlic, a big fat yellow onion, ground beef, tomatoes, frozen peas, cayenne pepper, garam masala, cumin, turmeric. There’s also a large plastic container of plain yogurt. “Let me guess,” I say, pointing to it. “There’s no actual yogurt in that container.”

“Are you even desi if you don’t use old yogurt tubs as Tupperware?” Faiz laughs.

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