Power Forward by Hena Khan

Author:Hena Khan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2018-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

11

Ever since I’ve been grounded, Zara’s been rubbing it in my face.

“Can you believe Wall and Beal both got double-doubles last night? Wall scored twenty-three points in the second half.”

I make a face at her over my cereal.

“Oh, yeah. You couldn’t watch the game.” She fakes a sad face. “Want to shoot around?”

Now I stick my tongue out, covered in mushed oat flakes and milk.

“Oh, man, that’s right. You can’t. How about we play some 2K?”

“YOU’RE NOT FUNNY, ZARA!” I shout, glad when little drops of cereal milk spray out of my mouth in her direction.

“Zayd! Don’t yell at your sister,” Mama says as she walks into the kitchen. “I need you to practice violin, then get ready. I’m dropping you guys off at Naano’s.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Baba and I are going to the mosque to plan the fund-raiser. Would you rather come? I don’t think kids will be there.”

“I want to go to Naano’s,” I say. I drag myself to the living room and pick up my violin. I wonder if everyone else in the house is sick of hearing me play “Song for Christine” over and over. I imagine my parents wearing earplugs and secretly wishing I was playing basketball instead. It makes me feel a little better about my punishment. I play as loudly as I can.

When we arrive at my grandparents’ house, Naano opens the door in her fuzzy slippers.

“Zayd. My skinny mouse. Let’s eat something. What you want? Zara, come.”

“I’m good, Naano. I promise I already ate,” I say as I walk into the family room, where the TV is on, like usual. But instead of dramas or Pakistani news or cricket, Nana Abu is watching a game I’ve never seen before.

“What is this, Nana Abu?” I ask.

“Kabaddi,” he says.

“Ka-buddy?”

“No, kabaddi,” he repeats.

“That’s what I said. What are they doing?”

“I played this game when I was a boy. This is the world cup.” Nana Abu sounds proud. But he doesn’t explain how the game works, so I try to figure it out.

The teams are on opposite sides of a court. One person from each team tries to tag a player on the other team. And even though it sounds like a joke, the defenders all hold hands and hop around. And then the tagger, who the announcer is calling a “raider,” starts to bob and weave, like a boxer. Sometimes the chain breaks and the other team grabs him and throws him to the ground. It looks confusing, like tag and wrestling and ring-around-the-rosie at the same time.

“When I was a boy, in my village, we would wear nothing but our chaddis and grease our bodies with oil so the other team couldn’t grab us,” Nana Abu explains with a gleam in his eye.

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