One Half from the East by Nadia Hashimi Read Free Book Online Page B

even though she sounds like she’s sorry for what she said.
    The next morning, I’m back in class ready to be humiliated again, but my teacher does not call on me. She has a new victim, a boy not as timid as me but much worse at math. To act like you know the answer and then get it totally wrong is even worse, I think. It looks as though my teacher agrees.
    I wish that could happen to the boy with the hat. I wish I could find a way to knock that smug look off his face. He knows what I am, but he did not scream it out to the others. Maybe he’s telling the boys in whispers I don’t hear. Maybe they’ll all be staring at me when I get out there today. It won’t take long for word to travel.
    I hit the playground with the others. I think of what I might say if anyone asks me if I’m a girl. He’s here. He sees me. No, he doesn’t just see me. He’s gloating over me, looking at me like I’m an algebra equation and he’s already figured out the value of x . I want to scream.
    â€œHey, boy!” he yells out. He walks toward me. My hands ball up, not into fists, but into things I will use to cover my eyes if I start crying. With the way my sisters have been acting, I’m starting to feel really lonely.
    â€œWhy did you turn around?” he asks me.
    â€œDidn’t you call me?”
    â€œYou answer to boy ? Are you a boy?” His tone is sarcastic, teasing, and there’s no perfect reply to his question.
    â€œWhat do you want? Why do you have such a problem with me?”
    He laughs, big enough that I see his teeth and the pink of his mouth. I hate that I’m shorter. Even when I’m not on the ground, I’m always looking up at this boy. I lower my eyes to his knees.
    â€œI’m not the one who has a problem with you,” he says snidely.
    â€œYou’re not? Then who is?”
    â€œYou. You’re the one that has a problem with you.”
    â€œStupid. What do you know?” My words sound ridiculously small, like I’m throwing pebbles at a mountain.
    â€œLittle boy,” he whispers. “I don’t think any part of you is a boy.”
    He gives me a quick shove. I’m not expecting it and fall back a step. He grunts.
    â€œYou see how easily you fall? You stand like you’re not sure you should be here. Are you supposed to be here, Obayd?”
    â€œYou . . . you know my name.”
    â€œYes, I know your name.”
    â€œHow do you know my name?” I’m puzzled. He is older than me. Not enough that we can’t play ghursai together, but enough that he shouldn’t care to know my name or anything else about me. Other than being someone to knock over on the schoolyard, I should be invisible to him. But I’m not.
    â€œAnd why are you staring at my feet? Look at me .” With a quick chuck under my chin, he flips my gaze upward. Our eyes meet.
    His are bold, shiny. Mine are fluttering, frightened little things.
    â€œYou just sit there and let things happen to you. If we were playing soccer instead of ghursai , you would look more like the ball than a player.”
    My face burns. I’m feeling exposed—like he can see my insides from where he stands.
    I should walk away. But I can’t because every wordfrom his mouth is true, and it’s hard to walk away from someone who knows me so well. Part of me wants to know what he’ll say next, as much as it might hurt.
    â€œDon’t you have anything to say? Where’s your voice?” he mocks. “If you don’t have anything to say, maybe you should run home and play with your sister’s dolls.”
    Was he talking about Alia?
    â€œWhat do you know about my sister?” My head is spinning. My breaths are shallow and tight. I get the words out with a whole lot of effort. “Why do you think you know me?”
    The boy grabs my shoulders with both of his hands. His fingers are so strong, I can feel them pressing