Ship of Souls by Zetta Elliott Read Free Book Online Page A

buried in…K-town?”
    “Kaiserslautern?” Nyla shakes her head. “She’s on the mantle in my room—in an urn. We had her cremated.” Nyla shrugs. “I didn’t want to, but…it was easier than shipping the body overseas.”
    Finally Keem snaps his phone shut and comes over to where we are. “Sorry about that. Family drama.”
    “You gotta go?” I ask hopefully.
    But Keem shakes his head. “Nothing I can do about it. My mother’s upset because one of our neighbors saw my big sister and she wasn’t wearing her headscarf.” Keem shakes his head but can’t stop himself from chuckling. “My dad’s gonna hit the roof!”
    Nyla puts a hand on her hip. “You got your sister’s back, right?”
    Keem looks at Nyla and knows he better say yes.
    “No doubt. Nasira’s the reason my dad lets me play ball. She made a list of all the Muslim players in the NBA—Hakeem Olajuwon, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Rasheed Wallace. Dad didn’t stand a chance. My sister’s going to make an awesome lawyer someday. Not wearing hijab is pretty serious for a Muslim girl—in my family, at least. But Nasira’s probably already prepared her own defense.”
    I look at Keem and wonder if he’s supposed to wear his kufi all the time, too. Then I turn back to Nyla and ask, “Would you ever cover your hair?”
    “Hell yeah—it’s not easy looking fabulous all the time.” Nyla tosses her red bangs aside and winks at me. I look at Keem. He’s trying not to grin like an idiot.
    “So where are these beautiful birds, D?” Nyla scans the dull gray clouds in the sky.
    “We have to cross the meadow,” I tell her. “They prefer to nest in areas that are dense with trees.” I lead them across the long meadow, a stretch of grass that’s more yellow than green at this time of year. Now that Keem is back on the scene, Nyla’s not so interested in me. I listen as she tells him about her friend Sanaa’s sister, who sometimes goes out wearing a burka.
    “She says it’s like wearing an invisibility cloak. It makes her feel powerful. She doesn’t have to worry about all those fools on the corner saying nasty stuff when she walks by. I swear, guys talk about us like we’re nothing more than a piece of meat.”
    “You like being looked at,” Keem says.
    Stunned, I wait to see if Nyla’s going to curse him out in German. She screws up her lips but then shrugs and says, “Maybe. I’m proud of who I am and how I look. But I got a right to be myself and be respected when I’m out in the street.”
    “True,” Keem says with a nod. “But can you blame a brother for giving praise where praise is due?”
    “Talking about my ass is not a compliment. Some negroes need to keep their ‘praise’ to themselves.”
    “Some girls like it,” Keem counters.
    Nyla sucks her teeth. “ Some girls don’t know any better. And some girls aren’t trying to hear it—not from your kind.”
    She means not all girls like boys, but I’m not sure Keem gets the point Nyla’s trying to make. I think about the group of “freaks” that hangs out with Nyla at lunch. Kids at school sometimes call Regine a “butch,” and it was a boy who called Keem a “hottie.” Could Nyla be one of those girls who’s “not trying to hear it”? Maybe Keem’s not my competition after all. Both of us might be barking up the wrong tree.
    The three of us look up as a loud screech comes from above.
    “Wow—is that an eagle?” Nyla asks.
    “Red-tailed hawk,” I tell her.
    It veers off to the east, and we follow it instead of continuing across the meadow. The best bird sightings I’ve had were deeper in the park, away from the busy roads that run along the park’s edge. But if Nyla wants to follow the hawk, I don’t mind. At this time of day, there aren’t a lot of people hanging around. Most kids our age have already gone home for dinner, and that leaves just a few runners, some dog walkers, and a cyclist or two. The days are getting longer, but it’ll still be