The Garden of My Imaan by Farhana Zia Read Free Book Online Page B

by herself again.
    “Eww … gross!” someone whispered.
    “Nice headgear!” someone else said.
    “Aliya?” Marwa called as I walked by her table. “Wait a sec.”
    “What’s up?” I asked, slowing down a little.
    “Well, I …”
    I felt conspicuous there in the aisle; I didn’t want Austin to spot me. “Um, Winnie’s saving a seat for me.”
    “Okay,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you that I talked to him just now.”
    I stopped. “Talked to whom?”
    “I told Austin I saw the whole thing,” she said. “I told him it was an accident and you didn’t mean to knock his lunch down.”
    I was astonished. “When?”
    Marwa shrugged. “While you were in line.”
    “You didn’t have to do that!”
    “I just thought … well … it
was
an accident.”
    “You should have kept out of it,” I said. What if Austin was even madder now?
    “I was trying to be helpful.” She looked into her lunch box. “You seemed pretty upset.”
    “It’s all right,” I said. “I wasn’t
that
upset.”
    Marwa shrugged again. “At our old school, they taught us that it’s wrong for a bystander not to speak up. I was trying to stand by you.”
    “Thanks,” I said, walking away. “But I could have handled it myself.”
    Monday, October 28
    4:40 p.m.
    Dear Allah,
    What’s with M? She won’t leave me alone! I don’t need her help. I’ve been here a lot longer than she has and I can handle things just fine, thank you very much! Who does she think she is, butting into my business?
    Yours sincerely,
A
    PS I bumped into Austin and his apple rolled away and everyone laughed when he chased it because it was so funny, except he didn’t think so and now I think he is going to make my life really miserable.
    PPS And Juliana thinks she’s so smart! I can’t wait to wave my project in her face. I will, just as soon as I know what it is!

    When Mom came home, I told her about Austin’s apple.
    “What’s wrong with that boy?” she said angrily. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Holmes about it first thing tomorrow.”
    “Oh, Mom, please don’t,” I begged. “It won’t do any good. Besides, if he finds out, it’ll get worse. I’m just going to stay out of his way.”
    “You shouldn’t have to do that,” Mom said. “Mrs. Holmes will put a stop to his bullying.”
    “It’s not that easy, Mom. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
    Hoping to distract her, I showed Mom my latest letter. She read it more carefully this time.
    “I’m writing about what bothers me the most,” I explained.
    “I can see that, honey,” she said.
    “Well?”
    “Well … you’re still missing the point,” she began.
    “What do you mean?” I cried. “Aren’t I doing a better job? Amma and Badi Amma think I am.”
    “At the risk of sounding harsh, your letter reads like a lament from a hole,” she said.
    “I don’t understand. You keep talking about a hole. What hole? What lament?”
    “Don’t you see?” she asked. “There’s still a fair amount of negativity here and very little that’s upbeat and positive. It would be nice to see some change happening … some forward steps.”
    “I tried to vary my beginnings,” I pointed out.
    “I’m not talking about that kind of change,” Mom sighed. “Your writing skills are fine. I just think your project is supposed to reflect some sort of personal growth.”
    “Change! Growth! New! Improved!” I yelled. “I don’t get it! What do people want from me anyway?”
    “To know that you are clear about the point of the assignment, for one thing,” Mom said.
    “Mom, it’s not a science project with hypotheses and data analysis and conclusions and controls and variables and all that. I know the point. The point is to talk to Allah, and that’s what I’m doing.”
    “There has to be more than just talk.” Mom ruffled my hair. “That’s all I am saying.”
    And even though she said it kindly, I couldn’t help wondering. Were my letters really no good? Was I on a