Free My Name Is Parvana by Deborah Ellis Page A

a sewing machine, but he could figure out how it worked within a minute of sitting down in front of it.
    “No electricity required,” the tailor said. “It operates by pedal. Just move your foot.”
    Asif shifted in his seat so that his foot was on the middle of the pedal. Parvana watched him stitch a seam. It looked pretty straight to her.
    “There is a gear that seems to be sticking,” Asif said.
    “A drop of oil, it will work like new.”
    “We’ll see,” Asif replied. “Where are the others?”
    The tailor took Asif to the back to show him the other machines. The school was going to set up a sewing class.
    “He’ll be a while,” Mother said. “Let’s look at fabric.”
    They headed off through the market. The fabric alley was draped with colors and textures from the cloth that hung down like branches. Mother picked a stall with a wide choice of fabric and started a long discussion with the owner. Every now and then Parvana would offer a suggestion or point to something she liked, but Mother ignored her. She had plenty of her own ideas.
    The school’s first year was over, and the new year was about to begin. Nooria had gone to New York, and she had been very nice to Parvana for nearly all of her last three weeks in Afghanistan.
    After she left, Mother cried for four days. Then she got very busy and insisted everyone else be busy, too. When Parvana, Maryam and Asif were not cleaning, painting and getting the school ready to start up again, they were working in the vegetable garden. They also studied every night.
    Now that she had mastered the art of multiplying fractions, Parvana did not mind the lessons. She worked hard and steadily, passing through the sixth- and seventh-class workbooks and starting on the eighth.
    “If you keep this up, you’ll be in high school soon,” Mother told her. “You’re quickly catching up to your age level.”
    Parvana had a new, secret plan to get a scholarship to the Sorbonne in Paris. She would find Shauzia and become richer and more successful than Nooria.
    Nooria would say, “You must come and visit me in New York City. I can see the Statue of Liberty from my apartment window.”
    And Parvana would reply, “The Statue of Liberty is very nice. In Paris, we have the Eiffel Tower. And, by the way, I own it! I bought it! That’s right. I designed a house that fits right inside and now I live there.”
    Parvana found that to be such an exciting idea that she put her hand in her pocket and took out the pen and paper she always carried with her now. She had so many ideas that she couldn’t trust them to stay in her head. She wrote them down right away so they couldn’t escape.
    She drew a sketch of the Eiffel Tower, then put a house right in the middle of it. It could have different levels, she thought, like a treehouse, and big windows on all sides so she could see who was out on the grounds. And she would hang big banners on each side saying Parvana’s House and Welcome Shauzia .
    She was adding a giant swing when Mother bumped into her, reaching for a bolt of green cotton.
    Parvana dropped her pen.
    “You could try to be helpful instead of just standing there,” her mother said. It was an automatic Mother comment that meant nothing. Her mother did not want her help buying fabric. Her mother just wanted her to carry the fabric after she bought it.
    Parvana tried to spot her pen.
    She had heard it drop, but it wasn’t at her feet.
    She stared at the ground until she spotted it right under the fabric merchant’s feet.
    I can’t ask him for it, she thought. He looks exasperated enough already.
    Mother was not an easy customer.
    She waited until Mother asked to see something on the top shelf. He moved his foot, freeing the pen, but then he accidentally kicked it away as he reached for the ladder. The pen rolled down the alley.
    Parvana went after it.
    As soon as it stopped, it was kicked away by another foot. It rolled and rolled through the market.
    Parvana was sure