Free The Garden of My Imaan by Farhana Zia Page B

“It’ll be okay if I pick off the pepperoni.”

    “Did you have a good time at the party?” Mom asked.
    “It was great,” I said. Actually, it hadn’t been all fun. It wasn’t easy being extra patient and extra disciplined when everyone else could dive right in.
    “What did you eat?” Zayd asked.
    “Super-yummy-delicious pizza!”
    Zayd pushed away his plate of rice and hamburger meat curry. “I want pizza,” he whined.
    I didn’t blame Zayd for rejecting his supper. Mom made this dish at least twice a week. She’d varied it a little this time by adding green peas. But I wasn’t through tormenting the little tattletale.
    “Yummy yum yum!” I said.
    “What kind was it?” Zayd asked.
    “Mushroom and pepperoni,” I said. “Yum!”
    Mom looked up. “You ate pepperoni?”
    “I took the pepperoni off. There weren’t any more mushroom slices, and I was really hungry.”
    “Have I eaten pepperoni, Mom?”
    “Pepperoni is made of pork, Zayd,” she said.
    “But Aliya ate it.”
    “Are you deaf? I said I peeled the pepperoni off!”
    “Is she allowed to do that, Badi Amma?” Zayd asked.
    “Kya bole?” My great-grandmother cupped her ear. “Allowed to do what?”
    “IS SHE ALLOWED TO EAT PEPPERONI?” Zayd yelled.
    Badi Amma turned to Amma. “What is this pepperoni?”
    “I didn’t eat it, idiot!” I yelled. I looked from Badi Amma to Mom to Amma. I had screwed up my first fast; I didn’t want this one spoiled too. “Was my fast ruined, Amma?” I asked.
    “Of course not, Meri Jaan,” my grandmother replied. “Allah saw you remove the pepperoni.”
    Saturday, November 16
    9:00 p.m.
    Dear Allah,
    I messed up a little and I’m sorry. Everybody makes mistakes but they learn from them. I do feel better that You give credit for a person’s good intentions. I don’t mind telling You mine were all good.
    Yours truly,
A
    PS I sure am glad Choti Dahdi isn’t around. She’d never forgive me, I bet.

Ideas
    W innie and I decided to take the long route to the office to deliver some papers for Mrs. Doyle. When we walked past the bathrooms, we saw that the doors were propped open and there were orange cones at both entrances. Mr. Belotti was in the boys’ room, mopping the floor.
    “Hey, Mr. Belotti, what’s up?” Winnie called.
    “What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up! Some punk stuffed wads of paper down the toilet. That’s what’s up!”
    “Uh-oh!” Winnie said. “Is it bad?”
    “It’s Niagara Falls! That bad enough for you?” The rest of Mr. Belotti’s words were lost under the slosh of his mop and the clank of his bucket.
    “Mr. Belotti, what’s that?” Winnie asked, pointing to the girls’ room.
    I poked my head in. Someone had scrawled words on the first stall:
    JC loves J
    J and JC together.
    And not far below it, in the same handwriting:
    M is totally weird
    Ban crazy scarves and stinky cheese
!
    M, go home
!
    “
You
tell
me
, kiddo!” Mr. Belotti growled. “It’s defacing school property, that’s what it is!”
    “That wasn’t there yesterday,” I said.
    “No kidding!” Mr. Belotti said. “It’s here now, and guess who’s going to have to clean it all up?”
    “It’s too bad that you have to do it, Mr. Belotti,” Winnie said.
    “Yeah, Mr. Belotti,” I added. “Some kids have no respect.”
    As we walked on toward the office, Winnie looked over at me. “That was about Marwa back there.”
    I nodded. My eyes had focused on the words right below the scribble about Juliana and Josh. Anyone would know that the
M
on the stall wasn’t for Morgan or Marybeth or Madison.
    “I’m sure glad Mr. Belotti will get rid of it before she sees it,” Winnie said.
    “But what if she’s seen it already?” I asked. “She could have passed the open door just like we did.”
    “Yeah, that would be so terrible!” Winnie nodded. “Some kids can be so mean.”
    We delivered the papers to the office and waited for anenvelope to take back to Mrs. Doyle. As we neared