where they make shampoo from scratch and reinvent the United Nations and whatever else you do when youâre gifted and talented instead of brainless and clueless.
Meanwhile I have two weeks when I donât have to worry about equations or run-on sentences or anything except which kind of jam to spread on my toast. Tomorrow Dad is driving me and Emily to the really good mall, and weâre going to look for more cool stationery!
Plus, Iâm going to spend a lot of time with Wally, probably most of it in his neighborhood pool. All the pregnant women come out of hiding in the summer. I try not to stare at them in their bathing suits, but their bodies are so cool. Mrs. Clay lets me feel her stomach. The first time I was shocked: I was expecting squishy, like fat, but it was hard as a bowling ball! Sometimes when the babyâs kicking, you can see her tiny feet under the skin. Unless the sonogram missed something, Wallyâs going to have a little sister. I call her Abby Whompback because at this rate sheâs going to be a great soccer player.
I canât wait to have kids. Of course when I say that, my mom always says, âYou can waitâyou better wait!â
She doesnât have to worry. I donât even have a boyfriend. Do youâdid you, before? Is it okay to talk about all this, Nawra? I donât want to burden you with my happiness.
Love, K. C.
Nawra
J ULY 2008
Tonight Hassan brings a square of paper.
âWhere did you get that?â Adeeba asks.
âFrom the clinic,â he says.
Adeeba takes the paper and turns it over. It is white, with only a little printing on the top on one side. âDid you steal this?â she asks.
âStealing is haram ,â Hassan says. âOne with plastic fingers gave it to me.â
âWhat were you doing with the nurse?â Adeeba demands. âIf you are sick, you must stay away from Tata Nawra.â
Adeeba guards me as I once did my goats.
Hassan says, âThe khawaja said any child who does not have a card must go to the clinic. A van came from many miles with a special medicine to keep away the disease of the dots.â
âMeasles,â Adeeba says.
âThe khawaja said if we did not take the medicine, we would burn with fever and our eyes would scream in the light,â Hassan says. âI told my uncle.â
âWhat did he say?â
âHe does not like the khawaja because they interfere in the market. But I am a believer,â Hassan says, âand the believer is trustful of others.â
âWho told you that?â Adeeba asks.
âMy father,â Hassan says.
Zeinab shivers by my side.
Adeeba studies him. âDid the shot hurt?â she asks.
âYes,â Hassan says, âbut I did not cry. Zeinab did, a little. All the babies were crying. Many cried as they got near the table, but I was glad.â
âWhy?â Adeeba asks.
âThe needle was fast and interesting, so I preferred it to the line, which was slow and boring. Do you know they carry the medicine in blue chests, to keep it cold?â
âWho told you?â Adeeba asks.
âI asked,â Hassan says. âWhen the khawaja opened a chest, they moved very fast.â
âA woman fell to the ground,â Zeinab whispers.
âShe was not dead,â Hassan says. âJust too hot.â
âThey should have put her in a chest,â I say.
âThe medicine was more important,â Hassan says.
âYou are a good reporter,â Adeeba says. âMaybe when you grow up, you will write for a newspaper.â She holds her words. âBut it is safer to be a farmer.â
I say, âThere you are mistaken, my friend.â
I look to my mother, but she is not with us. In body, yes, but memories plug her ears.
âYou must go,â Adeeba says to the children.
âHow can I be a reporter if I cannot write words?â Hassan asks.
âEven a reporter cannot write in the