Free Out of Nowhere by Maria Padian Page B

were up next.
    “I am Fatuma Hassan.” We could barely hear her, she spoke so softly. Everybody sort of leaned forward a little.
    “Speak up, girl,” Jimmy said. She looked at him. He nodded.
    “I like red,” she said a little louder. “I like
sambusas
. I like to read.”
    “Yeah, those are good. I like them, too,” Jimmy said.
    “
Sam
 … what?” Ellen asked.
    “Sambusa,”
Fatuma repeated. She formed a triangle with her fingers. “Is dough, like this, and you put in spices, and meat. And fry. Is very Somali.”
    “Goat meat,” Jimmy said. “I like ’em with goat meat.”
    “Yes, that is best, but you can make with other meat, too,” Fatuma said. A little louder. She smiled at Jimmy.
    “Ewww!” Devon. Or maybe Cherisse. Unclear who said it; they both made these grossed-out faces. “You eat
goat
?”
    “Whoa!” Jimmy exclaimed, throwing himself back into his metal chair. He flashed me a what-you-gonna-do-now-man look.
    “Okay, that was
totally
inappropriate,” Liz sputtered. She’d been holding a clipboard with some papers on her lap, and dropped it. I got out of my seat to pick it up for her. After I handed her the clipboard, I remained standing.
    “Maybe we should have gone over the ground rules first,” I said calmly. Fake calmly, actually. Fatuma’s expression had gone blank, almost as if the comment weren’t directed at her. She slouched in her chair, sank a little lower into the loose folds of her clothes.“And the first rule is
respect
. No matter what anyone says, we all have to listen and respect their contribution to the circle.” This was right out of yesterday’s leader training.
    “So we’re not supposed to say what we think?” Devon replied. “She says goat and I’m supposed to say yum? Is that it, Tommy?”
    “No, she says goat and you’re supposed to listen. Not judge, not mock,” I replied.
For once in your life
, I managed to not add.
    “Like I said. Don’t say what we think,” she replied, just under her breath.
    “Have you ever eaten goat?” Jimmy challenged.
    Devon smirked at him.
    “No, and I don’t plan to,” she said.
    “Okay,” he said. “Then instead of ‘ewww’ ”—Jimmy raised his voice a few octaves in a dead-on imitation of Devon—“maybe you should say, ‘I’m too closed-minded to try new foods, like goat, so I’m going to spend the rest of my life making fun of other people who love this delicious meat.’ ”
    “Okay,
that’s
not it, either!” I said. Not fake calmly.
    Jimmy put his hands up in surrender.
    “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry.” He looked at Devon. “And I apologize to you. That was out of line.” He said this politely. A little too politely, but what was I gonna do? Devon stared back at him, silent.
    “Maybe you could apologize to Fatuma?” I said to her. She aimed her glare at me and remained silent.
    Then: Saeed.
    “Tom … is okay. Is good question.”
    Every head swiveled in his direction. Saeed leaned eagerly forward in his chair, looking intently at Cherisse and Devon.
    “You don’t like goat. Okay! Peoples all different! Maybe if youeat
sambusas
maybe you like goat! I don’t know. So now I ask: you eat pig? Somali peoples, we say to that … ewww!”
    He smiled broadly. No meanness on his face. He was just trying to make a point.
You think we’re gross? Hey, that’s all right. We think you’re gross! It’s all good
.
    Jimmy burst out laughing. He got out of his chair and leaned toward Saeed.
    “Dude,” he said, and held his hand up. Saeed slapped his palm. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Jimmy sat.
    “Is okay, Tom,” Saeed repeated. I glanced at Cherisse, who was staring at me so hard I could feel two holes boring their way through my helpless skull. I sat.
    “Okay, who’s next?” I said. It was supposed to be the Somali girl next to Fatuma. But then Cherisse stood.
    “Hi, everybody. I’m Cherisse Ouellette. I like Chamberlain blue. I
love
bacon.” It