Free The Green Bicycle by Haifaa Al Mansour

her mother.
    As she planned and plotted, Wadjda kept imagining the look on Abdullah’s face when he saw her riding her brand-new bicycle. . . .
    Despite her best efforts, a mischievous grin stole across her face. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned against the counter. Her mother looked up from the food she was heating at the stove. When she saw Wadjda’s expression, her eyes narrowed.
    â€œI don’t like this look on your face. What are you up to?”
    For a fraction of a second, Wadjda debated whether or not she should tell her. If her mother didn’t approve, it would be next to impossible to get the bicycle.
    But she couldn’t help it. She threw caution to the wind, and blurted out, “I’m going to buy a bicycle to race Abdullah Al Hanofi! Maybe in two weeks, if I keep my business up!”
    Her mother dropped the dishes in the sink with a clatter. As Wadjda’s words sunk in, she twisted her lips and frowned. It was exactly like the face she made when she got mad at Wadjda’s father for spending days away visiting his mother.
    â€œA bicycle?” she repeated.
    â€œYeah! My business is doing so well,
Ummi
! I sold Tic Tacs for four Riyals today.”
    â€œOh, Wadjda, I’ve told you a hundred times! You’re not supposed to sell things at school. They’ll have you standing out in the sun all day for the rest of your life.”
    Her mother’s harsh words startled Wadjda back to reality. She blinked, watching the beautiful images of herself riding the bicycle go up in smoke.
    But her mother wasn’t done. “I don’t want any more calls from your teachers complaining about you!” she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
    Wadjda could get sad—or she could get mad. She chose the second option. Rolling her eyes, she stomped off to her room. Behind her, her mother was still going, her voice getting louder and louder.
    â€œAnd you can absolutely forget about getting a bicycle! This plan of yours is ridiculous. A bicycle! Have you ever seen a girl riding a bicycle?”
    I’ll never tell her anything again!
Wadjda thought, slamming her bedroom door, hard.
She never understands. She doesn’t even try to understand!
    Though she slumped down onto the floor, her face was set, her eyes full of purpose. Decisively, she picked up her half-finished bracelets, wrapped the strings around her big toes, and got back to work.

CHAPTER NINE
    W adjda entered her classroom early the next day like a woman on a mission. Her task? Scope out potential customers.
    The girl who was busily cleaning the blackboard was out. Wadjda breezed past her without stopping. She knew from experience that she’d be a tough sell. Two other girls sat in the back row, bent over, eyes on each other’s homework.
    â€œChange the sentence a little,” one whispered. “She’ll know you copied it!”
    Looking around nervously, the girl saw Wadjda and whispered loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear, “Uh-oh! Here comes the salesgirl!”
    Whatever.
Wadjda waved her off with a sassy flick of the head. Stuffing her
abayah
inside her desk and throwing her veil over the chair, she ran out to the school’s playground area. One of the younger girls leaped up and came to meet her, making small gestures in an attempt to get Wadjda’s attention.
    â€œHey, Wadjda!” she whispered. “Did you finish the bracelets?”
    â€œNot all of them,” Wadjda whispered back. “I’ve only got ten today. If you want one, you have to pay two Riyals extra.”
    The little girl frowned, trying to decide whether it was worth it. Seeing her waver, Wadjda decided to push. If she wanted the bike, she had to seal
all
the deals.
    â€œIt’s a lot of work,” she said softly. “I practically broke my back making them. And I stayed up so late last night—I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep going like