Love from A to Z(17)

To record our answers, he barked names out one by one like he was a teacher. And funnily enough, he said Zayneb properly when his eyes landed on me.

Geesh, I don’t even know how I let this simple thing—him saying Zay-nub, my name—immediately earn him a sliver of respect from me. I duly listed the four continents I’d visited, like a good li’l student.

Emma Domingo has been to every single continent except for Antarctica. She’s also visited her father’s “ancestral homeland,” as Connor put it, the most, having been to the Philippines twenty-four times.

Adam is the one who’s been to the least amount of places.

Other than Doha, he’s only been to Canada, where he’s originally from, two school trips to Belgium and France, and then England for college.

“So you’re the only one who hasn’t visited your parents’ country of origin?” Connor asked.

“Well, I have. Because my parents are Canadian,” Adam said.

“I know your mom was. But your dad is originally from China.” Connor lowered his phone.

“My dad’s grandparents are originally from China. Like how my mom’s grandparents are originally from Finland.” Adam shrugged. “And, yeah, I do plan on visiting China and Finland one day. And the rest of the world.”

After that, he hung back, observing, smiling sometimes, and looking at the water and the night sky at other times. Not talking much.

Except when we were leaving and he walked Auntie Nandy and me to the door and suddenly asked me if I wanted to volunteer with him on Sunday at Hanna’s class at DIS. They were going on a field trip to an animal sanctuary outside Doha.

So he, too, was unpredictable. Maybe. Kind of?

I said yes. Even though I’m not into animals, except for whatever animal Squish ended up being.

I said yes, because I wanted to be around him more.

? ? ?

It was almost five in the morning here in Doha, after Fajr prayer on Saturday, but I looked through the pictures on my phone from last night to find him.

I knew there was at least one shot from yesterday that Adam had ended up in inadvertently.

There it was. There he was. In the background behind us, the Emmas and me. He was standing with his back to the fence skirting the water.

An angular face with the trace of a sad smile. Eyes that could faze with their gaze, so carefully did they look at things.

And yes, like I thought, he had those eyes turned to the sky again.

? ? ?

This Is What You Missed, Bulletin II by Kavi Srinivasan, filed as FYI for Zayneb Malik:

Ayaan got an e-mail asking her to come see Kerr Monday morning. Sent on a Friday evening, the e-mail was.

From the principal’s own e-mail address and NOT info@alexanderporter.

Fri. Day.

Oh. No. Do you think it has something to do with you-know-who?

Probably. We can’t figure out what else it could be. Ayaan is quaking.

Quaking happening here, too. You have to let me know what it’s about as soon as you find out.

I don’t know if Ayaan will fill me in. She’s become quiet around me at school. And then does one-word replies to texts.

Gulp. My fault. Crying.

I wrote the words that got you in trouble. Crying more.

Okay, I believe in prayers, so I’m praying that she doesn’t get in trouble for her part in #EatThemAlive. I’m okay with trouble. But Ayaan is our purest star. She must be protected by all, at all costs. Let me falter, let me fall, but let Ayaan rise above us all.

Wow, poetry.

No, it’s a prayer. Just made up now. Hey, did you hear back from SAIC admissions?

No. I’m getting worried. I keep thinking maybe I shouldn’t have included the picture of a skateboarding seahorse in my portfolio. It wasn’t good quality.

If they say no, I say we do a sit-in at the admissions office. Holding your drawings up as protest signs.

Wish you were back here. I went to check out the Purdue campus with Nhu yesterday, and the whole time we filled in what you’d be saying if you were with us. ONE BATHROOM FOR THREE LECTURE HALLS? NO WHEELCHAIR RAMP TO THE CLOSEST DOORS?

DO NOT MAKE A COLLEGE DECISION WITHOUT ME, GIRL.

WE won’t. Though we are going to see the rest of the campuses during break.

Without me.

Hey, you have Doha.

I do. And so far, it’s been okay.

I sent her the picture of the three Emmas and me. And Adam.

Looks like fun?

All of them are named Emma.

Even the guy looking up?

No, that’s Adam.

She shared a picture of her and Nhu making faces at each other through the openings of a holey sculpture on the Purdue campus, and it looked like real fun.

? ? ?

The weekend in Doha is Friday and Saturday, so Auntie Nandy said we should go to Souq Waqif today, before she went back to work on Sunday.

Thankfully, she first let me sleep in in complete silence and only turned on her music—very obviously seventies-sounding music—when I emerged from my room at two p.m.

In the dining room, everything was loud and tinny and plucky and distinct and strangely groovy, too.

“Wow, is this what they call disco?” I began gathering a plate of food—food shivering while it awaited me to transport it to the warmth of the microwave. When the words of the song began, I paused on my way to the kitchen. “Wait. Is that Urdu? Or, I mean Hindi? Seventies Bollywood music?”