Love from A to Z(61)

“Maybe they do in their own way.” Zayneb had softened so much that he went on. “Maybe everyone does. Care about justice on some level.”

Her brows activated and began their approach to each other again. “What do you mean? Do you mean, everyone everyone? Like, even Fencer?”

“Well, he gave out the article about this girl killed by her family. Maybe he wants justice for her?”

Zayneb shook her head, aghast. “No, he was trying to get the class riled up about Muslims. He was using the Turkish girl, not expressing care for her. You don’t even know Fencer. And I just can’t believe you’re giving a real-life Islamophobe excuses.”

“Whoa,” he said. And the second it came out of his mouth, he regretted it intensely, like he had regretted few things in his eighteen years.

Adam leaned back, stumped on how to proceed. Her voice had become loud again, and the family, who’d removed their headphones, turned in unison to look at Zayneb.

He had to explain himself.

“I’m not giving him excuses. It’s just something I thought about while reading the article.” Adam refused to put his right hand in his pocket, refused to worry about what Zayneb was doing or its effect on those around them. “I just wanted justice for her, for the girl buried alive. That’s a terrible tragedy.”

Zayneb stood stock-still, mouth agape. “You’re falling for Fencer’s tricks, and you’re not even sitting there in his class?”

“It’s still an injustice, isn’t it? A girl getting buried for talking to boys? Or for anything at all? Maybe that’s what made your teacher upset.”

“Of course it’s an injustice. That’s not what’s going on here, though. I’m talking about Fencer’s behavior here.” She bent to get her phone from where she’d left it on the bench. “Okay, time for me to exit.”

He watched her scrolling and typing and, for some reason, couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Why do you get to decide what injustices to call out and what not to call out?”

“Oh my God, you’re the one who should get a D for false equivalence!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Adam, it’s been good knowing you for a week, but I guess we don’t make sense in any way. We’re too different, and . . .”

It was Adam’s turn to stay still, sure he was holding his breath as he waited for her to finish.

“We’re from two different worlds. You and your friends don’t make sense to me.” She glanced down at her phone. “You don’t get my deal, and I don’t get yours. Like you being chicken to tell your dad about your MS. My Uber is here, so I’m out of here.”

She walked off.

And Adam?

He sat down.

Put his head in his hands and refused to look up at the visitors milling around, glancing gingerly over at him once in a while.

He also refused to look at that manuscript.

The one he’d thought bound them together in some kind of out-of-this-world way.

Ha.





ODDITY: A RELATIONSHIP THAT ENDED BEFORE IT EVEN BEGAN.



MARVEL: THIS TOO WILL PASS. LIFE GOES ON, EVEN IF LOVE DOESN’T.





ADAM


SUNDAY, MARCH 17


ODDITY: ZAYNEB . . . AND THE TRUTH


ZAYNEB WAS NOT WHO SHE was in my mind.

Before, I’d thought that the more impressions you got of someone you liked, the less projecting would be happening. That you wouldn’t see them according to how you wanted to.

I hadn’t realized that, in this case, I’d been hoodwinking myself all along, though.

Because I’d just fallen for her so quickly.

On the ride home, with Hanna super quiet beside me, even though she had a velvet bag full of new rocks for her collection from the museum shop, I realized I’d escaped someone who wasn’t who I thought they were.

Zayneb was the only marvel I’d observed and recorded that turned out not to be a real one.

Bullet dodged, Adam.

? ? ?

You don’t get my deal, and I don’t get yours. Like you being chicken to tell your dad about your MS.

I couldn’t get Zayneb’s words out of my head as I helped Dad with dinner that evening, him chopping up vegetables for a salad, me taking the packaging off a frozen lasagna, getting it ready for the oven.

Zayneb didn’t know anything about it, anything about me. At all.

Just like I hadn’t known anything about her true self.

I slid the foil tray into the preheated oven. Then closed the door and turned to Dad. “Do you have time to talk?”

I wasn’t scared of any of it.

“For sure.” Running the edge of his knife along the cutting board, he slid the red peppers he’d just cut into a wooden bowl already full of lettuce and cucumber. He put the board back down, lay the knife on top of it, and looked at me. “Do you want to talk here or go into the living room?”

I didn’t want it to be monumental, this talk. The kitchen was okay, because it was just us two here in a no-fuss space.

But then Hanna was in her room, arranging her rocks, and could enter at any moment soundlessly.

Telling her about my MS had to be done in a special way.

“The patio? I can put a timer for the lasagna on my phone, and we’ll know when to call Hanna for dinner.”