Internment(40)

“They don’t use the guillotine anymore,” Soheil says.

Ayesha elbows him. “Not helping. I’m serious.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he responds. “Total crap thing to say or be flip about.”

“Guys, look. This whole situation is bullshit. But I know we have to be careful. We can’t play around with some half-assed romantic idea that we’ll be the next Resistance. We have to think about it, be smart, know who we can trust. But it’s like Sophie said: Somebody has to make a start. And it might as well be us.” When I say this, I can hear the resolve in my voice, but inside I’m shaking. The confidence is a mask, like some of the lies we tell to make it through the day. “Fake it till you make it” is one of the most American attitudes I can think of.

“Okay, so say, like, you write these stories. How are you going to get them to David—your boyfriend, right? He’s on the outside?” Soheil asks. David’s name has come up before, but Soheil doesn’t know the whole story about how Jake is helping me. When I share it with him, his mouth drops open, and for once he’s too stunned to speak.

“So, I’m going to see if maybe I can convince Jake to help me see David again.”

“Wait. Wait. I’m sorry. I’m still stuck on the part about David getting snuck in by a guard. An Exclusion Guard. One that you’re on first-name basis with.” Soheil narrows his eyes at me.

“He’s not just a guard. I mean he is, but there’s more to it—to him.”

“Then he should stand up and say something, shouldn’t he? Fight back?” Soheil says.

“Maybe he wants to do something but doesn’t know where to begin. Or maybe he is helping us, in some way, and we don’t know how yet. I trust Layla’s gut on this. And it’s not like she’s telling him all our plans.” Ayesha comes to my defense, but I hear her voice falter a little. She wants to believe in me. And I want to be worthy of her trust.

“There is no plan,” Soheil says. He’s terse, and I can see Ayesha tense up. But she doesn’t back down.

“That’s the point of this conversation, to make a plan. And anyway, Layla said she was going to write, like, an article and get it to David. That’s the seed.” Ayesha squares her shoulders to Soheil. “No one is forcing you to be here. But if you’re going to be, at least be helpful.”

Soheil takes a breath and nods. “I’m here. I’m in. I’m with you. Of course I am.” His voice softens as he speaks. “I’m playing devil’s advocate, is all. I don’t want you to get hurt. Or anyone else, either.”

“Same,” Ayesha whispers back.

I’ve only known Ayesha a few weeks, but from the moment we met, I could trust her. It was friendship at first sight. In a lot of ways, it was a new feeling for me—that sense of trust, of loyalty. There was David, of course; he is that and more, and I have friends on the tennis team, and in student government, but no one tight—not recently, anyway. I’m so grateful I have Ayesha. I smile at her and say, “I’m freaked, too. But we won’t be stupid. We’ll plan. We’ll hide in plain sight. We’ll protect one another. We’ll try our best.”

Soheil nods.

Ayesha steps over to me and gives me a hug and squeezes my hand.

“Okay,” Soheil says. “You are going to figure out a way to get a message to David—”

“A way that can maybe fire people up on the outside. There are already protestors here, and media. I want to light a match. Be a spark,” I say.

Soheil starts pacing around the boulders. “But we also have to find a way to resist inside.”

While he’s walking, Ayesha opens a small plastic bag and hands each of us a sandwich. She smiles. “I was a Girl Scout. I’m always prepared for my inevitable bouts of hunger.”

Soheil and I thank her and take the PB and J she hands us. I notice that Soheil’s fingers linger on Ayesha’s when he reaches for his sandwich.

Soheil looks at his food. “Fast. We get people to fast. Like, everyone skips dinner. Refuses to eat.”

“You have noticed that I get totally hangry, right?” Ayesha says. “But maybe a protest fast—missing the dinner slop at the Mess one day isn’t the worst idea ever.”

Soheil laughs. “It’s Gandhi-esque. It’s in your DNA.” He points to the two of us.

Ayesha rolls her eyes. “Yes, you’re right. All the desis in America have regular meetings about being more Gandhi-like, and we spin our own cotton, too. And all the Arabs here know how to ride camels, right?” Ayesha playfully punches him in the arm, but it was probably a bit harder than Soheil expected, and he winces a little.

“Okay, I hear you. Checking my assumptions.”

Ayesha tilts her head. “One upside: Muslims are used to fasting. Who knew Ramadan was preparing us for this?”

I interject, “It’s only one meal. Besides, three people won’t get much attention. How do we get other people to join in?”

Soheil proposes the threads of a plan. “We start with a core group. I’d like to bring Nadia and Nadeem—the twins on my block—in on it, and some others. Next Friday. The Director is letting us choose seats at dinner to show us his supposed generosity, right? Let’s use it. We need a group of us, enough to get attention.”