Speak without words, p.21
Speak Without Words, page 21
Coach Larson stood. “She—”
“What is she doing?” Knothead looked over her shoulder to where Saafi had begun her prayers. “She can’t do that in here.”
“Pray?” Coach Larson usually reserved that look for players who owed her killers. This isn’t good. She would demand to speak to the guy’s supervisor, and probably the supervisor’s boss too. Claire glanced at Saafi. She wouldn’t want drama. All she wanted was to pray in peace and play volleyball.
Claire rushed to her teammates and tapped Beth on the shoulder. “We have a problem.”
Beth swallowed her cracker. “What?”
Claire gestured to their coach. “Coach Larson is about to rip that guy to shreds. He says Saafi can’t pray here.”
Beth wrinkled her nose. “What? That’s ridiculous.”
“We will pray too.” Maite pulled her rosary out of a pocket in her gym bag. “En el nombre del Padre, Hijo, y Espíritu Santo…” Maite’s booming voice drew Coach Larson’s and Knothead’s attention.
Beth joined them, shouting, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”
Claire knelt beside her other teammates. “Just follow along.” One by one, the girls joined the prayers, even though most were atheists. Beth and Maite shouted loud enough to attract another team’s attention. If Saafi noticed, she didn’t show it. Her excellent focus helped her tune out background noise on the court, and, apparently, in her prayers.
Coach Larson turned back to Knothead. “The sign on the front door says No Guns, not No Prayer. My team has every right to pray before a tough match. If you have a problem with that, I’m happy to speak with your manager.”
Knothead’s jaw wagged up and down before he spoke. “Uh, no. No, that’s fine.” He scampered off like a toddler fleeing a spanking.
Saafi finished her prayers and blinked at her teammates. “What is going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Coach Larson said with a grin. “Now, since you’re all in a spiritual mood, close your eyes and visualize your serves going over the net.”
Chapter 30
Saafi saved her proofread essay and searched the USA Volleyball rules regarding uniforms. Her teammates had told her the story behind their mid-tournament prayer session, and she wanted to see for herself whether her undershirt and leggings violated the rules. The knowledge might help in future tournaments.
After scanning the uniform policy, she understood why the official misinterpreted the guidelines. Visible undergarments were supposed to be identical, but the rules stated for all players who wear such a garment, meaning other players could opt not to wear them at all.
The uniform debacle may have been a misunderstanding, but the objection to her praying was pure ignorance. As if prayer were harming her competitors. What did he think, that she was calling down curses on her opponents?
She worked hard to be a positive example of her faith, but sometimes she felt her efforts were too small. Her teammates accepted her, and her friends understood her, but she wanted more.
The telltale sounds of her aunt putting her cousins to bed reached her from the hallway. Beth complained about how loud her siblings were, but Saafi liked the routine noise. Every day, the boys’ winding down reminded her she wasn’t alone.
Saafi waited until the boys quieted before moving to the living room, where her father sat with a newspaper on his lap and a cup of tea in his hand. Shadows of fatigue formed beneath his eyes. He worked long hours, but still came to every volleyball game, every award ceremony, and every parent-teacher conference. Saafi wasn’t a “goody two shoes” because she feared punishment. She stayed out of trouble because she wanted to make him proud.
“Dad?”
He set his tea aside and smiled. “Your face has that I-have-a-dream-too-big-for-myself look.”
“Huh?”
He chuckled. “You used the same expression when you asked me if you could try out for volleyball.”
Saafi sat across from him. “I didn’t know I was so easy to read.”
He turned the lamp up, spreading extra light and casting homey shadows, as if he were sitting beside a fire.
“Whatever your goal is, I’m sure you are more than capable of achieving it.”
Saafi frowned. She’d never live up to her father, who chaired several community groups.
“How do you change people’s minds? I mean, a bunch of people.”
“By listening.”
“Listening?” Listening seemed so passive. She wanted action that would prompt people to listen to her.
Her father nodded. “The first step in any productive conversation is to listen. Listening is the foundation of respect. After that comes speaking.”
Saafi thought on that while her father finished another crossword question. When someone made a sharp quip in class or sent her a nasty note, she ignored the hurt and worked to prove them wrong. But waiting for them to notice her positive example wasn’t enough. Maybe she needed to engage with them more, open a forum for conversation.
“I can see your wheels are spinning. Did I help?” her father said over his newspaper.
Saafi nodded. “I need to research this more.”
Claire sat at the lunch table, the first of her friends to arrive. One of many advantages of packing her own lunches. She opened her pasta salad. Another advantage: edible food.
“I’m ready for sign-ups.” Saafi’s smile overtook her face as she set her tray across from Claire’s. She remained standing, as if too excited to sit.
“What?” Beth asked as she and Maite joined them.
Saafi clapped. “After the…incident at our last tournament, I brainstormed how to better teach people about my faith, and I created a new student group to discuss religion, racism, and xenophobia.” She pulled a paper from her folder and handed it to Claire. “You can sign up first.”
Saafi may as well have handed Claire a live snake. “You want me to join?”
“Of course. We need all perspectives.”
Claire sighed. “You want me to join a d-d-d-discussion group?”
“Yeah.”
Maite laughed and pulled Saafi into her seat. “We love you, Saafi.”
Saafi furrowed her brows, looking hurt.
“It’s t-talking, Saafi,” Claire said.
“Oh, come on, Claire. Your stutter isn’t that bad.”
“Last time I gave a p-presentation, Brandon Nnnnnicholson fell asleep.”
“Claire has a point, Saafi,” Beth said. “Who wants to stay after school and talk for an hour? You need to make it fun.”
“Food,” Claire said. “Offer people your aunt’s cardamom cake, and your ssssign-up sheet will fill within the hour.”
“And music,” Maite said.
Saafi drummed her fingers on her lower lip. “So…we make the group a cultural exchange?” Her eyes sparkled as the idea took flight. “We’ll call it The Salad Bowl.”
Maite looked at her askance. “What?”
Saafi put on her lecturer’s smile. “Instead of dissolving into nothingness in a ‘melting pot,’ members of a salad bowl mix, but they retain their unique cultural characteristics. ‘Integration, not assimilation.’”
Beth snorted. “Love the sentiment, but the title needs work. What about a symphony or a mosaic? Each component is different, but it’s all one work of art.”
Saafi’s lips moved in a circle as though she were rolling the idea around in her mouth. “Okay. Mosaic it is. A cultural exchange group to celebrate the artistic, musical, and culinary heritage of Brooks High students.”
Claire took the paper from Saafi and scribbled her name on the first line. “That I will join.”
If Saafi wanted her idea to work, she couldn’t just invite the honors crowd and people she liked. She needed to engage with the troublesome students too, starting with Adam Easdon. She’d chickened out in English, but she was meeting with Principal Gray to discuss the group, and Adam’s name on the sign-up list would prove the validity of her approach.
Saafi approached Adam’s locker. You can do this. “Adam?”
Adam whirled to face her, and a stomach-churning grin crossed his face. “The one and only, despite what Todd may say. What brings you my way, Mary Sue? You decide to live a little?”
Saafi counted to five before responding. “I’m starting a new student group to celebrate cultural diversity, and I want you to join.” She held out the sign-up list to him.
Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “It’ll never work.”
“There’s free food.” Claire had been right. The free food aspect had earned Saafi many sign-ups.
“No, I mean, teachers don’t have time to sponsor stupid shit like that.” He shut his locker. “If you want to ask me out, just say so.”
He strode away, leaving her temples throbbing. Guys like him made her understand why Maite and Claire were so quick with their fists. Give it time. He’ll come around when the group becomes popular.
She strode past the school secretary and sat outside the principal’s office. After fidgeting in the stiff chair, she debated whether she’d be more comfortable standing, but Principal Gray opened the door before she decided.
“Saafi, come on in. I hear you have an interesting idea.”
Saafi followed him through the door, which they left open, and sat in a bigger but still uncomfortable chair.
“I’d like to start a student group to celebrate diversity among Brooks High students. It will be a cultural exchange with food, music, and discussion.” She handed the principal her folder. “I’ve listed examples of similar groups throughout the country, and as you can see on the sign-up sheet, we’ve already garnered interest.”
Principal Gray pursed his lips as he read. “Who is sponsoring it?”
Saafi’s stomach dropped. She’d hoped Adam had been lying. None of her late-night research mentioned faculty sponsors.
“I haven’t recruited a sponsor yet, but—”
“All student groups must have a faculty sponsor.” He handed her folder back. “We’ll talk when you have one.”
Saafi recognized the dismissal. She left the office discouraged, but new ventures often confronted bureaucracy. Lack of sponsor was a minor setback, and a temporary one. As an honors student, she had an excellent relationship with all her teachers. She’d find a sponsor tomorrow.
Mr. Pohl’s espresso-wide eyes sparkled as he listened to Saafi’s explanation, confirming her decision to ask him first. With luck, she wouldn’t need to ask her other teachers.
“So, what do you think?”
Mr. Pohl’s smile bobbled as he nodded. “I think it’s a great idea, but I need to pass.”
“What?”
Mr. Pohl spread his hands. “I’m already sponsoring the Drama Club and the Speech & Debate Club. I’m sure someone else will take it on.”
“I’m sure someone else will” became the refrain of the day. Each of her teachers offered some excuse. “I already sponsor too many clubs.” “I gave up my prep hour to tutor.” “Don’t we already have a Spanish Club and a French Club?” “It sounds great, but one of your other teachers would be better qualified.”
After school, she tried her teachers from last year, and the year before, but everywhere she turned, she received a polite version of “no.” She checked the student handbook. Her middle school teachers weren’t eligible.
What can I do? School had always been easy for her, and leadership came naturally. At least she’d thought so, but if she couldn’t even convince a teacher to sponsor the group, was she qualified to lead it? What if I fail?
She didn’t feel like going to practice that evening, but she dragged herself there anyway. Maybe exercise would spark new ideas.
Maite greeted her with a big hug. “When is Mosaic? My neighbor said he will bring churros.”
I should’ve stayed home. Beth’s eyebrows raised in a question. I may as well tell them.
“We can’t form the group.”
“What?” Maite said.
Saafi dropped to the floor and changed into her volleyball shoes. “I can’t get any of the teachers to sponsor it.” Her first real outreach effort, and she’d failed.
“Does the sssssponsor need to be a teacher?” Claire asked. “Or can any staff member volunteer?”
Saafi mentally reviewed the rules. “Any staff member. Why? You know someone?”
“Duh.” Claire nodded to their coach. “The school speech therapist.”
“Claire, you’re a genius.” Saafi raced to where Coach Larson was putting up the nets. “Coach, can I talk to you for a second?” She explained her predicament. “Will you sponsor it?”
“I cover more than one school. I’m not at Brooks every day.”
Saafi clenched her fist, unwilling to accept the same excuse she’d received from her teachers.
“We’d only meet every other Thursday.” Please, please, please. Tell me all that stuff about teams being families is true.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
Coach Larson nodded.
Saafi squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” Coach Larson smiled wryly and tossed her a ball. “Now start warming up, or you’ll owe me killers for being tardy.”
Chapter 31
Saafi practically skipped into school, eager to submit the paperwork for her peace-promoting student group, but she stumbled into a civil war.
A mob of students surrounded a pair of drinking fountains, all talking at once. Saafi pushed through the crowd until she spotted what caused the commotion. Someone had taped a sign to the drinking fountain. A sign that read Whites Only.
“We won’t put up with this shit.” Jeff Chen spat as he spoke. The students behind him voiced their assent. Across the hall, a group of white students stared at their shoes, buried their faces in their lockers, or hugged their books to their chests. A smaller group, the Easdon twins at its center, stood apart and snickered.
“Wait,” Saafi said. She moved between Jeff and the Easdon twins. “They’re just looking for a reaction.”
Cumar Ahmed, a linebacker, stepped toward her, and Saafi almost backed away. Normally she’d classify the fellow honors student as a gentle giant, but rage clouded his eyes, and she doubted he was contemplating the consequences of his unfettered anger.
Saafi stood her ground, hoping logic would reach him. “You react violently, and they win. You’ll become every bad stereotype they have of you.”
Maite appeared behind Saafi, and Cumar glared up at her. “You want to do nothing?”
“I want to hit them so hard they can’t stand tomorrow,” Maite said, “but Saafi is more smart than me, and I trust her.” Cumar retreated, leaving Saafi stunned as respect replaced the rage in his eyes.
A teacher emerged from a nearby classroom. “What is going…” Her sentence died as she surveyed the hallway. Her heels clicked as she sped to the principal’s office.
Pedro Gonzalez, another junior in the honors classes, stepped to the front. “You want us to just stand here?”
“We can’t let them taunt us without fighting back. I’ve had enough of that sicko grabbing for my hair.” Saafi’s second cousin, Falis, gestured to Adam.
Three groups of students lined the hallway. One simmered in anger, another reddened with shame, and the third sneered in derision. All of them watched Saafi. She had precious seconds to resolve this conflict, to prove she could be a leader. She’d wanted to take action. Now was her chance.
“I said we should avoid violence. I didn’t say we shouldn’t fight back.” Saafi reached into her enormous purse, tore out a page from her planner, and strode to the drinking fountain. After biting off the cap of a black pen, she added a word to the sign. She taped another sign over the drinking fountain next to it, took a drink, and marched down the hall toward her first class.
She could only hope her classmates followed her.
Claire hadn’t needed to read the sign to know what it said. She just needed to read Beth’s expression. When she’d first met Beth, the girl’s face had been a stone wall, but after spending all year together, she recognized the nuances in her features. First Beth’s eyes widened in shock. Then they swirled with panic as she scanned the crowd for her little sister. Only after confirming Minh’s safety did hurt spring into her expression, but it didn’t last long. Little by little, Beth drew her pain inward, and her face hardened into a brittle mask.
“Saafi, espera.” Maite ran after Saafi. “Ay.” She backpedaled to the second drinking fountain, took a sip, and ran to catch up with her friend. She put her arm around Saafi’s shoulders, and the two disappeared around the corner.
Adam put his hands on his hips in an amateurish mimicry of Saafi’s poise. The silence tightened like a guitar string being tuned. Claire waited for it to snap as two groups simmered in anger, and the other exchanged worried glances.
After a minute that seemed like a decade, a girl—Imelda, Claire thought her name was—extracted herself from next to Cumar.
“Shake those maracas, mamacita,” Adam called. His cronies laughed, but Imelda didn’t react. The whole of her body mass could fit inside Cumar’s left thigh, but in that moment, she was eight feet tall. She strode—spine straight and chin lifted—to the second drinking fountain, drank, and disappeared down the hallway.
Adam whistled and catcalled again. Claire’s blood boiled so violently, she thought her freckles might explode off her face. She stepped forward, but Beth grabbed her elbow.
“What are you doing?” Her tone warned against starting a fight.
“What they should do.” Claire gestured to the group of embarrassed white kids before marching to the second drinking fountain. After drinking, she spun to face Todd and gestured to the fountain.
“Claire…” Todd shifted his weight as if he had rocks in his shoes.
Adam smacked his arm. “Todd!”
Todd cleared his throat and widened his stance, glaring across the hall instead of meeting Claire’s eye. How could I have been so blind? Even when offered this second chance to be a decent human being, Todd declined.
