Omar Rising: Chapters 16–28

On the weekend of the open house, I watch as parents and grandparents stream into Ghalib’s main foyer.

The kitchen is sweltering when I step inside with the trays.

An assortment of pans and pots, still steaming, rests along the counters.

“You and me both. But don’t they say exercise is good for the brain? Gets blood flowing or something? Come on, please? I’ll be your best friend.”
“Fine,” I relent.

“Does your belly have something it wants to say? It’s asking for attention pretty loudly.”
“It’s okay, Omar. I’m hungry, too,” Naveed says sheepishly.

Kareem always has a comeback for everything, but now he’s silent.

“Guess he doesn’t need to go to the parent luncheon since he can just forage for leftovers in the cafeteria anytime,” Aiden continues.

“It was probably a fluke.” He blushes. “But it was cool to finally see a good grade.”
“No fluke. You cracked Moiz’s code. It’s As here on out, Naveed,” Kareem says.

Pressing my palms against the glass, my heart pounds in my chest. It thrums in my ears.

“Kareem says everyone at his old school was snobby, but the kids here are mostly nice.”

“Sorry.” I feel flustered.

"But what if you never got a bad grade?” a student sitting at the front asks. “Then what happens?”
“Then thank God for your genius brain and let the rest of us underlings catch that break, please,” Kareem retorts.

I’d pored over the essay portion. Double-checked the grammar and spelling.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?" His easygoing demeanor is gone.

But I think of Headmaster Moiz’s smug face.
We will prove him wrong.

In one article, she said when things are hard, that’s when you have to be stubbornly optimistic.

I look at the three of us right now: pens in hands, jotting down the definitions of larvae and pupae. That’s us right now. Stubborn. And hoping as hard as we can that we’ll make it through.

Music starts blaring from Aiden’s room next door.

“He’ll probably launch a full investigation complete with undercover detectives and everything. Declare it a big conspiracy,” Kareem says.
“It is a conspiracy,” I say. “We’re studying more than anyone in the history of the universe.”

I know volleyball was harder for me than the other sports we’ve learned, but I couldn’t have been so bad as to deserve a private reprimand?

“I admire your work ethic,” he says.

And instead of wearing his usual button-down shirt tucked into khakis, he’s in pajamas and a pale robe.

My stomach churns.

Aiden should never have taunted Kareem about his father, but I hope now that the truth is out there, Kareem can breathe a little easier.

“I was heartened by your essay,” he says when I sit down.

The headmaster isn’t smiling. But he’s not glowering either.

“Playing on the fields isn’t forbidden. But I am concerned by the choice, given how fragile your status here is. I’ve seen far too many students squander their opportunity. Games are fun. But the work is what will take you where you need to go. I suggest you use your break wisely. The stakes are high, and to make it through, you’ll need to buckle down and focus. Understood?”

My mother stands by the entrance of the courtyard, her hand on the doorknob, her chador wrapped loosely around her head.

My mother ushers us into the courtyard to eat.

You know those two cats skulked around our house after you left? They probably missed you.

Everything at Ghalib is touted as gourmet, and Shuaib’s cuisine is delicious, but there’s nothing like my mother’s home cooking.

I’m still burning with shame from Headmaster Moiz’s rebuke.

I beeped my bike horn outside the window of her home. Three taps in quick succession.

I tell her about the chores, the insurmountable amount of schoolwork.

"In my situation, it would be like walking into a bear’s den and expecting a fuzzy hug.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“He’ll maul me to death?"