More to the Story: Chapters 24–46

I need to focus on something else, so I flip open the computer and edit my article, taking out Ali’s name and any reference to his life. Instead I put in a few hypothetical situations as examples of microaggressions, define the term, and discuss how they harm people.

Ali came too, wearing a somber expression and carrying plastic bags filled with the dinner they brought us from Kabab Hut.

I grimace, remembering how I dismissed Bisma’s fears when she first showed me the bump on her neck.

“Do you have a bowl for the chutney?” he asks. “Should we warm the kabob in the oven?”

“My cousin had lymphoma a few years ago, and he’s fine now,” Kayla volunteers. “I think he had to have a bone marrow transplant, though. I can’t remember exactly.”

“She needs to have a biopsy of the mass and some more tests, so it will be better for her to stay there. We want her to get the best treatment she can get, right?”

“You’ll be going to the Pediatric Oncology Unit on the fourth floor,” a cheerful lady with silver hair says to us, handing me a visitor’s badge.

I snatch the paper from Kayla, which I haven’t seen yet, and scan the article. There’s Ali’s name and his anecdote.

And the third has chicken curry. At the moment, the sight of it makes my stomach flip. Ever since Kayla showed me the newspaper this morning, I’ve been queasy.

Journalists and the field of journalism have been under attack in recent years, accused of telling lies and spreading their own agendas rather than being objective.

But, as we’ve talked about before, a strong, independent media is critical to democracy.

Ms. Levy starts with the first point, Seeking Truth and Reporting It, and delves into sources, how we get news, being careful making promises, and more.

“Does this mean that if someone says something to you, and it’s not officially an interview, you can never put it in an article?” Callie asks what everyone is probably thinking.
“Not necessarily. But you need to ask them, ‘Can I quote you?’ Right?” Ms. Levy says.

“Couldn’t companies putting ads in papers control what people write about?”
“They never should,” Ms. Levy says. “Or that would be unethical. These are great questions.”

The last point Ms. Levy makes is about Being Accountable and Transparent.
“This includes acknowledging mistakes and finding the best way to correct or clarify things when necessary.”

He beckons Maryam, who is frozen in disbelief, to come closer.

“Then your dad asked me to go easy on you. He said you forgot to e-mail your article to him. Plus everyone is upset and overwhelmed about Bisma, which I understand.”

Baba studies diseases and can talk at the dinner table about the most disgusting symptoms, but he’s super squeamish around needles and blood.

Bisma thanks me with her eyes, but there’s seriousness in her demeanor that wasn’t there before.

Stopping at Target turns into full-fledged grocery shopping as Mama disappears into the food aisles.

Mama tousles her hair.

Since Baba’s been home for the past two weeks, he’s been taking turns driving Bisma to her appointments and making green shakes and whatever else he can think of to entice Bisma to keep eating.

“This is no measly Whopper. No more for you.”

Bisma holds up a well-loved lamb that used to be white but is a grimy shade of gray now.

He doesn’t talk to Maryam or me much, but the fact that Bisma is genuinely smiling and giggling for the first time since her diagnosis isn’t lost on any of us.

“I don’t think you should give up on soccer because of what happened. It’s not your fault.” I could say more, but don’t want to push it.
“Duly noted.”

Mama goes into the kitchen, and my sisters and I circle Bisma, as if we’re creating a shield around her and the prospect of her without any of her hair.

Bisma sounds so mature it’s disconcerting. While we were working on the blog, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my baby sister has been snatched by aliens and replaced by a mini grown-up.

He blows his nose and gazes at Bisma with a wistful mix of love and pride.

A few days ago Baba spotted me reading about people who either shave their heads in solidarity with loved ones who have cancer or donate hair when I was doing my research.

But Ms. Levy is special. And not because her nails have tiny stars emblazoned on them.

“That’s true,” Ms. Levy muses. “But I thought you were with me on newspapers staying paper?”

“You know I’ll be there. But wait, did you say...social media?” Ali feigns horror.

After Bisma was home from the hospital, Baba and I sat down and finally talked about my article debacle and everything that had happened with Travis and Ali.

Ali has been practically giddy with excitement over his mom and sister arriving.