Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero: Chapters 28–40

She beckoned him to the front of the class with sharp red nails. “Come here and tell everyone. I feel like we should hear this from someone who knows about it.”

“You and your dad both think you’re heroes, fighting against bullies. But guess what? We’re few and weak, while they’re strong. They will win, every time.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“You can’t...” Danial’s indignant voice became louder and more irritated.

On the last Saturday before Thanksgiving break, Tony brought the practice arena board he’d made in shop class. It was an exact replica of the one they’d be given at the TRC regionals in Conroe.

"Danial has forsaken me for another friend,” he joked, pointing. Danial and Cameron were bent over their LEGO Mindstorms figures, their heads so close together that their hair was touching.

Yusuf shrugged. “Forget Danial. He’s a pessimist. He always thinks badly of everyone and everything.”

Amma had called from the car when they were five minutes away, and Nani stood on the porch waiting. She wore a plain white shalwar kameez and her gray hair was tied in a long, thin braid.

Yusuf peeked into the pots on the stove. Mutton for the biryani, eggplant and potatoes for a side dish. On the counter lay a full chicken, waiting to be roasted.

Yusuf looked around the room, remembering snippets from Uncle Rahman’s journal. There was a desk in the corner, old and beat-up. A window above it looked onto the backyard.

He peeked into the quiet haven of the library. “Can I eat here, please, Mrs. Levy?” he asked the librarian.

Mrs. Levy was looking at him with warm blue eyes.
“Needed some solitude, eh?”
“I guess.”

Yusuf continued. “I also learned about the Holocaust. You know, the terrible thing that happened in Europe during World War Two? In the beginning, so many people just ignored how Jews were being treated. It was the little things, like name-calling and stereotyping. But here’s the thing: when nobody stands up to the bullies, they get even bolder. And they think they can do whatever they want because other people just won’t get involved.”

I brought them chai from the kitchen, and small chocolate crackers, and then settled in the window seat to read. I'm halfway through Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and it’s just as good as the previous books.

Father Hancock laughed a little and replied that he was indeed planning something. “I have a friend who's a rabbi,” he said, “and I just met a Hindu at a party last week.”

Aleena went into peals of laughter again.

Amma had errands to run, but she stopped at Olde Oaks Emporium to buy new shirts and pants for Yusuf.

Yusuf didn’t know what was more painful: the fact that Danial had apparently found a new best friend, or that Jared was missing from this little impromptu party.

Cameron leaned closer. “Listen to me. There’s only one way to survive this. To assimilate. That’s what your dad and my dad are doing. That’s what we all are doing.”

Mr. Parker was looking right at him. “Yusuf?”
“Um...tectonic plates?”
“Good.”

He saw Ethan and Sammy in the distance, bearing down on him with dark, gleeful faces. A faint beeping sound emanated from around him like a warning signal. Beep-beep-beep.

Yusuf couldn’t help it. He ran to the field—to his backpack—until he was standing right next to it. Still, he didn’t dare pick it up. The beeping was stronger now, more insistent. Beep-beep-beep.

Officer Strickland gingerly opened the zipper and peered inside. “Looks like a computer chip to me. Not a toy.”

Something niggled in Yusuf’s mind. The handwriting...
His breath caught in his throat.
The handwriting was just like the writing on the notes in his locker.

“Yes, but now I know he’s wrong. You’re a good person. You’re my friend. I stopped delivering those notes as soon as I realized that.” Jared was almost begging, his hands clasped together like he was praying a desperate prayer.

Officer Strickland grabbed Yusuf’s shoulder and pulled him up. Yusuf hoped fervently his shaky legs would keep him standing.

The downtown police station was a small building, full of cubicles for police officers and a holding area for criminals.

“You’re on the school board, why didn’t you do anything?” That was Amma, her voice hard and brittle, like it would break any minute.

They sat on the bed and played for the longest time, until the aroma of parathas wafted into the room and Aleena sniffed like a puppy.

“I understand, Mrs. Azeem. I really do,” the principal replied after a pause. “Unfortunately, the police said they have to take measures like these if someone makes a credible threat. There was a consistent beeping from your son’s backpack, and it’s not a good idea to take this sort of thing lightly. We have the safety of the school to consider.”

Yusuf: Sorry, Danial. We need to defeat the enemy.
Danial: What enemy????
Yusuf: You know. A certain boy and his dad. Plus his posse.
Danial: Wow, okay. You’re officially nuts.

Danial: This guy is too optimistic for his own good. Cameron, tell him.
Cameron: No, he’s right. We’ve tried everything else and failed. Let’s try love too. What’s the harm?

Cameron put down his shake. “Ethan had originally asked me to send those notes, offered me money, but I refused. I guess he found Jared easier to manipulate.”

“Did he actually say ‘the Patriot Sons’?” Danial asked, gaping.

“Yes, a boy from my parish came to me a few days ago with the most passionate speech.” The pastor smiled sideways at Jared. “I believe he is friends with your children.”

A group of angry-looking people stood on the street just a few yards away, with Mr. Grant in the front like he was their angry leader. They had their placards and signs, and they chanted their usual slogans. “Go home!” “We don’t want you here!”

Principal Williamson looked directly at him. “Today, to that boy and his parents, I want to say we’re sorry. I’m officially apologizing on behalf of the school. On my own behalf. We let you down, son, and we should have done a better job protecting you.”

The TRC coordinator came back to the microphone and announced the beginning of the qualifying round. “This is where we test your stamina, kids. Only ten teams go on to the final challenge. Only five teams advance to the finals! Five out of ninety-three, kids. The competition is tougher than an armadillo’s hide!”

The next team was a group from Pasadena, loud and gangly kids who shouted every time their robot, Drake Junior, collected a chip.

Yusuf inspected their robot, SuperGirl II. She was half the size of Miss Trashy, and when the race began, she zoomed away as if propelled by lightning.

After ten of the slowest minutes in history, the scores were tallied and the leaderboard lit up. The Freybots were in!

Back on the bus, the team sang the victory cheer over and over until they were hoarse.