23

Wednesday morning: Arshad struggles through fajr namaz, unable to concentrate. Even after being up most of the night, he still can’t settle on which symptoms to fake to persuade his father that he must stay home.

Arshad has no experience faking illness. If his mother were home, he’d never have agreed to Jemaal’s plan—he has too much respect for her professional acumen. Fortunately, Arshad needs to convince only his father, who is usually preoccupied these mornings getting Amina ready for school.

Arshad can’t decide between a stomachache and a fever—but what is he to do if Abba insists on checking his temperature? Also, he can’t overdo the symptoms: Abba may then decide to have him examined by Khadija Aunty or may choose to remain home to take care of him. This first hurdle must be surmounted if the day is to succeed according to plan.

“You’re daydreaming, or what?” Ismail taps Arshad lightly on the back of the head.

Arshad is still on his knees wondering which dua to pray for help with the day’s enterprise. Startled, he hurries through the rest of the tasleem, staggering to his feet afterward.

“You don’t look well,” Ismail says. “Go sleep some more, you can read the Quran in the evening.”

Fajr has brought some respite after all. Arshad returns to bed, heartened, after a glance in the mirror: he does look peaked and fatigued from the sleepless night. He may be able to get away with a low-grade stomachache, with generalized weakness thrown in for good measure. As though in answer to his dua, by the time he needs to get out of bed again, his body appears to have fallen in with his designs, sick with anxiety. He shuffles through his morning preparations, his sighs and groans are only slightly exaggerated, and when he doubles up clutching his stomach, the pain feels real.

Amina, his only audience, is easily convinced. “Abba, Bhaiya’s sick,” she runs downstairs crying, lending him credence.

His mother’s call, coming then, also ends up working in his favor: she’s not worried since he doesn’t have a temperature, she announces, and he’ll be fine if he stays home and rests.

Abba leaves him with solicitous instructions; Amina’s eyes brim with sympathy and concern. He’s reenergized when they depart, the feverishness his body had assumed fading even as his father’s car turns into the street. The ease with which the first hurdle was overcome seems auspicious.

While waiting for Jemaal, he makes a list of possible targets, looking them up on his father’s computer. When Jemaal arrives, Arshad feels once again the rush of blood through his body, making him light-headed with excitement and apprehension.

“Have you seen this?” Jemaal pulls up a video on a website. It features a boy about their age, speaking directly to the camera: “In recent weeks people may have been telling you what to think of us Muslims. They say that you should fear me. But I’m no different from other American teenagers—”