bus 11-269.

I hate stopping by

Blueberry Hill.

The stop adds 10 minutes

to our ride home.

10 minutes.

600 seconds.

Enough time

for anything

to happen.

Temper

In first grade,

Ms. Chowdhury made me sit next to

Ahmed Anwar.

A good girl

next to a bad boy.

Why don’t teachers

change their tactics?

He threw my favorite

Little Mermaid

pencil case

down to the ground.

I gave him a look.

The second time

I told him to stop.

The third time,

I pounded

the back of his head,

right next to

the gentle circle

of his cowlick,

Pound, pound, pound,

down to the ground,

until I got dragged out

to the hallway

by Ms. Chowdhury.

Good Girl no more.

Inside

When I get mad,

I am not like

the water in a rice pot

simmering slow.

I am calm

calm

calm

and then I explode.

I am a teakettle

waiting to scream.

The Incident

Tension takes bites

out of my stomach.

At first nibbles,

but then bites.

Jay and Cal

are bending their arms

into stumps

waggling them

back and forth

laughing quiet and loud

all at once.

Even though my face is calm

like a lake,

with no ripples at all,

my face becomes a wave.

Tidal.

Wild and furious

all at once.

SHUT UP!

SHUT UP!

ACT YOUR AGE.

My voice is so loud,

such a surprise—

it

shuts

them

up.

Tomorrow

I fidget at the bus stop.

I am so scared

of what they will do today,

of what they will say today.

Owais is so lucky he is 15,

and that his friend Michael Lee is 16

and drives him to high school.

I feel so alone.

But before leaving, Owais

nods at me.

Is he trying to say

Everything will be okay?

Aftermath

Today

Cal and Jay

don’t even look at me.

Not a peek.

They don’t look at

Mr. Tim either.

The edges,

corners,

of my heart

feel lighter.

Terrorist Attack

We can’t focus

on our homework

because the words

stare angrily

in WHITE CAPITAL LETTERS

from the bottom

of the TV screen.

I don’t like

the way

they are saying

Muslim

on TV.

Owais throws down

his pencil.

It’s ironic, isn’t it?

Islam means peace.

I guess the shooter

didn’t really click

with that part.

The faces of my parents

look old and tired

and their sighs are

those of old people.

My father’s face is still a frown

and his eyebrows

inverted Vs no more.

Please pray for the victims.

Be careful when you are

out and about.

You never know

when someone will look at you

and because they may think

you believe

what that idiot does,

they may

snap.

Knock on the Door

The next day,

when we are in school

and my father is

buttoning the third button

on his shirt,

there is a knock at the door.

The man’s shoulders

are as wide as a refrigerator,

his waist a narrow bucket.

Sir, can you step outside?

My father asks why.