Elm Creek: A Readymade Family, Volume 1

2

TWO

Pear Orchards, Ohio

September 1993

Mr. Hawkins’ English class was an unpleasant cacophony of loud voices, boisterous laughter, the scrape of chairs and tables against the linoleum floor, and even music when Hâroon stepped inside on a Monday afternoon after the lunch break, carrying his bag over his shoulder. As was the usual, some stopped in mid-conversation to stare, others snickered, and a few made comments about cross-dressers.

Hâroon was used to it. Since he’d started wearing the thawb more than the usual attire Americans were used to at twelve, even at school, he’d been getting stares, whispers, and laughs at his expense. It didn’t help when he was often one of the only Muslims in the class and usually the only one wearing a thawb. Though his younger brother had started wearing it more when he’d started high school last year—whether it was Ya’qoob’s attempt to show support or if he’d come to the same conclusion that Hâroon had, that it covered the ’awrah better, he wasn’t sure—the brothers shared no classes since Ya’qoob was just a sophomore and Hâroon was a senior, so they were each on their own as they faced non-Muslim classmates’ laughter and ridicule for their choice of attire.

It had been two weeks since school had started, but still most of the students stared, laughed, or made comments. In the English class, Hâroon wasn’t the only Muslim. There was also a Muslim girl, Amînah Hilâl, and guy, Shafîq Bakrî, but neither seemed to stand out as much as he did with his thawb and tâqîyyah. Shafîq wore blue jeans and T-shirts just like every other guy at school, and Amînah, though she wore hijâb, wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, so she didn’t stand out that much once people got over the scarf covering her hair. Even with two other Muslims in the class, the attention was usually more on him than them, so he usually felt as if they weren’t there at all.

He ignored the stares, whispers, and snickers as he made his way to his usual seat, beside dark-haired and brown-eyed Diego Álvarez, his junior-year seatmate. He sat down, took out his book, and set aside his bag. Then he waited for the dreaded Mr. Hawkins to arrive. His elder sister Maryam had taken his class when she was in high school, and he was known to have a tendency to target the Muslims in his class subtly, like partnering Muslim girls with guys and vice versa way too often for it to be mere coincidence. He’d done it to Maryam—who had stood out just as much as he did in high school with her ’abâyah and niqâb—every single time there was a class assignment that had required a partner.

As usual, Hâroon and Diego didn’t have anything to say to each other. Diego was one of his more tolerable classmates, but they were just too different to find any common ground for a relationship beyond the classroom, especially since Diego’s major interests were flirting and sneaking alcohol when he could. Diego was flirting with Amy Schaefer, a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who was seated behind them, completely ignoring Hâroon’s presence. Hâroon opened his textbook and started reading as an attempt to block them out.

Finally, the middle-aged teacher walked into the class just as the final bell was going off, slamming his books on the table to bring the chaotic class to silence. Mr. Hawkins was a tall lean man with thinning, gray hair that had once been brown, a sharp nose, and cold gray eyes hidden behind a pair of thick lenses. He was a sharp-tongued, impatient man that probably should have never gone into teaching. Hâroon counted him as one of his least favorite teachers. Even the kids who weren’t Muslim didn’t like him much.

There was an advantage to his appearance though. The music had stopped. And Diego and Amy had stopped flirting. Everyone raced to their chairs and faced the front. He could be grateful for the peace Mr. Hawkins had brought in with him, even if he didn’t like him.