“Main tumase pyaar karata hoon sabase badhakar hamesha hamesha ke lie,” my mom explains as she asks me if I forgot anything.

 “Mujhe skool anne mein der ho jaegee,” I interrupt. “Main bhee tumase pyaar karata hoon,” I run out of my mom’s grip and to the bus just making it through the doors. 

“To excel you have to speak English,” My mom yells. 

“Theek hai,” I yell back. She glares at me and then the bus pulls away. I lean back into my seat feeling stressed.

 “HI! Come Zeitya . I saved a seat for you,” My best friend Sarahmaya calls over in that perfect Indian accent of hers.

“Hi.” I say feeling relieved after I sat down next to her. She must of heard the relief in my voice because she smiles. 

“You’re welcome,” she whispers – yells proudly. 

“I have music first thing in the morning again, then writing. You know I love writing then we have art. Your favorite . . .” Sarahmaya glances over and frowns. She probably notices the look on my face telling her that I’m not listening. 

“What’s wrong? Tell me.” She grabs a high schoolers phone and starts dialing my mom’s number. 

“I don’t know much English and my mom says to excel in school you have to speak English,” I blurt out before she could finish. She hands the phone back to the high schooler and sighs. 

“Seriously, come on” She says clearly rolling her eyes, clearly bored. She pulls me along and climbs out the bus. Time for music. Not my specialty. 

I grab a tray from the lunch counter and meet Sarahmaya at the food station.  I grab an orange, a burger, ketchup, broccoli, and spinach. Sarahmaya is already sitting at one of the tables and I join her. I take a bite of my already peeled orange. It’s like biting into the earth and sucking out the Atlantic Ocean. Indian food is not used a lot in the school because it’s an American school. Though they are allowed naan for snack.  Sarahmaya takes a loud bite probably everyone in the cafeteria can hear her. Crunch, crunch, crunch. My stomach growls telling me I need to eat. Growl, growl, growl. 

“ Can you for once eat quietly Sarahdia?” Says Everest. Everyone agrees he’s the worst person in the school. Everest is mean. He takes his hatred from his parents to other people. His parents sent him to an orphanage before they died in the war. He was treated badly in the orphanage. Sarahmaya’s face turns red glaring at him. She picks up her chair and throws it at him. The legs of the chair hits him in the chest. Punches him on the cheek and once he’s on the ground steps on him. 

“Do you know how that feels. It hurts right. Do you know what you just did? It hurt. More than that. My dad died. You know that. And you,” her chest is falling rapidly. Her body is a whirlpool of rage sucking all of the kindness in her heart out.   

“AND YOU TEASE ME ABOUT YOU A,” she screams. I know what she was about to say so I slam my hand over her mouth.

“Sarah,” my nickname for her calms her slightly.

 “Swear words give you one thing . . .” I let her calm down slightly before I continue. 

“Detention,” I said. My tray is knocked over but I don’t care. There’s a pat on my shoulder and I spin around.

 “ Hello ma’am,” I say in my most formal voice. 

“Follow me Zeitya,” she says.  She leads me to the hallway past the office and down a set of stairs. Our footsteps echo along the hallway. I thought I knew every corner of the school but I don’t, I thought things were good but they’re not, they’re bad.  

“Where are we going?” I ask. She says nothing. 

“Am I in trouble?” I ask. She doesn’t respond again. I don’t recall being in trouble. 

“Can you answer me?” I ask frustrated. She doesn’t respond. My mom’s car is waiting for me at the bottom. My mouth stays shut like glue glued it together. I gather my mouth to form words and make sound but I’m completely silent. 

“Mom,”  I say finally. My voice was barely louder than a whisper. I ran up to hug her. But she takes a step back.

“Our country split. Pakistan used to be part of India. The majority of Muslim people went to Pakistan for safety. Our banker stole all our money because we are Muslim. You need to leave now. Come Zeitya. Your name means love and peace for all. Do you want war? Come Zeitya, please. It’s for your good,” My mom protested.

“But mom, I can’t leave Sarahmaya. She’s an only child with one parent and without me no friends. I can’t,” I begin to run back up the staircase.

“Come back now,” My mom says in a surprisingly demanding voice. She grabs me by the arm and drags me back into the garage and next to the car.

“We’re going now.” She says in the demanding voice again. I let the tears fall onto the ground splashing across the hard concrete. I cried until it looked like the Mississippi River flooded the garage. I cried until my eyes dried and were big, red and puffy balls in my head. I cried until it was dark and the school was closed. I cried to keep me from falling and fainting. My knees gave out and hit the floor hard but I didn’t care. I cried as my mom dragged me into the car. I just kept crying and crying all the way to our new home on the border of Pakistan and India. I cried to keep my sanity from falling apart for something to focus on. I couldn’t stop. I finally cried myself to sleep in my new house. It felt like a new life, a new stop, a new path to go on. I needed to stay strong but I fell apart emotionally and mentally just not physically. I fell asleep as my wet head sank into the pillow. 

 I run down stairs for breakfast. 

“Zeitya! Aren’t you happy!” My mom says excitedly.

“Not really. I am still comprehending my departure from my friend,” I answer.

“Well you should be happy! Your sister is going to sell clothing with me. Your brothers are getting scholarships to go to school,” my mom says in that excited voice again.

“Sure, yeah, like totally,” I say making the sarcasm in my voice obvious. “What about me though?” 

“Honey, you cannot go to school,” my mom says simply. 

“WHAT!!!”  I scream! I run back upstairs crying. I need to go to school, I need to get scholarships. My family doesn’t seem to care about my education and I want to go to school but, ,my parents don’t have enough money to send me to school. They don’t think I’m smart enough to fulfill their expectations.  On the way I grab my moms phone without her noticing. When I get to my room I search on chrome : Scholarships for school. A bunch of answers come up. I click on one : Math contest scholarship.

 “ There’s a test that each contestant must take,” I read off of the phone. “Hmm. So I can do it. That’s delightful!” I say. I click on test. It’s blue and underlined so it must be a link. Maybe I can find out where to take the test. The website has an address on it. The address is 1935 east street. In the picture it looks like a school. Luckily it’s the local school. I sneak out of my house down the street into the school. Very few people are here. “Take the test then hand it in. Don’t mess up the system.” Says the person handing out the papers. 

“Okay Lesley,” says some random person. Lesley must be the person handing out the papers. I take a test and start working. I think I am doing well. Once I finish I turn it in and run back home. In a few hours I get the results. I failed. Should I try again? I debate if it’s worth it to take the test again. In the end I decide to do it again.

The next day I go back to the school and repeat the steps again. This time instead of rushing. I took my time and double checked my answers. I finish the test and hand it back to the person. I walk home and wait for my results. In a few hours I get my result. I got an A + . I can go to school.