To my inspiring young friend, Zara

  Chapter 1

  “How about a marble roller coaster?” Naomi suggests from her stool, where she’s swinging her legs back and forth.

  “Yes!” Zayd cheers, before suddenly frowning and adding, “Wait. What’s that?”

  We can’t help but laugh at my little brother, who has snuck into our clubhouse to listen to our conversation. Again.

  “It’s a roller coaster for a marble,” Naomi explains. “You use stuff like foam and cardboard and make loops and hills to see how far you can get the marble to go.”

  I ponder this as I bite into a sugar cookie, one of the snacks Naomi brought for us today. A marble roller coaster sounds less exciting than a real one. But it could still be fun to make. And if it turns out well, we could add it to the Brisk River Book of Neighborhood Records under “Most Amazing Marble Roller Coaster.”

  “Let’s add it to the list,” I say.

  Our list of “Things To Do Over Spring Break” is getting long already. Yesterday Jade added weaving friendship bracelets out of recycled plastic. Gloria wants to make homemade paletas, frozen fruity treats that she insists are better than flavored ice sticks. Alan said he’s going to organize an “epic” Easter egg hunt. That gave Jade the idea to add decorating eggs to the list. And since Zayd is still deciding what he wants us all to do together over break, I left the space for number five blank for him. Melvin is traveling to Korea over break, so his ideas for things to do aren’t on the list. And although Naomi’s brother, Michael, hasn’t come up with any suggestions yet, I know he’ll have something to say about everything we do. He’s in eighth grade already and has lots of opinions.

  I write “marble roller coaster” on the whiteboard and stand back to admire the list. There’s no way this isn’t going to be the best spring break ever. None of the kids on our street can complain that we aren’t doing something that they want. We’ve included everyone, which is the number one neighborhood rule for having fun. And all the activities sound like they could be a good—and even delicious—time.

  “What supplies do we need?” Naomi asks. “Let’s make sure we get everything ahead of time. We don’t want another piñata situation.”

  I groan. Last summer we made a huge batch of glue mixture to craft a homemade piñata shaped like a strawberry. We followed step-by-step instructions from a video on YouTube. But since we didn’t have any balloons, we used an old beach ball and layered the newspaper, glue, and tissue on top of it. It looked seriously amazing when we were finished. You’re supposed to pop the balloon and take it out of the piñata when the glue is dry, and then you can put the candy inside. But the beach ball wouldn’t pop no matter what we did, so we couldn’t get to that step. Michael ended up shaking the bag of candy out around the yard instead. The candy flew everywhere, and everyone dove onto the grass and fought each other for it. Months later Melvin found a mini Tootsie Pop over by his garage.

  “We’ll get all the things we need!” I promise. “It’s not that much. Except for maybe the roller coaster foam. And the eggs. And Popsicle sticks. But we still have a few days before break.”

  “I’ll ask my mom if she can help us,” Naomi offers.

  I already know that Mrs. Goldstein is ready to help. She has an entire cabinet full of crafting supplies. It’s like she’s just waiting for us to ask her for pipe cleaners or tissue paper or googly eyes. My mom’s answer when I ask her for stuff is usually “Check the garage,” but you’d be surprised by all the useful things I’ve managed to dig out of there.

  “Let’s ask her now,” Naomi says. “And I want to get a drink.”

  “Let’s go, Zayd,” I tell my brother. “Wipe up your crumbs, okay?”

  The last thing we need is for Zayd to dirty up the clubhouse after we spent a whole hour spring cleaning it over the weekend. It’s looking great now that we swept out all the dead leaves and grass, dusted it, and wiped down the stools. We’ve got the whiteboard and our book of records in there, along with tennis balls and jump ropes. After our stools and a tiny tray table for snacks, there’s not much room for anything else. But it’s still the perfect place to make plans, hide out, and take a break from the sun. And it was one of Naomi’s best ideas ever to turn the old toolshed in her backyard into our fun-making headquarters.

  “Hey, Mom?” Naomi asks as we head into her house and Zayd trots back across the street to our house. “Can you help us with supplies?”

  “For what, honey?” Mrs. Goldstein asks. She’s in the kitchen, chopping up herbs and throwing them into a bowl.

  “For all the activities we planned for spring break,” Naomi explains. “We need foam, Popsicle sticks, tape, and what else was there, Zara?”

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Goldstein puts down her knife. “I thought I told you I signed you up for camp this break.”

  “What? You didn’t tell me,” Naomi says. “Which camp?”

  We look at each other in surprise, and Naomi raises her eyebrows in a way that I know means, I have no idea what’s going on.

  “The temple is offering a day camp, so I signed you and Michael up,” Mrs. Goldstein explains.

  “Do I have to go?” Naomi pleads. “Zara and I already have the whole week planned out! We came up with a long list of things to do with everybody!”

  “I’ve already paid for it,” Mrs. Goldstein says, shaking her head as she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “So, yes, I’m afraid you do have to go. And besides, you’ll like it. Your friends from Hebrew School will be there.”

  “Okay,” Naomi says, even as her shoulders droop. “Come on, Zara.”

  Naomi grabs my hand, and we walk into the family room and sit down together on her sofa in stunned silence.

  “Sorry,” she finally whispers to me. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper back, even though my throat tightens as I speak. Spring break won’t be the same without Naomi.

  Chapter 2

  Mama is scowling at the television while watching the news, so I wait for a commercial before asking my question.

  “Can I go to Har Shalom’s spring break camp?”

  “Where?” Mama replies, turning her full attention to me.

  “Naomi’s going, and we had so many things we planned to do over break, so I thought maybe I’ll just go to camp with her instead, because she said that it’s really great and that it has all this—”

  “Slow down.” Mama holds up her hands like she does when she wants me to take a breath and stop speaking.

  I pause.

  “You want to go to camp at the… synagogue?” Mama asks.

  “Yeah. With Naomi. I mean, I know it’s probably mostly for Jewish kids. But remember when you said Muslims are so much like Jewish people when we were at Michael’s bar mitzvah?”

  “Yes, I remember,” Mama says.

  “So, then, it’ll be okay for me to go, right?” I continue.

  Mama makes a sound that’s half cough, half laugh. “Listen, I’m sure the folks at Har Shalom would welcome you at the camp. But I already made plans for break,” she finally says.

  “You did?” I ask. Mama didn’t tell me about any plans. That must be because it’s a surprise. Maybe we’re going on a trip! We’ve been talking about driving to the beach for a while. That’s got to be it!

  My mother pats the seat next to her, like she does whenever she has big news. I begin to make a mental list of the items I’m going to pack for the beach. I can’t forget to bring my new hat with the tiny pineapples all over it, and my swimming shoes if I can find them. I should probably make up some games for the car ride, so Zayd doesn’t annoy us the whole time.

  “I’m going to be tied up with a training at the office, and your father is extra busy with a proposal. So I thought you and Zayd could spend the week with Naano and Nana Abu,” Mama continues.

  Hold on. What?

  “Does that mean we’re not going to the beach?” I ask.

  “No, Zara.” Mama sighs. “Not the beach. You two are on spring break, but Baba and I still have work. Don’t worry, your grandparents are excited to take care of you two and spend the week with you. Especially now that Nana Abu is retired and has more free time, remember?”

  She says it like I could have already forgotten the special dinner to celebrate Nana Abu’s retirement last week. Even though it was a party, it seemed to make him happy and sad at the same time. He worked at the same company for thirty-seven years, and now he won’t be going there or seeing his co-workers anymore.

  “It would be better to go on a vacation,” I say.

  Zayd, who somehow always appears whenever there’s big news, rushes into the room.

  “Where are we going?” he asks, breathless.

  “Not to the beach,” I mutter.

  “You’re going to Naano’s house, for spring break,” Mama tells him.

  Zayd’s eyes grow wide. “For the whole week? Are we sleeping there? Are you and Baba coming too?” he asks.

  “No, Zayd. Just you and Zara during the day. I’ll drop you off and pick you up, like we already do when they take care of you. You’ll have a great time.”

  Zayd looks at me now, his eyes wider. “We have to be there for the whole entire break?” he squeaks.

  “I know,” I add. “Can’t we stay at home?” I ask Mama. “That way we can at least still play with Gloria, Jade, and Alan. We have a whole long list of plans.”

  “I can’t leave you alone all day.” Mama shakes her head. “I won’t be here, and Baba needs to go to meetings too.”

  “But I’m old enough,” I argue. “People stay home alone at my age.”

  “Not until you’re twelve.” Mama is firm. “Come on, you two. You always have a good time whenever you go there. Naano makes you so many treats.”

  That part’s true. Naano loves to feed us, especially Zayd, who she calls her “skinny mouse.” She makes us her best Pakistani dishes, like kabobs with no onions or tomatoes, chicken biryani, and her famous parathas. Plus she secretly lets us have junk food like chips and cookies from packages that Mama doesn’t like to buy. But Naano also has a list of chores for us to do for her whenever we visit. And she likes to watch her Pakistani dramas turned up super loud, yell into the phone to relatives in Pakistan, and spend a long time praying. Honestly, it gets pretty boring after a few hours.

  Like she’s reading my mind, Mama speaks up again. “I’ve already talked to Naano, and she says she’ll make sure you play games and do plenty of fun things. Think of it as… Camp Naano.” Mama smiles at her own joke, but Zayd and I don’t smile back.

  “Shouldn’t we get to decide what we want to do for our own break?” I grumble. I mean, first Mrs. Goldstein signed Naomi up for Har Shalom camp without telling her, and now my mom’s sending us to this so-called Naano camp without asking us, either.

  “You can decide to have a good attitude and make the best of this,” Mama says, turning her attention back to the news.

  Zayd turns to me and shrugs. There’s no changing Mama’s mind.

  “Besides, you can see your friends when you get home, and on the weekend,” Mama adds.

  “I guess,” I say. But I already know that it isn’t going to be the same.

  Chapter 3

  Naano opens the door and then spreads open her arms for a hug. Zayd and I dive in, and she gives us a firm squeeze.

  “Asalaamualaikum!” she says. “My smart girl and my skinny mouse are here.”

  “Remember to be good,” Mama warns as she gives her mother a quick kiss and turns to leave.

  “I’m always good,” Naano says, and snorts.

  “She means us!” Zayd giggles while Naano winks at me. People say that I have my grandmother’s quickness and sense of humor. I can see that, although sometimes it’s hard to tell whether Naano is joking or not. And everyone usually knows when I’m being funny.

  “Don’t tire out Naano and Nana Abu too much,” Mama adds, handing me my backpack. It’s filled with books, notepads, and markers that I brought to keep us busy, just in case.

  “Me? Tired? I won’t get tired. I’m a young chick,” Naano replies.

  Zayd smiles at me. Naano is in a playful mood. Maybe we were just overreacting and this is going to be a good week after all.

  “Bye, Mama,” we say as we slip off our shoes, leave them by the door, and head into the house.

  Nana Abu is sitting in the family room, still wearing his fuzzy blue robe and slippers.

  “What are you doing?” I ask after we greet him. It’s strange to see our grandfather in his pajamas. He always dressed up extra nice when he went to work, and way nicer than the rest of us on the weekends. Nana Abu is someone who tucks his shirt into his jeans and wears a belt, and I’ve never seen him in shorts or sweatpants.

  “Just waiting for you,” Nana Abu says. “And watching the markets.”

  “What should we do?” I ask. “Do you want to maybe, you know, change your clothes, and then we can go to the park, or to Carmen’s for ices and frozen custard, or maybe to the library?”

  “Carmen’s!” Zayd yells. “Raspberry gelati!”

  “Maybe later.” Nana Abu smiles. “Isn’t it time for breakfast?”

  “We were waiting to eat with you,” Naano says. “Come on, the chai is ready.”

  Nana Abu gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, where Naano has spread out a gigantic breakfast feast. There’s eggs and parathas and chanas and halwa.

  “Yum!” Zayd’s eyes light up when he sees the parathas, even though we already had oatmeal before coming over. He’s one of the pickiest eaters on the planet, but Naano’s parathas are something he never refuses. Sometimes, when he won’t eat anything else on the table, Naano spreads butter and sugar on the flaky bread and rolls it up for him while my parents complain about how she’s spoiling him. To be fair, it’s too late. He’s already spoiled.

  Nana Abu helps himself to the halwa first. I’m certain that if Mama was here, she would complain that it’s too much sugar and try to fill his plate with cucumbers instead.

  “This is the best part of retirement,” Nana Abu says as he digs into his food. “Alhumdulilah, no more breakfast sandwiches and burnt coffee from the deli in my building.”

  “I love that deli,” I say, remembering the time when Nana Abu took Zayd and me to pick up some papers from his office. He bought us chips and drinks, and the owners wouldn’t stop gushing about how cute we were. They even let us pick out whatever candy we wanted for free. I got a ring pop that lit up. I’d be happy to go to work just to have a deli like that to go to every day.

  I take a little bit of the sticky and sweet halwa and eat it with a bite of paratha. Yum!

  “Milk?” Naano asks, pouring me a glass before I can answer her.

  “I don’t like milk,” Zayd starts to complain, but I kick him under the table before we get a lecture on why we need to drink milk if we want to grow big and tall and strong.

  “OW!” Zayd yells, extra loudly. “Stop it!”

  “Leave him,” Naano scolds me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Can we go somewhere or do something now?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “Mama says this is going to be Camp Naano.”

  “I have to clean up first,” Naano says, standing to take the empty chai cups to the sink. “You play with Nana Abu.”

  We follow Nana Abu as he shuffles back to the family room and settles onto the couch.

  “Want to go outside?” Zayd asks him.

  “In a little while,” Nana Abu says. “I’m just going to rest for a bit first.”

  “From breakfast?” Zayd says. “But all you did was eat.”

  Nana Abu smiles and gently touches Zayd on the chin. “You wait until you’re my age, Zaydoo. I’m digesting,” he says.

  And then our grandfather puts his feet up on the ottoman, closes his eyes, and falls right asleep.

  “What’s he doing?” Zayd whispers to me. “Why is he sleeping in the morning? Didn’t he just wake up?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper back. This is definitely strange behavior from our grandfather. We need to find out what is going on with him. Because there needs to be less napping and more activities for Camp Naano to have a chance at being any fun at all.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m bored,” Zayd declares as we walk back into the kitchen. “Nana Abu’s sleeping.”

  “Here. Dry this.” Naano hands him a towel and a cup.

  “I thought we were supposed to have fun here this week,” Zayd argues. “Not do work. Remember?”

  “Don’t be butthameez,” Naano scolds. “You can help your grandmother for some of the time too.”

  “Why is Nana Abu still in his pajamas and sleeping again?” I ask, quickly moving away before Naano gives me any dishes.

  “Let him rest,” Naano says. “He worked hard for many years, and now he’s retired and wants to take a break.”

  I think about the only retired person I’ve ever known, our neighbor Mr. Chapman. Before he moved to Florida, when he was still living in Naomi’s house, he was always busy doing something. He’d read on his porch, make fresh lemonade from scratch, paint on an easel, and play tennis with other retired people. Now that I think of it, he made retirement look so awesome, I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to retire myself.

  “Aren’t retired people supposed to do stuff like play golf and have rose gardens?” I ask.

  “I wish I could make your grandfather work in the garden. Did you see all those weeds in the back?” Naano shakes her head. “Why don’t you and Zayd go pull them?”

  “But I thought—” Zayd starts.

 

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