“We’re breaking a world record,” Naomi shares.

  “The same one as before?” Jade picks up the Hula-Hoop I left outside the front door, and inspects the dent.

  “No.” I reach for the hoop. “A different one.”

  “I can’t believe Zayd ran right into you.” Gloria sighs. “He needs to put those training wheels back on.”

  “I know,” I agree. “I’m still mad at him.”

  “So, what record are you going to break, then?” Jade asks.

  “We’re still deciding,” Naomi says. “What do you think we should do?”

  “I don’t know. Want to go to the clubhouse?” Jade suggests. “And make a list on the whiteboard? We can decide what everyone is doing. And design matching T-shirts—”

  “How about we just get started?” I interrupt. “We don’t need to do all that.”

  Jade’s eyes narrow. “I thought you like to make rules,” she says, and scowls.

  “I do,” I say, before adding: “Wait. What?”

  “You always have a million rules for every game we play, Zara.” Jade crosses her arms.

  “Not a million,” I protest. My voice is tiny, though, like it doesn’t believe my words. I remind myself that Mr. Chapman said I ruled with fairness and grace. But as Jade glowers at me, I can’t help but wonder, was he wrong?

  “I make rules so we don’t fight. And I thought you two liked my ideas,” I protest weakly. “At least you used to. Before.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jade scoffs.

  “Yeah, before what?” Gloria looks puzzled.

  “I mean, it just seems like neither of you wants to do anything I pick lately,” I mutter.

  “Well, sometimes other people have good ideas too,” Jade insists.

  I gulp and study my shoe, not sure how to respond. My throat starts to tighten, and my face grows warm. Maybe I got this all wrong, and I’m the reason why my friends rushed to play with Naomi. Do they think I’m too bossy? Do they view me as some kind of evil Queen of the Neighborhood?

  “Zara was just helping me come up with good ideas before we came outside,” Naomi says, jumping in. She comes closer to me and gives me a little nudge with her elbow. “Right, Zara?”

  “I guess,” I mumble. I want to believe her, but now I can’t remember. Was I?

  “Like what?” Jade asks.

  “Like trying to break a record of something that I’m good at,” Naomi says. “Or something that we can do together. All of us. Like setting the world record for the longest game of freeze tag ever.”

  “Really?” Jade asks.

  “Yeah,” Naomi says. “Zara just wants everyone to have fun. Right?”

  “Right,” I quickly add. “I mean, that’s totally why I make rules and stuff.”

  We all turn to face Jade. She waves her hand around, like she’s pushing away the bad feelings hanging in the air.

  “It’s all good,” she says. “You’re fine, Zara.”

  “Okay, then. Can we please do something now? I’m bored,” Gloria continues. “Just pick something already.”

  “Do you want to all try to break that freeze tag record first?” Naomi suggests. She looks back and forth between all of us, like she isn’t sure who to ask.

  “Sure,” Gloria replies first.

  “Fine with me,” I add.

  “Okay,” Jade agrees.

  “We need to time ourselves, and make the teams fair,” I start to say, and then pause. “I mean, if you’re all okay with that.…”

  “Sounds good,” Naomi says.

  “I think maybe we should video record our game too,” Jade adds.

  “Good idea,” I say. And I mean it. It really is a smart idea.

  “I’ll go get my dad’s iPad,” Jade says. “And his tripod.”

  “All right, then. Let’s get everyone else too, and go break this record,” Naomi says. “And we are going to break it this time for sure, right, team?”

  “Right!” Gloria cheers.

  Jade pumps her fist with determination and smiles at me.

  And just like that, I realize I’m sharing the crown. But, surprisingly, it makes me feel a lot lighter than I expected.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jade is frozen by the crab apple tree. Melvin is a statue by the sewer cover. And Naomi is lying like a dead body in the grass, where she fell and got tagged by Alan. Gloria is hovering dangerously close to Mr. Chapman’s favorite bed of gigantic roses.

  WHACK! Alan dives and tags Gloria on the foot, and she howls as she grabs a bush and touches a thorn.

  “Ow! Okay, you got me!”

  Alan is really good at being “it.” And now he has tagged everyone except for me. I’m hanging out by the fence, while Alan catches his breath.

  “Unfreeze me,” Jade yells to me. “Quick!”

  Alan is way too close to her, and I won’t be able to get to Jade without being tagged. My best bet is to try to reach Melvin. Luckily, we decided the rule would be unfreezing by double high-fiving. Some people play that you have to crawl through the frozen person’s legs to unfreeze them. But Melvin is so tiny, there’s no way I would fit.

  I make my move and start to run toward Jade. Then I suddenly turn around and dash in the other direction. Melvin’s eyes grow rounder as I approach him. He stretches his hand toward me.

  WHACK!

  I feel a slap on my back. It’s Alan. And now I’m frozen.

  “I win!” Alan whoops and then does a victory dance.

  “Not really, Alan,” I grumble. “The goal wasn’t to win. We were trying to have the longest game of freeze tag in history, remember? And that only lasted eighteen minutes.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m too good,” Alan says as he smirks, still dancing.

  “I think we need more players,” Naomi suggests. “To make the game longer. We should get Michael and Zayd.”

  I bristle at the mention of Zayd. I’m still angry at him.

  “Gloria! Jade!” Mrs. Thomas calls from their window. “Dinner!”

  “We have to go,” Gloria says.

  “What about the record?” I ask.

  “Maybe we can try tomorrow,” Jade suggests as she runs home.

  “I’m going in too.” Alan walks away. “I’m hungry, and it’s burger night.”

  “Can I move now?” Melvin asks. He’s still frozen. I don’t think he understands how this game works.

  “Go home, Melvin,” I say. “The game’s over.”

  “Did we make the record?” he asks eagerly.

  “Not yet. But we will.” I look over at Naomi and give her a weak smile that shows how unsure about that I am.

  “We will,” she promises. “See you later.”

  I trudge back home and am greeted by a pungent odor and a big commotion in the kitchen.

  “I don’t know how I did that. I never forget!” Naano is wringing her hands and frowning.

  “It’s okay, Ami,” Mom soothes. “It happens.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Naano forgot to turn off a pot on the stove, and the food burned,” Zayd says. He looks at me nervously, but I pretend not to see or hear him. He’s not getting off my enemy list without a serious apology.

  “Maybe I can still save it,” Mama says. She dumps the contents of the pot into a bowl as Naano shakes her head.

  “No, no, no, it’s ruined,” Naano moans.

  Nana Abu shuffles into the kitchen and sniffs the bowl. “She’s right. It’s no good,” he says.

  “I can go out and pick something up,” Jamal Mamoo offers.

  “Pizza?” Zayd asks.

  “No, no, I’m sure we have something in the freezer,” Mama says. “Zara, can you please go wash up?” She gives me her You’ve been outside and have that summer stench look.

  I’m happy to leave, because the kitchen smells way worse than I do. Zayd starts to follow me, but I ignore him, close the bathroom door, and take a long time scrubbing my hands and face with lots of foamy soap. When I finally come out and go to my room, I notice right away that it’s different.

  Did someone clean it for me while I was outside?

  All my pillows and stuffed animals are neatly arranged on my bed. The worn pajamas and laundry I left on the floor are put away. My books are in a tidy stack. And even my slippers are lined up together by my closet.

  The postcard from Mr. Chapman is lying on top of my bed. It says GREETINGS FROM JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA with a photo of palm trees and a nice beach. On the other side, Mr. Chapman wrote in neat print:

  Dear Zara and Zayd,

  Thinking of you in Florida. I hope the new neighbors are settling in and that you are making friends. It’s peaceful here, but I miss our neighborhood and you, my young friends, most of all. It will take time to adjust to life here. Come visit soon and go fishing with me. Stay well and be happy. Give my best to your grandparents.

  Yours,

  Mr. Chapman

  As I read it, I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Chapman thinks of us the way Naomi thinks of her old friends. And I hope that someone is making him feel welcome in his new home. I decide I’m going to send him a letter and tell him about our plans, and ask Jade to help me make a nice card for everyone to sign for him.

  There’s another paper underneath the postcard, folded in half. I open it up and find a colorful drawing in marker. Four stick figures are standing in a line: Baba, Mama, me, and Zayd. I only know who’s who because each of us is labeled. We are all holding hands, and there’s grass under our feet and a big sun in the corner, with rays that almost reach our heads. I have a gigantic Hula-Hoop around my waist. And a splash of uneven letters in seven-year-old handwriting across the top reads:

  Sorry, Zara. I Love You. —Zayd

  I stare at his words, and at how gigantic my head is in the drawing. Slowly the bits of anger that were still floating around inside me fizzle out like flat soda. And then there’s a tap on my door. It’s Naano, watching me with a sly smile.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Hi, Naano,” I say as I fold the drawing shut.

  “Do you like the picture?” Naano comes in and slowly lowers herself onto the bed next to me.

  “It’s cute.” I pause. “Wait. Did you tell him to do this?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And to clean my room?”

  “You think he cleans without someone telling him?” Naano snorts.

  I can’t imagine that at all.

  “Thanks,” I say, surprised.

  “Zayd is a good boy, but sometimes he is a budhoo,” Naano continues. “He’s going to be eight soon and he still can’t ride a bicycle?”

  “I didn’t learn until I was around his age,” I say, remembering.

  “You? I don’t think so.” Naano shakes her head.

  “I’m pretty sure,” I say. “Alan and I were learning at the same time, even though he’s younger, and he learned first.”

  “Hmmmph.”

  We sit in silence for a minute, and I start to feel warm as Naano studies my face and adjusts the thin scarf that covers her hair. Am I supposed to do something else? Does she expect me to say sorry too, for getting upset earlier? Because I still believe what I said: Naano does take Zayd’s side all the time.

  “You know, Zara, you are my big girl,” Naano finally says, like she’s reading my mind. “Zayd is the baby, and he is still learning. The way he doesn’t eat anything with any taste and makes such a fuss. I love my skinny mouse, but he can be… kya kehte hein… a pain in the neck.”

  I giggle at Naano uttering those unexpected last words, which sound extra funny in her accent, even if they are true. Naano chuckles too.

  “When he sits with his white rice and his white pasta, taking all day to eat, I want to yell at him sometimes. But he is little.”

  “I know, Naano.”

  “And I see how he bothers you. But he wants to be just like you. You are his hero.”

  “I guess.” I mean, I can see that.

  “You know, you remind me of me, when I was a girl like you,” Naano continues.

  “I do?”

  Naano reaches out and gently touches the crown charm hanging around my neck, the one Mr. Chapman gave me. “When I was growing up in Lahore, I was the leader of all my cousins and played outside all day too.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I was a Girl Guide,” Naano says proudly. “And captain of my netball team. And I could arm wrestle kids older than me and beat them.”

  I try to imagine a girl version of my grandmother. But just like with the Hula-Hoop, it’s hard to picture. Especially the arm wrestling.

  “And like you, I always wanted to win. After I came to America too. Do you know I won a contest for making the best biryani on Pakistan Day?” Naano continues.

  “You did?” I haven’t heard this story before.

  “Yes. There were six different people in the contest who cooked their very best biryani. And judges who picked the winner. I was worried because I thought I’d added too much water and that my rice would be mushy. But it was perfect, and everyone was amazed by the good taste. The best part was, I beat that Shagufta Chaudhry, who everyone always said was such a good cook.” Naano gushes as she reminisces about this most wonderful day.

  “What’s Pakistan Day?” I ask.

  “You don’t remember a few years ago when we went to the fairgrounds, where there was a music performance of tabla and sitar, and all those food stalls, and you got those tiny Pakistani flags?”

  “I remember it a little. We still have the flags in the toy box downstairs. But I didn’t know you won anything.”

  “Not just anything. The blue ribbon, for beating that Shagufta Chaudhry,” Naano repeats, and I decide that Shagufta Chaudhry must be her sworn enemy. “And maybe I should be in your big book too, for making the best biryani in the world.”

  “Hold on. You want to be in the Guinness World Records?”

  “Why not?” Naano says. “If you help me, I can do it. Even though I burned the food today like a silly old fool.”

  “I don’t know, Naano. I haven’t had good luck breaking any records. And I’m not sure that having the best-tasting biryani can be a record.”

  “You will find a way,” Naano says. She puts her arm around me and gives me a squeeze. “You are my smart girl.”

  I look at Naano, unsure if she’s serious or teasing. But either way, the apology I was holding back flows out.

  “Sorry for saying that stuff before, Naano.”

  “It’s okay. Sometimes smart girls act butthameez.”

  I giggle again, this time because she said Zayd’s and my favorite Urdu word. I mean, it has the word “butt” in it, after all, which gets him into hysterics every time. And then Naano shakes her head, takes my hand, and commands, “Help me get up. It’s time to eat.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “What is this?” I use a piece of naan to poke at the meat covered in gravy on my plate.

  “It’s a korma, left over from Eid. From the freezer, Zara. Eat it,” Mama orders, and I can tell that between Zayd’s crying and the burnt food, she is not in the mood for whining.

  There’s some fat stuck to the chunk of meat, and I try to pull it off. It makes me gag.

  “Stop picking, Zara, and eat your food properly,” Baba says.

  “What about him?” I point to Zayd, who is sitting in front of a plate of plain rice with some naan on the side. “He’s not eating it.”

  “I give up.” Mama sighs. “Some battles aren’t worth fighting. He’ll eat when he eats.”

  Naano isn’t ready to surrender, though. She cuts up some meat into tiny pieces and slips them onto Zayd’s plate.

  Jamal Mamoo chuckles. “She used to do that with me when I was little,” he says. “I sat for hours with my food. Everyone said I was going to win the Guinness World Record for sitting at the table with my dinner the longest.”

  “You can break a record for doing that?” Zayd’s eyes grow bigger. “I’m so going to win!”

  “Look what you started,” Mama scolds. “As if he wasn’t slow enough already without you encouraging him.”

  Zayd gets up, runs to get Jamal Mamoo’s old book from the family room, and lugs it to the table. Then he grins at me. I told him I liked his drawing before we sat down to eat, and he gave me a half hug, so we’re good again.

  “Zayd, what are you doing?” Baba complains. “Sit down and eat your dinner, please.”

  “Why don’t you let the boy read if he wants?” Nana Abu interrupts, his voice gentle. “He can nourish his mind and body at the same time. I used to read with my meals when I was a student.”

  Zayd takes a minuscule bite of rice and chews as he flips through the pages of the book that’s resting on his lap. I find a piece of meat without any fat and nibble on it.

  “Hey, Zara. Did you know that you need to get permission to break a record?” Zayd asks after a few minutes of quiet eating.

  “What?” I flip my head around to look at Jamal Mamoo, who drops his fork.

  “And you need to fill out a form if you want your record to count,” Zayd continues, pointing to the page.

  “Are you serious?” I get up, stand behind Zayd, and look over his shoulder to read a section all the way in the back of the book entitled “How to Break a Guinness World Record.”

  “OH MY GOSH! It’s true, Mamoo! There’s a whole application… and you have to be approved before you can break a record. And then there have to be… official witnesses, too? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I guess I never read to the end of the book.” Jamal Mamoo smiles sheepishly. “But now that I think of it, that totally makes sense.”

  “Why?” I demand.

  Jamal Mamoo clears his throat. “Well, first of all, let’s agree that it’s not really my fault. If it was so easy to break a record, it wouldn’t be a big deal. And second of all, I thought you’d have fun with this thing, not turn it into a major high-stakes drama.”

  “It’s not just me! Everyone wants to break a record now,” I explain, clutching his arm. “All the kids in the neighborhood, and even Naano.”

 

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