Dedication

  To Zineera, Anisa, and Hanifa

  All About Anisa

  My name is Anisa Zakaria, and I love baking! I have my own bakery and share it with my little sister, Zineera, even though I do most of the work.

  Also, I love turquoise because it’s the better version of blue and green. And I like tortoises and turtles, but turtles even more, because they live in the water. I have turquoise glasses and pink glasses, but sometimes I forget to wear them or I lose them.

  I love art too. Mom says that I should be a less messy artist, but I disagree. Creative people sometimes need to be messy to make beautiful art. I always try to tell Mom that, but she never understands!

  I live with my family in Atlanta, Georgia. I love it when my grandparents visit or when my favorite aunt, Sana Khala, comes to see us. My parents were born in Pakistan, so some summers we travel there, which is really fun!

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  All About Anisa

  Chapter 1: A Package!

  Chapter 2: Inspiring the Class

  Chapter 3: The Perfect Idea

  Chapter 4: A Big Problem

  Chapter 5: An Idea Right Under My Nose

  Chapter 6: More Trouble

  Chapter 7: Survey Time

  Chapter 8: A Good Friend

  Chapter 9: The Big Mistake!

  Chapter 10: Apology of Action

  Chapter 11: International Day

  Glossary

  Recipes

  Activities

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Reem Faruqi

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  A Package!

  The doorbell rang. DING-DONG!

  I was painting the perfect sea turtle when the loud sound made me lose my focus. My elbow knocked over my jar of brownish-green water. Oops!

  I dumped a few paper towels over the messy kitchen table and ran to the door.

  I got there just in time—a few seconds before my little sister, Zineera. Whew!

  A package sat on the top step with our names on it. I grabbed the box first, but Zineera nudged me with a bony elbow and read the label on the box.

  “It’s from Nani!” she said.

  I was annoyed that Zineera read the label first. But I couldn’t stop smiling. I loved getting boxes from Nani in Pakistan.

  The box looked big, but when I shook it up and down, it felt surprisingly light.

  I tore open the box and saw my favorite color looking right back at me—turquoise!

  It was a kurta! It had pink pom-poms on the sleeves and yellow tassels on the bottom.

  There was also a sparkly shalwar kameez and a gold-and-blue silk gharara that Nani had sent all the way from Karachi, Pakistan.

  I unfolded Nani’s perfect square note.

  The kurtas are for Anisa and Zineera to wear every day.

  The sparkly shalwar kameezes are for Anisa and Zineera to wear to parties.

  And the ghararas are extra special, for Anisa and Zineera to wear to Sana Khala’s wedding!

  I wish I could be at all the parties, but I can’t wait to see you at the wedding in a few months, inshallah!

  Zineera squealed when I took the clothes out of the box and she saw the very same clothes in her size, but in her favorite colors: pink and orange.

  I dropped the box and ran to my room to admire my new turquoise kurta.

  The kurta was light as paper and felt soft like my favorite turtle pajamas. The designs on the kurta reminded me of mehndi. I couldn’t wait to copy them into my doodling notebook where I always save my favorite patterns and designs. My doodling notebook helps me concentrate.

  What I like about mehndi is that the patterns repeat over and over. Circles go from small to large, and big paisley petals and leaves intertwine with each other.

  I traced over Nani’s loopy writing. Sometimes I save scraps of Nani’s letters. I love her handwriting.

  Then I made my way to the kitchen, where Mom was frying garlic and onions. I could hear the sound of mustard seeds popping. Dal simmered on the stove. My mom knows how to add just the right amount of spice without making it too spicy.

  “Look what Nani sent! Can I wear it to school tomorrow?” I twirled around, holding up my new kurta.

  Mom looked up and smiled. She wiped her hands on her apron. Her fingertips were golden from the turmeric she’d added to the dal.

  “Of course you can!” Mom said. “It’ll be a nice break from the jeans and T-shirts you always wear. . . .”

  Mom’s eyes lingered on the table. Her fuzzy eyebrows went down when she saw the soggy paper towels. I’d forgotten to clean up the mess I’d made.

  “Sorry!” I said, giving Mom my sweetest smile. “I’m an artist. Artists are creative and that means they sometimes make a mess.” I hoped she would understand this time.

  Usually I forget to throw away the pencil shavings from my colored pencils. And I used to forget to cap my markers, but I don’t do that anymore. I love to add color to the mehndi patterns in my notebook. I find it soothing.

  “Artists can be clean too! In fact, in this house, it’s required,” Mom said as she gave me a cleaning rag and pointed at the mess with one golden finger. She didn’t put her finger down until I’d cleaned everything up.

  As I balled up the soggy paper towels, I peeked over at my sea turtle. It was turquoise, like my new kurta. I decided to add some gold too.

  Chapter 2

  Inspiring the Class

  The next morning, Mom was in a rush, so she announced that today was Anything Breakfast. I added a splash of milk to my bowl before mixing Frosted Flakes and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Mom rolled her eyes.

  I shrugged. “It’s Anything Breakfast!”

  Usually Mom boils us eggs. She tries to make the yolks jammy, but some days they’re too hard and some days they’re slimy. Sometimes they’re so slimy it drips off the plate and into my lap!

  After breakfast, I twirled in front of the mirror one last time. I liked how the tassels on my kurta waved at me. I couldn’t wait to show my kurta off to my best friend, Katie, and my teacher, Miss Torres. Katie and I always share cookies together at lunch. Katie’s mom usually makes peanut butter cookies, and Zineera and I always make sugar cookies.

  If you were in third grade, Miss Torres was the teacher you wanted. Her voice was soft, even on the playground! If you got in trouble, though, her voice got even quieter, but also serious and scary.

  As soon as I got to school, I rushed over to Katie so she could see my new kurta. Katie was telling Naimah a joke.

  “How do we know that the ocean is friendly?

  “It waves!” Katie said as she waved her hands at Naimah. Katie is from Florida. She loves the beach.

  Naimah and I both giggled. And just then Katie’s mouth popped open.

  “I love your dress, Anisa!”

  “Thanks! It’s a kurta my grandmother sent from Pakistan,” I replied.

  “I get boxes from my grandma too,” Prerna butted in. “She sends them from India.”

  “Many of you need to get started on your morning work,” Miss Torres said. Each morning, we’re supposed to start our day in silence. When we’re done with our worksheet, we get to read.

  I don’t think Miss Torres is a morning person.

  “Anisa, I do love your new dress!” Miss Torres said.

  “It’s a kurta. My grandmother sent it from Pakistan!” I said proudly.

  “That gives me an idea. We should have an International Day!” Miss Torres suggested as she straightened the papers she was grading.

  The class buzzed with excitement.

  Prerna raised her hand.

  “Can we wear special clothes?” she asked.

  I raised my hand.

  “Can we bring in food?” I asked.

  “These are all wonderful ideas! Everyone can bring in a food or an activity from a place they choose. Many of us have roots in different places in the world or from here within the United States. For the United States, please choose the state that your family has a connection to or where you have lived the longest. Or you can choose a country that you have a connection with. Please choose a place that is meaningful or interesting to you.

  “Learning about each other’s backgrounds can show us our differences, but it can also show us how similar we are. We can dress up too. This Friday we can create and color paper flags from around the world and hang them all over our classroom,” said Miss Torres.

  “And let’s do International Day next Friday,” she added. “Everyone can start thinking of ingenious ideas. Ingenious is our word of the week. It means clever or original. Thank you to Anisa for inspiring us!”

  Miss Torres wrote Ingenious Ideas for International Day on the board and underlined it two times.

  My mind was already racing with ideas. Zineera and I had created what we call the A to Z Bakery—we even have a logo. (It’s not a real bakery, but we do take orders from our family!) Would I bake something for International Day?

  I knew I had to bring in something extra special!

  Chapter 3

  The Perfect Idea

  The sound of sizzling oil greeted my ears when Zineera and I ran into the house after school. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom about International Day. I hung my bag on the hook and ran over, stopping mid-run to stare.

  Mom’s favorite motia flower candle was lit. It smelled like jasmine. She only lit it when someone was coming over. Even though Mom told us to clean up all the time, our house didn’t stay clean. Today, though, the house didn’t look as messy as it usually did.

  I peeked into the kitchen and saw Mom flipping golden-brown samosas. I dangled my fingers over the samosa plate, but Mom swatted my hand away.

  “Not yet!” Mom said. “Sana Khala’s coming over!”

  That explained the clean house. Sana Khala is my aunt, my mother’s sister.

  “Mom, we’re having an International Day at school! Miss Torres liked my kurta and it gave her the idea to ask everyone to bring in a food or an activity from their country or state. And we get to dress up!” I said.

  “You should bring sugar cookies,” Zineera said.

  “It has to be something from Pakistan,” I explained.

  “But you’re from Pakistan,” said Zineera.

  “It’s not the same!” I rubbed my fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows as I thought.

  I got out my turquoise feather pen and doodling notebook. I wrote Ingenious Ideas for International Day. I liked that ingenious was a fancy word for clever. But the delicious smell of the samosas kept distracting me.

  I made my eyes big and my mouth really sad as I looked at the pile of steaming samosas. Mom saw my sad face, put the spatula down, and handed me the tiniest samosa on the plate.

  The samosa had the perfect crunch and burst of flavor. It almost made up for the fact that I knew Sana Khala was going to get married soon and move forty-five minutes away from us. I was really going to miss having her drop by last minute for tea. Luckily for me, she was coming over more to plan her wedding that was a few months away. In the meantime, there were lots of parties for her! Whenever Sana Khala came over, Mom made Zineera and me chai too. Ours had extra milk, and honey instead of sugar.

  I nibbled as I thought about the perfect food to bring in.

  “Can I have another?” I asked.

  “Me too!” Zineera added.

  Mom gave us a look that meant NO, just as the doorbell rang.

  DING-DONG!

  Sana Khala was here! I ran over to answer the door, beating Zineera to it. Sana Khala lifted Zineera off her feet into a hug. Then she hugged me too and swung me around. She smelled like roses and vanilla mixed up. I like to draw the sparkly hijabs Sana Khala wears. Today, she was wearing a shiny purple one with a lavender dress and turquoise nail polish on her fingers and toes. Since Baba wasn’t home, she unwrapped her hijab before rearranging her hair into a big bun.

  What I love about Sana Khala is how she always plays board games with us and how she reads out and explains the instructions of a new game to us. Mom always makes us read the instructions ourselves and figure them out, which sometimes makes Zineera and me argue. Sana Khala always explains the instructions in a way that we understand.

  Sana Khala is a Montessori teacher, and whenever she makes play dough for her class, she also makes us big containers of homemade play dough. She always mixes the blue and green food coloring in the play dough to make turquoise play dough for me.

  “I hope this isn’t too last minute, but can the A to Z Bakery make some thumbprint jelly cookies for my dholki tomorrow night that my friends are throwing for me?” she asked as she danced on tiptoe. It looked like she was bobbing up and down, twirling her wrists into small circles. The dholki is a wedding party for Sana Khala’s friends, to sing and dance. Mom joined in and started to clap and sing an Urdu song.

  I rolled my eyes.

  I ran to the kitchen and brought Sana Khala the menu form that Zineera and I had made for orders. “Just let me know how many cookies you want for the party! We take last-minute orders too!”

  Zineera bounced around. Whenever Zineera was excited, she didn’t walk. She bounced and hopped. Zineera usually asked for two ponytails when Mom did her hair. At the beginning of the day, they would start high, and by the end of the day, they were a lot lower. As she bounced, her ponytails flew in the air. Right now, since she was bouncing so much, they were really low and drooped.

  We always used Zineera’s thumb to make a circle in the dough, since it was smaller. The cookies had just the right amount of sticky sweetness in the middle. We knew they were Sana Khala’s favorite dessert. They reminded her of the cookies she used to buy in Pakistan. But it was still fun to give her the menu. I couldn’t wait to get started on our order! I started to calculate the ingredients we needed, just like a professional baker would.

  “Smells amazing in here!” Sana Khala said as she followed us to the kitchen. She plucked a samosa from the pile and popped it into her mouth. The oil made her glossed lips even shinier. I never understood how Sana Khala always wore lipstick or lip gloss and could eat delicious oily things without messing up her makeup. I also didn’t understand how Sana Khala ate almost everything with ketchup. This time, she was dipping her second samosa into ketchup that Mom had put out just for her. When her samosa was finished, Sana Khala licked the ketchup off her fingers before adding another squirt of ketchup to her plate and reaching for more samosas.

  “Mmmm! Who doesn’t love samosas?” she said.

  And then it hit me. My ingenious idea. I knew exactly what I would bring to class for International Day! Samosas!

  Chapter 4

  A Big Problem

  Even though I was wearing a turtle shirt and jeans instead of my turquoise kurta, I felt light as I skipped to my classroom. I couldn’t wait to share my ingenious idea with my class!

  Sometimes when I was bored in class, I doodled on my jeans. That’s what made these jeans my favorite ones.

  As I walked in, I overheard Katie telling Jason a joke. “Why do people swim at saltwater beaches?”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because a pepperwater beach would make them sneeze!” Katie pretended to swim and sneeze at the same time.

  I giggled. I loved how silly my best friend was.

  Miss Torres frowned at us behind her glasses. Her soft voice got quiet and serious.

  “You can choose to play now, but then you won’t be playing at recess.”

  I didn’t want my best friend to get me in trouble! I’ve never missed recess, so I quickly wiped my smile off my face and sat down. Whenever someone was going to miss recess, Miss Torres would write their name on the whiteboard under No Recess. Everybody stared at that person—I definitely did not want to be them. Katie had missed recess a couple of times by joking around and talking during silent time. I sighed with relief when Katie sat down too. She was still smiling.

  “Attention, wonderful writers! If you haven’t chosen a country or state yet, I’ll be happy to help,” said Miss Torres, pointing to her world map. “Now, who would like to share their ingenious idea for International Day?” asked Miss Torres as she uncapped a fat orange marker.

  Many hands went high up in the air.

  Miss Torres wrote Katie’s name first.

  “I would like to bring in crepes. My great-grandmother was French—”

  “If you’re French, you should bring in French fries!” Jason joked.

  Miss Torres shook her head. “As a matter of fact, some say French fries originate from Belgium.”

  “I want to bring in crepes and Nutella. Nutella is from Italy, actually,” Katie said.

  Everyone liked Nutella, so Miss Torres had to ask for silence.

  “My grandmother is Mexican,” Miss Torres said, “and I’d like to bring in empanadas. They’re usually savory but sometimes they can be sweet. I’ll stuff them with fruit for dessert. My grandmother is from Mexico City and she bakes us beef empanadas whenever we visit her. She uses the leftover dough to make sweet empanadas with apple filling and adds sugar, cinnamon, and cloves. When I was little, she would sneak me an extra one when my parents weren’t looking. I thought my parents didn’t notice, but my mom says she did; she just didn’t say anything.” Miss Torres smiled as she wrote empanadas next to her name.

  Miss Torres is going to love samosas! I thought as I waved my hand back and forth. Samosas are yummy—they’re stuffed with meat or vegetables!

  Miss Torres looked my way.

  “Me! Me!” I said with a big smile. I stood up and waved both arms.

 

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