Read Online One Half from the East by Nadia Hashimi - Free Book Online Page A

emphasis. They’ve got the unmistakable sparkle of a girl, but I guess most people don’t pay close attention.
    â€œLots? Like how many? In this school?” I look up and down the dirt street. Have I missed spotting them?
    â€œNo, no. Not here. But in other neighborhoods and in other villages.”
    I wonder what it would be like to meet them or if I would even recognize one the way Rahim recognized me. I think I would now that I’ve met Rahim. Until I got to know him, I found it hard to believe another bacha posh could really exist. But knowing there are two of us makes me look at all the boys around me and wonder if I’ll spot another.
    Rahim adjusts the cap on his head, which makes me think of something I noticed the first day I saw my new friend.
    â€œHey, Rahim, what does why-zar-dis mean?”
    Rahim spins around to look at me. He looks confused. “What did you say?”
    â€œYour hat. I’ve been wondering what why-zar-dis means.” My words are slower this time.
    Rahim erupts in thick laughter. It seems to be coming from somewhere deep in his body.
    My face gets hot. I know for certain I’ve said the wrong thing. I want him to stop laughing. I fold my arms across my chest and wait for him to stop. When he doesn’t, I kick his calf.
    â€œOw! What did you do that for?” he whines, rubbing his leg. He’s not laughing anymore. “Come on, Obayd. It was funny. Don’t be so sensitive.”
    â€œDon’t be such a jerk.”
    Rahim gets like this sometimes. I know it’s because he’s older than me and he’s been a boy longer, but it’s still annoying. He’s like Khala Aziza, my Let me tell you what you should do aunt.
    â€œIt’s wizards ,” he says plainly, which is just about as good as an apology. “My cousin in America sent me this hat. It’s a basketball team over there.”
    â€œOh.”
    We keep walking. It’s late afternoon and Rahim is walking me home—something he always does. He says it’s because he likes walking, but I know he’s looking out for me too. I really like having a best friend who’s older than me. Rahim looks out for me the way my oldest sister, Neela, does, but it’s also different—more like an older brother, I guess.
    â€œDoes the name mean something?”
    â€œNo. I mean, I don’t know.” Rahim says it quickly. It’s not like him not to have an answer. It occurs to me that he shouldn’t have laughed so hard at the way I said it.
    When we reach the metal door of my home, we pause.
    â€œDo you want to come in?” I ask him because I know that’s what my mother would do if she were walking home with a friend. I can only imagine what my sisters would say to Rahim. They’ve seen him from a distance at school, far enough that they wouldn’t ever suspect his true identity. But sitting next to me, my sisters would recognize him quickly, knowing I wouldn’t bring an actual boy home. I picture my sisters with antennae buzzing on their heads. The image is so funny, I have to bite my lip not to laugh. It’s too much to explain to Rahim, who is carefully considering our front door. He tries to see over the clay wall that hides our courtyard and home from view. He takes a deep breath.
    â€œI think I’d better get home,” he says. “My mother worries if I stay out too late.”
    I nod. I was just being polite anyway.
    A mother and daughter walk hurriedly past us, the young girl’s hand held tightly by her mother’s. Their skirts are long, their head scarves draped over their shoulders and falling past their hips. Their feet shuffle as they try to move quickly. It is late in the afternoon and the streets are starting to quiet.
    There’s something else I’ve been wanting to ask Rahim. Something I probably shouldn’t be thinking about now, but I can’t help it.
    â€œRahim, can I ask you