Age:
Reading Level: 3.6
Chapter 1: Osama Bin Very Likely Laden
The curly-haired boy wears a white thobe like the terrorists on TV. His plaid school uniform isn't ready.
The traditional robe makes him stand out even more than he already would have.
His name is easily pronounced. So is his nose. It sticks out, shooting out of his face. Like a bullet.
Osama.
How am I supposed to relax when a freshman named Osama stands in front of the classroom? He could be hiding heavens-knows-what in his black backpack.
Could he be any more obvious?
"You can sit beside Karen, the blonde girl with green eyes, to your left. She's the class president," Mr. Singh, our English Literature teacher, says.
I mentally laser his red turban off his head. I scoot to the edge of my seat as the brown-skinned boy comes closer.
"Karen, please show Osama around our school later," Mr. Singh says, shaking praying hands at me.
He's got to be joking.
Oh well, this gives me a chance to dig into the new boy.
"Hello, Karen." Osama smiles at me.
A sweet smile. It's meant to trick me into thinking he's an innocent boy.
Just ridiculous.
Not on my watch. I, Karen Ryce, will protect Breakwater High from this guy.
Chatper 2
By lunchtime, Osama has managed to charm people, mostly teachers.
They all fawn over him, going out of their way to tell everyone how great he is at History. And Math. And English Literature.
English Literature is my turf, yet he tried to mark it as his territory: "Yes, Mr. Singh. I liked Lord of the Flies, but more so Bridge to Terabithia."
Ugh!
I also saw him praying in our PE teacher's office. He had a mat with a mosque sewn on it.
He was bending up and down, saying Arabic words. Ms. Martha just sat at her desk, busy writing notes.
I decide to politely ask Mr. Singh why the Palestinian boy is doing Islamic things during school hours.
"He's Palestinian-Nigerian, Karen," Mr. Singh says. "I know how tolerant you are. You'll surely get along in no time."
He means I must play nice. As if I asked for the boy to be booted out.
Osama Bin very likely Laden, I'm on to you.
Chapter 3
At home, Mom stands under a portrait of Dad in his military uniform and its golden oak leaf.
His gentle, green eyes shine through the glass. It's as if he's trying to comfort her while she digests the news about Osama.
"Your father would never forgive me if I let one of them hurt you too. Why would Breakwater High allow something so reckless?"
Mom wipes her face with her aqua apron, staining her blonde hair with flour. She must have rushed upstairs from her store below, The Buttery Bakery, when she got my text.
The doorbell dings. You wouldn't believe it.
Osama stands outside. He's with a taller version of himself, except the tall one's face is almost completely covered by a beard.
He's clad in a white thobe and a turban with hints of black. Beside them is a dark-skinned woman in a blue boubou and headscarf.
Her flowing robe is bright. It might even be called beautiful.
But not by me.
They're all smiling -- widely and suspiciously.