Chapter 1: Hadiya

I don't like the first day of a new school year. It's too chaotic. Not that I'm obsessive but I like stuff organized. Even lunch is a chance for screw ups, since we have two lunch periods. People are flying on instruments, reading their schedule trying to figure out are they "A" or "B" lunch and where are they supposed to be? This year was worse than usual. Call it a lunch crunch. With the first shift leaving as the second arrived I kept getting bumped by hips and thighs. I almost got a tit in my eye. Elbows? I put teeth marks in one.

It was self-defense, officer, honest!

Yeah, I'm that short. Some people, 'specially seniors -- I'm a junior -- don't even see me, which results in contact with total strangers I'd rather not ever get to know. Gridlock would have been preferable. At least if no one can move there's no bruises and who knows, maybe I'd be squeezed against someone I knew and liked. That even made for some mutual fun, like "what's that banana doing in your pocket?"

Anyway, I was inbound with Alice, one of my best buds, when the fit hit the Shan and things started to get weird.

Somewhere upstream there was an off the charts book drop, a full dump, with papers fluttering, pens, pencils, lip balm and other small items rattling on the tile. The only thing missing was the tinkle of broken glass. Someone's book bag had to have been completely up-ended, which is rarely an accident.

I might've ignored the usual cheer and jeer at someone's misfortune, but there was a familiar laugh and an ugly slur that was all too familiar. When it happened to me -- more than once -- the insults ran something like "clumsy midget, step aside runt, outta my way dwarf, why don't you die you worthless chink, slope, slant, cunt, slut, bitch, skank and my all-time favorite, gook."

This time it was "stupid fucking clumsy rag head bitch, go back to your terrorist friends, cunt."

Dolphus the Dork, self-appointed leader of our own little Klan, had obviously found a new ethnic target. He was just getting started. His vocab would ripen as the year went on.

But aside from a few heads turning and the usual burst of snide cracks, nothing else happened. The hall monitors were overwhelmed. The inward bound were focused on their empty stomachs, while the outbound were desperate to escape the barfeteria and find their next whatever.

Or maybe not getting involved was going to be the fad this year.

Attention class: the meeting on apathy scheduled for this afternoon in the small conference room has been canceled due to a lack of interest.

That wouldn't happen with Dee Walker around. She'd leap into action, ready to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. She'd part the crowd like the Red Sea, all six-foot-two and a hundred and sixty plus pounds of her lusciously fit and sculpted swimmer's body, and she'd be followed by her entourage, of which I, Judy Liu and her successor as the school's female diver, would have been one.

But of course she'd graduated last June. Without her to follow I was paralyzed, apparently along with everyone else.

I asked myself why somebody didn't do something.

I could hear Dee say, "You're somebody, aren't you?"

Which I couldn't deny I was. Not as much of a somebody as she was, but I was somebody.

Shit! Shoving my backpack at Alice I sent her ahead to claim our table while I headed up the handicapped ramp that only made the crunch worse, with no clue what I could do or what I might be getting myself into. At the top, where the railing between the ramp and the steps split the traffic, all I could see was boobs and pecs, so I pressed on, worming my way against the current.

Then the mob parted and coming right at me was the mouth that roared, Adolph Foster. Given the chance I knew he'd notch me up as bonus points. Rather than let him turn me into a grease spot I twisted aside.

Only Tsk! I was a step slow and somehow my ankle hooked his. He stumbled. The impact spun me around, off balance. I put my hands out. Fortunately his sweaty back was right there to push off from or I might have fallen!

Was it my fault the rocks in his head made him so top heavy he couldn't recover?

Or that his foot missed the top step of the stairs?

He took flight amid a chorus of screams. How unfortunate.

Finishing my pirouette I heard him land at the bottom with an ugly crunch.

I kept going, hoping nobody'd been under him, and that someone would step on him.

It wasn't hard to find his victim. In the center of the corridor, leaning on her elbow, a girl was awkwardly trying to corral her stuff before it got kicked all the way to the kitchen. I slowed to sweep spilled pages back into a trampled binder before dropping to my knees in front of her. Other people picked up pens or pieces of paper or a book and gave them to her or dropped them within reach, proving at least we're not all thoughtless thugs.

"Hi! I'm Judy Liu. You're new here! Are you okay? Can I help?"

"I am Hadiya," she responded, amazingly calm, bobbing her head without really looking up. A colorful scarf concealed her hair, hung over her face. "Yes, thank you. I do seem to have offended someone."

"That was Dolph Foster. He's just offensive, 'specially to anyone who's not his color. We try to avoid him, but that's not always possible."

"He is what you would call a bigot?" She had a lovely accent.

"He is what we call an asshole."

Hadiya made a face.

"Sorry about the language."

"It is alright, it just startled me a little. It is not a term I am familiar with. Ass-hole. Very descriptive. I like that!"

Looking up she favored me with the sweetest smile, what I could see of it. Her scarf hid the right half of her face.

Oh that smile! What I could see of her was so beautiful. Her flawless complexion was like light caramel syrup, a lighter tint than mine, but not too different. She looked exotically delicate, a full cheek, a small chin, a button nose, and a subtle fragrance. I wanted to taste her. She wore a loose tunic and flowing pants -- trousers, I suppose you'd say -- over what seemed a slight figure. Given the light fabric of the scarf I assumed she was Muslim, but probably not Arab.

I was stunned by her one visible eye, her left eye. Unlike my own very dark brown iris hers was deep bronze. Her bright, alert eye was framed with lovely long dark lashes, topped with a gracefully arched eyebrow.

More than that, there was something in that eye's depths that made me feel that we were looking into each other's souls, an instant connection, like an electric shock. She must have felt it, too, because we both quickly looked away.

I used the trick my brother had taught me for remembering names. "Did you say Hadiya?"

"Yes, it is Pashto. It means 'gift.'"

Pashto? That sounded familiar. While I held her bag open Hadiya carefully straightened bent pages in a civics textbook and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. She closed the cover, stroked it gently, like it was precious, and tucked it carefully away. Her full lips were pursed with determination. That text was for a junior class. She was a junior like me? Nice! I hoped I had some classes with her.

Getting up I held out my hand to help her up, but she didn't take it. That's when I realized her right arm ended in a stump. That's why she'd been leaning on that elbow, picking up her stuff left handed.

Shit! That totally sucked. The scarf alone was Bully Bait to people like Dolph, worse even than my size, dark skin and almond eyes. Not only was she obviously Muslim she was a cripple. She was really going to catch shit from morons like him. She needed all the friends she could get!

Fortunately I had a good supply.

The mess of her stuff rounded up, the traffic thinning, a hurrying teacher only gave us a curious glance.

Hadiya brought me back to my senses. "I am sorry. I do not mean to be rude, but I cannot stand. I fear my leg is broken."

Her right leg was twisted at the knee, bent at an impossible angle. Shifting on the floor she felt at her loose trousers.

I felt sick. Why wasn't she in screaming pain? "Oh sh... ! I'll get the nurse..."

"Oh no. No, no. It is not like that." Her English was precise, with an accent I'd heard somewhere before, maybe on TV. "Really. No nurse. No physician. It is more that I need a ... a mechanic, or a carpenter.

"But I do fear my mobility will be greatly impaired until it is fixed," she finished with a sigh. The way she was tugging and twisting at her right foot made me woozy, but I couldn't help noticing the pretty polish on the toenails.

A carpenter? I suddenly twigged it was a wooden leg.

But with a lifelike foot, with a real sandal on it, and toes with polished toenails?

She'd lost both her hand and her leg?

Suddenly I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

A bell rang and the rush was over, leaving a few stragglers studying their schedules and scratching their heads. Everyone else was either in the barfeteria, where we should be, or at their next engagement. What to do?

At least there wasn't any blood and it wasn't like she was really hurt, so the wood shop was the logical place to take her.

But Mr. Mac would be at lunch. Besides, something about her made me want to keep her to myself for as long as possible. I looked around, and got spooked by a disembodied hand behind her.

"Would this help?" I asked stupidly. It wasn't wasn't much more than a mannequin's hand, though the fingers were jointed. It was plastic, the wrist hollow, presumably to slip over her stump.

"Not really, but if I could push my arm into it at least it will not get lost," she decided. I helped, her skin warm satin as I slipped it on. I didn't want to let go.

That done, we crawled over to lean against the wall when a patrolling teacher stopped by, one of the prissy ones.

"We're comparing notes," I alibied.

"Well at least get up off the floor!"

"Yes'm," I agreed meekly as she left, distracted by a squabble down the way.

My stomach growled. "Hadiya, can your leg wait? If we miss lunch it'll be a long afternoon."

"I am hungry also but I will have to do without. Someone stepped on my lunch. It is not a big thing. I have been hungry before.

"Besides, how can I get to the lunchroom without my leg? Crawl? I suppose I could hop, if I had a crutch, maybe, but I do need to get this off so it does not flop around." She seemed to be thinking aloud, still working away on her foot, one-handed of course, twisting and tugging at it.

She was so polite it only made me feel worse. Her fake hand had fallen off again. It looked really creepy just lying there so I picked it up and put it in the top of her book bag. Giving myself a mental shake I thought fast. She wasn't much taller than me, and probably weighed even less, being that I'm mostly muscle. "Crawling would take forever, and it's undignified, and hopping you might fall. I can carry you."

"Carry me?" She gave her foot a final vicious twist, there was an ugly snap and she pulled her leg out of her trousers! Whoa! And I thought I was strong!

The foot, with its painted toenails -- and, duh! toes -- had a real sandal on it. There was even an ankle -- 'cept it wasn't anything more than a hinge -- and the calf was shaped nice and looked real lifelike. But where the knee should be there must've been a hinge like the one on my brother's old Vietnamese puppet.

That helped me get my wits back. "Piggyback? Do you know what that means?"

"Oh yes, I do know. I used to play that with my brother. I would ride on his back for fun. We had races with the other children even." She studied the damaged joint, then looked at me. "But I am heavy. I weigh almost thirty kilos, and you are -- forgive me -- not very big."

That look, oh God that look! My mind was fogged by that look.

I was too confused to do the conversion in my head. "Do you know what that is in pounds?"

"Oh yes, I do. About seventy pounds."

"No problem," I assured her, my brain clearing. "I leg-press twice that in weight training."

"Weight training?"

"I'm a gymnast. Used to be a gymnast."

"Oh. But I do not want to trouble you!"

"What trouble? You think I'm going to leave you here in the middle of the hallway? Besides, I've got friends who'd like to meet you. We'll get you some lunch, too."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! C'mon, Mr. Mac can fix your leg after we eat."

"Mister Mac?"

"He teaches shop. You'll like him. He can fix anything."

"We will attract attention," she observed as I took the broken leg from her and added it to her book bag, the foot sticking up. Then I helped her to her feet -- uh, foot. While she leaned against the wall I turned for her to get her arms around my neck. She was a bit taller than me, and I knew we'd be a bit top-heavy, so balance would be tricky.

"It's either that or starve."

"Okay." She leaned on my back and put her arms -- well one and a half arms -- around my neck. "Oh, wait, I seem to have lost my hand again."

"No problem. I put it in your book bag."

She snagged the handle of that with her left hand and held it so it dangled in front of me. "Thank you. It falls off easily. It is not much use, really, but some nice person gave it to me. I only wear it for appearance. It avoids questions."

I grabbed her left leg under the knee – no problem – then totally whiffed going for the right knee that wasn't there. Shit! That was awkward. We lurched, almost went down, banging back against the wall to stay up. I heard her giggle. She raised her stump and I fumbled until I managed to grab her empty pant leg.

After expanding her vocabulary and more fumbling I transferred the pant leg across my chest to my free left hand. Still leaning against the wall she gave a wiggle getting settled, her right thigh hugging my waist while I shortened up the pant leg to form a sort of sling from my left hand. It felt better so we tilted off from the wall again, wobbled while we caught our balance, and started off. Leaning forward slightly I caught us with a quick step before we fell on our faces. Gymnast reflexes caught us.

We were top heavy, so I sort of stumbled along until I caught the rhythm. We wouldn't win any sprints, or style points, for that matter, but at least we were moving. I wondered if that seventy pounds was with or without her right leg, but decided that would be a rude question. Besides, my legs were carrying that along in her bag anyway.

"Pardon me. I hope I am not offending." Hadiya's breath was warm on my ear. "You look to be oriental, perhaps Southeast Asian? But you are called 'Judy' and have no accent."

"No offense ... I'm as American as apple pie," I answered, puffing a little, lumbering on. "My parents are from Vietnam ... but I was born here ... Uh, if you don't mind ... I assume you're Muslim? ... Where are you from? ... And I'm sorry about that ... that jerk that dumped your book bag."

I could feel her shrug. Oh she felt good against my back. "That ass-hole. I like that word better! I have encountered worse. He is nothing. I am from Pakistan."

Ah hah! Pashto! Pakistan. I made the connection. Northwest Pakistan, in fact.

"Maybe ... he's nothing ... but I'd be careful where you use the word ... Asshole, I mean ... Not that it doesn't apply ... but it's considered -- uh -- vulgar, I'd guess you'd say. So what brings you to America?"

The moment I asked it I realized it was a stupid question. She was missing an arm and a leg. She'd encountered worse than Dolphus? I guess so! I was an idiot! She had to be a refugee. I'd seen enough news. In fact I knew a lot more than I wanted to about that part of the world and what went on there, the stuff they don't show on TV, at least not without a warning that the pictures might be disturbing.

Still, I was curious. I wanted to know more. But at the same time I didn't. And I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Choosing the handicapped ramp I checked the stairs, the ones Dolph had skipped on his short flight, and the floor beyond.

No blood. I couldn't decide if that was good or bad, finally decided it would depended on whose blood it was.

When we got through the lunchroom doorway the chatter faded, heads turning as I lumbered toward my friends at our usual tables. We'd made quite an entrance. Together we probably looked like a two-headed hunchback dwarf. And there was a foot sticking up out of her book bag.

Oh well.

The tables can handle four on a side -- five in a pinch -- but being there's eleven of us that eat lunch together we kinda spill over to a second table. Hadiya made us an even dozen.

Huh! In middle school I'd been a member of a sex ed class called the Dirty Dozen.

But that's another story.

Everyone in the room -- some of 'em even standing up to see better -- was watching, including the Vice Principal Mrs. Devers and the lunch ladies. I backed up to ease Hadiya down. After she got herself untangled from my pigtail it felt good to straighten up and stretch.

"Hi guys, this is Hadiya. She's from Pakistan. On her way here Dolphus dumped her stuff and managed to break her leg."

That got a gasp so I quick pulled it out of her bag to show 'em it was wooden while she got herself turned around and settled. "Hadiya, these are my friends. Next to you is Esther. Beside her is Maria, our soccer star. Across from Maria is the baby of the bunch, Izzy."

Izzy stuck her tongue out at me and wrinkled her nose.

"The Goldilocks beside her is Alice, and then there's Angelina and Naomi."

"Hey don't forget us!"

"Oh, yeah," I went on. "I almost forgot. At the next table are Barbara, Cynthia, Donna, and Muriel, but they hardly count," I teased. "Donna's a cheerleader but we like her anyway."

"Be nice or I won't share my gramma's cookies with you," Donna warned. "Glad to meet you, Hadiya."

"Her gramma makes the best cookies ever," Izzy explained after an almost musical chorus of "Hiya Hadiyas."

Some offered to shake hands, but Hadiya pretended not to see by fussing in her bag. Esther took Hadiya's leg, gave it a curious look and stood it on the table like a centerpiece. Alice passed me my pack and I dug into it for my lunch. Today it was peanut butter and jelly on wheat. Sometimes it's mom's stir fry in a plastic container. It's delicious hot or cold. I'm culturally omnivorous, but that doesn't include cafeteria food.

"Hadiya's lunch got stepped on," I announced. "Anybody got any extra?"

"We're almost done, but the line's still open. I'll get her something. What would you like, Hadiya?" Maria asked, instantly picking up on my not-so-subtle hint. I should've offered mine but all I had was a sandwich and I was really hungry.

"I do not wish to trouble..."

"No trouble," Maria insisted, getting up. "What would you like?"

"Avoid the mystery meat platter, especially the creamed corn," Donna warned.

"Better make it vegetarian," Naomi announced curtly, picking at her food. "This stuff is supposed to be kosher, but I dunno. What is it you people call it? Halal?"

I looked at her. You people? Curtness from Naomi? That wasn't like her. What bit her on the ass?

"Ah yes, vegetarian would be best, thank you. I have money."

"Save it," Maria told her, already heading off. "I'll get you milk, Judy."

"Water is fine with me," Hadiya assured her before turning toward Naomi. "And you are Jewish? I am sorry, I have forgotten most of your names already. I will try to do better."

"I'm Naomi. And yeah, I'm Jewish and you're Muslim," Naomi came back, a bit testy. "Does that bother you?"

Ah hah. I'd forgotten she'd lost a cousin in Israel to a Palestinian suicide bomber. It's a small world.

"No. Why should it?" Hadiya asked innocently.

Naomi shrugged, and frowned.

"Dolphus is such a jerk! Racial purity my ass!" That surprised me. Alice is one of the sweetest, most prim people in the world, and never mind that she could suck the skin off a cucumber. For all I knew by now her lips had circumcised her boyfriend. But still she wore a circle pin as a symbol of her virginity, and we knew she meant it -- well, at least sorta.

"We are the United Nations of Central High," Angelina suggested loftily.

"I prefer to say that we're blended," Esther observed with exaggerated snobbery, brushing one of her cornrow braids back. Her family's Ethiopian and she claimed the Queen of Sheba as an ancestor. Who were we to argue with that? She was pretty enough.

We'd never really thought about our friendship, at least I hadn't. We're buddies, just a bunch of kids that like each other. Maybe that was because they'd all been at my sex ed slumber party in middle school. That had been a real bonding experience! You might say we sorta melted together. It had been positively orgasmic, especially the Truth or Dare game. John, the one guy there, had struck sparks hot enough to weld him and Alice together probably for life. Izzy had learned the joys of masturbation. It had been wild. Nobody'd slept alone. Actually nobody'd slept much at all.