The Cellar

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

            In the days that followed, I continued to spend my lunchtime in the library, reading all I could get my hands on about the Civil War. There was so much I didn’t remember or know, and this was Elias’s life. I didn’t want him to have to explain everything to me, especially since it was obviously painful for him to talk about.

            I think I impressed the librarian with my studiousness. She hovered over me and the other stray students who spent their lunch period in the library in a kind of motherly way. These kids mostly seemed to be the outcasts—the ones who had no friends to eat with at lunch. It was strange to realize I was one of them now. I had never been that popular at my old school, but I had always had at least a small group of friends and felt like I’d belonged.

            On my third day in there, I noticed the girl with the headscarf from my homeroom. I seemed to remember Mrs. Davenport calling her Samira. She sat at a table in the corner, completely absorbed in the book she was reading. Even though she was alone, she didn’t have that awkward, dejected look the other kids had. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself. I found myself sneaking glances at her in between chapters on Civil War battles and thought about what those boys in homeroom had said about Muslims. If I was honest, I might not have the most friendly feelings toward them either if it weren’t for my history teacher freshman year. Mr. Ibrahim, himself a Muslim, had led us through a unit on Islam when we were studying world religions, and he and his wife had brought dinner to our apartment a couple weeks after the attacks. Even so, I liked to think I understood the difference between crazy radicals and innocent people.

Most mornings in homeroom, I sat in my back corner desk and kept my head down, working on homework. Because they were seniors, most of the kids in my homeroom had been together for over three years, and their groups were clearly established.  Just like mine had been with my friends at my old school, most of whom I’d known since seventh grade. I wasn’t exactly used to making new friends, and I wasn’t about to sit there looking lonely and desperate. So I looked busy instead and was left alone, although Derek did one of his small smiles and head jerks at me every day. Samira always had her nose in a book in homeroom as well, but maybe she was just doing what I was doing—looking like she had better things to do than to be sitting around talking and laughing with friends.  Maybe I should try talking to her in class one of these days, I thought.

            All that fake studying wasn’t helping my grades, though. My first major chemistry test came back with a big red ‘D’ at the top. In my family, there was no such grade, and as if he could somehow sense my academic slippage, my father called while I was walking home.

            “How are you?”

            “Okay.”

            “How’s school?”

            “Um, fine.”

            “What does that mean?” He pounced on my hesitation. “Are you having any trouble?”