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BABA COULDN'T HAVE REALIZED HOW TIRED THEY WERE, OR he would never have made the children start school at once. Meli's head was still spinning from lack of sleep and the change in time, but even if she'd been rested and acclimated, the first days at the new school still would have been totally confusing.
One of the welcomers, as Adil had named the church people, drove Meli and Mehmet to the high school the second morning after they arrived. It helped that Adona went with them to fill out papers and answer questions and take home the things that their father was supposed to sign.
"It will be fine," she said as she started to leave. "You'll adjust in no time."
Meli watched her go. Now what was she supposed to do? The woman in the office motioned them to chairs and then went back to her desk, which was behind a high counter. Mehmet and Meli sat down and watched the big clock on the wall. It was about an hour before someone came into the office, spoke briefly to the woman behind the counter, and then turned to them.
Very slowly, in English they could almost understand, she said, "I am the English teacher for international students."
"Hello," said Mehmet, jumping to his feet and pumping her outstretched hand up and down. "I am Mehmet Lleshi. I come from Kosovo. I am Albanian."
"I am glad to meet you, Mehmet," the teacher said. "I am Missus———" But Meli couldn't understand the name.
"This girl is my sister. Her name is Meli. Also name is Lleshi," said Mehmet in English, and then under his breath in Albanian, "Stand up and shake hands."
Meli stood up.
"I am happy to meet you, Meli." The teacher held out her hand.
Meli shook it, her eyes on the new sneakers one of the welcomers had given her.
"Come with me."
At least that is what she seemed to be saying. They followed her down the hall and up two flights of stairs, then down another hall to a small room off what seemed to be a library. There was a cardboard sign on the door: ESL. The teacher pointed to the letters one by one. "E-S-L. English as a Second Language," she explained.
"Or third," muttered Mehmet. But since Meli hadn't understood the teacher, she didn't know what Mehmet meant, either.
The teacher pointed to the chairs around a table in the middle of the room and seemed to be inviting them to sit down. Mehmet did at once, so Meli sat as well, hoping she could stay awake. It would be terribly rude to fall asleep in front of a teacher on her first day.
They spent most of that day in the room with the ESL teacher. She gave them each a map of the enormous school—three floors of it, mostly classrooms, but also an auditorium, cafeteria, library, and two gymnasiums. Meli looked at the map. Who ever heard of a school so large that you needed a map to find your way around it? She thought longingly of the one room in the old house that had been school before, and of Zana sitting close beside her at their double desk.
"Pay attention," Mehmet said in her ear.
She shook off her thoughts and tried to listen to the teacher. The woman was taking their class schedules and writing down what time they were to go to each class and marking in red on the map the time they were to be in that particular place. Meli couldn't really follow what the teacher was saying, although the woman seemed to be trying hard to speak slowly and point out or act out—as in the case of the cafeteria and library and gymnasium—what they were to be doing in the various locations. All Meli wanted to do was take a nap, but Mehmet seemed to be following everything she said quite closely, nodding as though he understood every word.
At some point a bell rang, and soon the door opened and five students, all of whom appeared to be Asian, came laughing and talking into the room. They all looked very American in their blue jeans and sweatshirts with big letters on the front. Meli pulled her dress over her knees and buttoned the front of her wool cardigan. She must look very peculiar to these students, who seemed so happy and at home in this new country.
The teacher was talking. Meli must pay attention. "These are our new friends." Did she say "friends"?
"Hello," said Mehmet formally. "I am Mehmet Lleshi. I come from Kosovo. I am Albanian. This is my sister. Her name is Meli Lleshi." He glared at Meli. So Meli tried to smile.
The others grinned and nodded. "Meli, Mehmet. I want you to meet..." And then Missus whatever-her-name-was said everyone else's name. It was all a jumble to Meli. She was relieved when the teacher started the lesson for the class. Mehmet was listening carefully. He didn't try to participate, but Meli was sure her brother knew exactly what was going on—unlike Meli herself, whose head was pounding with exhaustion and confusion.
***
The first weeks were pure torture for Meli. Even when a teacher was kind enough to ask another student to make sure Meli got to her next class, she felt lost and alone in that gigantic place. Oh, Zana, 1 wish you were here.
The only time she saw Mehmet at school was in the ESL class, and he was so intent on learning English as quickly as possible that he had no time for her. If she dared complain about anything, he would pretend not to understand her. "Speak English, Meli. It's the only way to learn."
She tried to speak, but the effort was too great. She gave up and simply listened. She envied the little ones. They not only chattered away at school, but they played with neighborhood children after school and on the weekends. They could translate for Mama and Baba before Mehmet could. It made him so angry that he studied ten times harder. He listened to the radio or watched TV when he wasn't actually studying. "To get the pronunciation right. You have to get the pronunciation or they laugh." Mehmet couldn't stand to be laughed at. His younger brothers and Vlora just laughed right back when the neighborhood children laughed at them. Besides, the pronunciation seemed easy for them.
Mama shook her head. "They're forgetting Albanian," she said.
But if English was hard for Meli, it seemed almost impossible for Mama and Baba. They went to a course at the library three mornings a week, but they refused to speak in public. If they needed to go to the grocery store or post office, they always took one of the children to translate for them.
The biggest problem for them all was Baba. He needed to get a job, but what job could a middle-aged man do? One who was hopeless in English?
"What kind of work did you do in Kosovo?" Mr. Craven, one of the welcomers, asked.
