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"What terrorists?"
"We don't know any details. But we mustn't panic. If we are at war, we will all have to be brave and clear-headed. I've been asked to announce that we will complete the school day but that there will be no after-school activities. No sports practices or clubs. Everyone is to go straight home after the last bell."
Meli could hardly breathe. She could see in the eyes of her classmates a mixture of excitement and fear. She felt only dread. She knew what war was like. Had they fled Kosovo only to be plunged into the midst of its horrors in America?
***
At home they watched on television as the plane hit the second tower, over and over again, and as both towers crumbled to giant piles of debris, over and over again. Their throats were dry. They could not speak or look at each other. "Turn it off," Baba commanded. He had been sent home from work early. No one had come to the restaurant. Everyone in America was at home watching the planes crash and the towers fall. Did they eat that night? They must have, but afterward Meli couldn't remember eating, just the replay of the planes crashing and the towers falling. Even with the screen black, the image of the disaster played on in her mind.
After Vlora and the younger boys were put to bed, Mehmet turned the TV on again. That was when they heard the news that the whole world now knew: The terrorists who had crashed the planes into the Twin Towers and blown open the Pentagon were all Muslims. Baba shook his head in disbelief. "This is not the way of the Prophet," he said. "This is sickness, madness."
The next day, going to her locker, Meli realized that people were staring at her, and that after she passed knots of students in the halls there was silence and then a whispered exchange. She was used to people not speaking to her, but this was different. Everyone is upset. We're all afraid. A number of people had stayed home, fearing somehow that the terrorists would find their way to Vermont and bomb the largest building in their town, which was the high school.
The principal announced over the PA system that classes and activities would go on as usual. But nothing felt usual. During soccer practice no one passed her the ball. She tried to pretend that she didn't notice the strange looks sent her way. Once, she found herself sprawling on the field. No one had meant to trip her, had they? But later, as she showered, she could hear one of the seniors talking. It was Brittany, the varsity goalkeeper. She seemed to be talking loudly on purpose, so that Meli couldn't help but hear her over the noise of the water.
"That's what her family is," Brittany was saying. "She's one of them. Her and that weird brother of hers."
"No," someone protested. "She's okay."
"Just ask her," Brittany said. "You'll see."
Should she just stay in the shower, pretend she'd heard nothing? But that seemed cowardly. Meli turned off the water, wrapped her towel around herself, and stepped out into the locker room. It was as if someone had pushed the mute button. No noise. Just stares.
Brittany, the only fully dressed girl in the room, gave Rachel a shove. "Go ahead, ask her." Rachel, who had been trying to pull on her jeans, nearly fell on her face. She caught her balance and then glanced back at Brittany before turning, red-faced, toward Meli. "Someone said you were one of them, Meli," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "That's not true, is it?"
"What do you mean, 'them'?" Meli asked. "I don't understand." She looked from one team member to another. "If you mean what nationality, I am Kosovar."
"But what's that?" Brittany asked. "It's not Christian, is it?"
"No." Her throat was so tight that she could hardly speak. "No. Serbs are Christian. I am not a Serb. I—my family—is Albanian."
"I thought you just said 'Kosovar.'" Brittany's eyes narrowed to a slit.
"Yeah, Meli." It was Chrystal, the junior whose place Meli had taken on the varsity squad. "What are you really?"
"I told you. I am Albanian Kosovar."
"Come on, Meli." Brittany stepped around Rachel and glared at Meli. "You are one of them. You know you are."
"Explain what you mean, 'them.'" Of course, by now Meli knew full well what Brittany and the others meant by "them," but she wanted to make Brittany say it out loud, to her face. "How am I one of them?" She leaned so close to Brittany that she could see the pimples on the girl's cheeks set to explode.
Brittany straightened. "Like the terrorists." She stepped back slightly. "You know, like their religion."
"I'm not a religious person." Meli walked over toward her locker and opened it.
"I told you she wasn't a Christian."
"I am not a religious person," Meli continued, keeping her eyes on her locker and her voice as steady as she could. "But if I have to choose Christian or Muslim, then, okay, I am Muslim." She turned around. "But that doesn't make me one ofthem. I am not a terrorist."
Brittany shoved Rachel forward once more. Meli wrapped her towel more tightly around herself and looked into the face of the girl she had thought of as a friend. Rachel looked everywhere except at Meli.
"Ask her about her brother, Rachel," Brittany demanded. "Ask if he's a terrorist."
"It is not terrorist to want to fight for your homeland!" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Meli knew she should never have said them. Rachel backed away, her eyes wide.
"See?" Brittany yelled so loud her voice reverberated around the tiles. "See? I told you!" She whirled around toward her locker. Opening the door, she grabbed her book bag and threw it over her shoulder before she turned again toward Meli. "Why don't you and your brother just go back to where you came from? We don't want any Muslim terrorists around here." With that she slammed her locker shut and marched out of the locker room.
For a few moments they all stared at the door as it swung behind Brittany, and then, careful not to look Meli's way, everyone finished dressing quickly and left, leaving Meli standing there alone, shivering in her towel.
