Saadia Faruqi - Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero

To my father, who always pushed me to do better.

You suck.

The paper lay faceup on the locker floor. White lined notebook paper. Black ink.

Yusuf blinked and read it again. You suck.

He wasnt sure if the paper was meant for him or was left over by the last person to use locker 130A. He looked at the other kids walking around, smiling and high-fiving. The student lockers in the south hallway of Frey Middle School were painted blue. Not a light sky blue, which everyone knew was for babies, but a deep grayish blue. A color that announced Welcome to middle school! without being cheesy.

Just a few seconds ago, Yusuf had been thrilled at opening his locker for the first time. Lockers were for big kids. They meant something more than storage: they meant you were old enough. Hed been grinning as hed spun the dial carefully to make sure he got the numbers right. Seven zero two zero. Easy. Hed already memorized the combination written on the class schedule hed been emailed the night before. That was also a middle school thing, apparently. An email account from the school, where hed now get school announcements directly. His username was YUSUF_AZEEM, it said on the schedule, right next to the locker code.

Yusuf Azeem. Son of the famous Mohammad Azeem from A to Z Dollar Store on Marbury Street.

And now this. He pushed his glasses higher up his nose. Then he looked down and studied the inside of the locker. You suck. The paper made everything go quiet, like a movie suddenly on mute. He bent his head and studied the paper the way he studied a new LEGO instruction manual. The K had a flourish that turned into a long, straight line. The Y had a curl, as if the writer had tried to learn cursive but had given up.

His breathing slowed. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. What should he do?

Only for a minute, though. Someone jostled his side lightly as they passed. The world began to move again.

Yusuf let out his breath in a whoosh. He decided the paper was a mistake. Students were streaming into the gym from the hallways, their faces bent to their schedules to figure out where to go. Nobody could have decided he sucked in the ten minutes since the school bell rang. It had to be a mistake. Middle school was going to be awesome. He knew that 2021 was going to be his year. Cafeteria food. Chromebooks. Robotics club. This blue-gray locker.

And most important, the annual Texas Robotics Competition. Yusuf couldnt wait for things to get started. Hed been preparing for the TRC his entire life.

It was time for life to get interesting.

Principal Williamson was short and energetic, with bouncy brown hair tied in a ponytail and her face thick with makeup that shone under the gym lights. She wore a silky blue jumpsuit with sequins on the collar and held a microphone in her hands like a deejay.

At least, that was what Yusuf thought deejays dressed like. You needed to go to Houston or Austin for an actual concert, and Amma and Abba would faint if he ever suggested it. Good Muslim kids didnt go to concerts, theyd say, frowning with disappointment.

Danial had found a space on the floor all the way in the far corner of the gym. Over here! He waved to Yusuf.

Yusuf sank down into the empty spot next to his best friend. Why didnt you walk to school with me? he grumbled, fiddling with his glasses.

Danial shrugged, his floppy black hair spilling onto his forehead and around his ears. My mom wanted to drop me off, since it was the first day and all. I think she just wanted to show off her new Jeep.

Yusuf squished the tiny spark of envy inside his chest. Danials parents were computer engineers, and they worked in the new Exxon regional headquarters about twenty miles out of town. This was his moms third new car since Danial was born.

Come home with me after school? Danial asked. I got a new LEGO set we can build together.

Yusuf stared straight ahead at Principal Williamson. She stood on a little wooden stage, checking her microphone, whispering, Hello? Hello?

Cant, he replied reluctantly. My mamoo is visiting at dinner.

The uncle from Houston? Hes cool.

Yusuf didnt say that a LEGO set sounded cooler. That was a given. But Uncle Rahman came a close second.

Did you set up your email yet? Danial continued. Im thinking of changing my username to legomaniac2021.

Yusuf didnt know you could change your username. Why would anyone want to do that? Im okay with mine. Besides, what will you do next year? Change it to 2022?

Danial obviously hadnt thought of that. He shrugged like he didnt care, but his face was scrunched up as if hed swallowed a pickle.

This is so childish, he complained, nodding to the front of the gym.

What? Its middle school. Its what they do on the first day. Yusuf was sure this welcome assembly was a time-honored tradition. At least, that was what the email last night had said.

The sound system crackled, making them jump. Helloooo, boys and girls, welcome to Frey Middle! Im your principal, Mrs. Williamson, and Ill be your pilot for the duration of your flight.

There was silence. A few groans.

Principal Williamson looked around with a pained face. Wow, tough crowd! Okay, no worries. I realize its the first day of middle school for some of you, and youre probably still in summer vacation mode. Not a problem! Now, let me go over some rules before yall head on to your classrooms....

Yusuf tried to listen to the rules. He really did. There were easy ones, like no running in the hallways, and no fighting ever. Wandering the school without a hall pass was the biggest crime a kid could commit, apparently. There was something about bathroom breaks, and a great deal about the sports teams you could join.

But the note in his locker kept swimming into his vision, until Mrs. Williamsons face resembled a lined notebook paper with black letters on it. Did you open your locker yet? he whispered to Danial.

Danial was jotting down the names of all the sports clubs on the palm of his hand. Soccer on Monday. Basketball on Tuesday and Friday. Wrestling on Wednesday. Yoga on Thursday. Why would anybody choose yoga? he whispered back. Yoga is for old ladies.

Yoga is meditation from ancient India.

I really dont care. Its for old ladies.

Yusuf decided there was no use arguing. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then asked again. Locker?

Dude, I didnt even get to my locker yet, Danial replied. I think the last class can still access them in the first week of school.

Yusuf didnt ask how Danial knew this. His father, Mr. Khan, was on the school board, so all sorts of school secrets were probably discussed at their dinner table. A wave of relief washed over Yusuf. The note in his locker could have been left over from the year before. It was meant for somebody else. Maybe someone who actually sucked.

Definitely not Yusuf.

Okay, who can tell me the three values of Frey Middle School? shouted Mrs. Williamson, the sequins on her jumpsuit glinting brightly. The first one starts with a P.

The gym erupted into laughter.

Its perseverance, whispered Yusuf, but nobody could hear him over the noise.

After the assembly was over, Yusuf and Danial stood in the hallway outside the gym comparing class schedules. They werent in any classes together, which was the worst news. Theyd been together ever since kindergarten, except in third grade, which Danial had labeled the Year of Sorrows.