Rebels by Accident Read Free Page B

phone and run to the stove. Too late. The coffee has overflowed onto the stove again. “Crap!”
    â€œMariam! Your language!” Baba says as he walks into the kitchen. He says language is too beautiful to corrupt, so we shouldn’t swear. “What has gotten into you these days?” he asks me.
    â€œWe already know what. There are too many bad influences around here,” Mom says, standing behind him.
    â€œSorry,” I say. “The phone.” I point to it lying on the table where I dropped it.
    Mom picks it up. “Hello? Deanna? She can’t talk to you right now.” She clicks off the phone and says, “Mariam, please sit down.”
    â€œBut the stove,” I say.
    â€œDon’t worry about that now,” Baba says. The three of us sit before he starts talking again.
    â€œMariam, I think you know how disappointed we are in your behavior.” He pauses, but I don’t dare say a word. I know anything I say, now and forever, will be held against me for life. “You lied about going to this party. Drugs, Mariam. Drugs.”
    â€œI didn’t know there was—”
    â€œYou didn’t know,” Baba says. “This I believe. And I blame myself for you not having better sense about such things.”
    â€œDo you know that you and Deanna could have been facing a prison sentence?” Mom looks at me like she’s expecting an answer, but I just nod. I don’t even want to breathe too loudly.
    â€œThank God Deanna’s mother is an attorney; otherwise, you would be facing a judge in court right now.” He shakes his head. “We’re at a loss. But we don’t blame you.” He’s trying not to sound upset, but it looks like his head may explode. “Your mother and I have just not been strict enough with you…”
    Not strict enough? It already feels like I’m living a life sentence. My only fun is watching reruns and reality TV. And that’s if my parents aren’t around to tell me to turn it off and do something more productive. They never let me do anything. Before Deanna moved here, all I did was go to school and come home and study.
    Oh my God, Deanna. She’s the only thing they have to take away from me. They’re going to tell me I can’t see her anymore. I hold my breath, but I really want to stick my fingers in my ears so I don’t have to hear what’s coming next.
    â€œWe’re sending you to Egypt,” Mom says.
    What? In the middle of the school year? My parents never let me miss school unless my temperature is above 101.
    â€œWe think some time spent—”
    â€œYou’re not serious. Are you?”
    â€œThis is not an easy decision, but—”
    â€œWhat about school?” I interrupt. “This is the end of my junior year. Colleges are going to look at my grades—”
    â€œI’ve already talked to your principal this morning,” Baba says.
    â€œYou talked to the principal?”
    â€œShe thinks this would be an enriching experience for you,” Mom adds. “You just have to keep up with the assignments, which your teachers post online anyway, and do a research paper on the experience, which you will present to the school at a special assembly.”
    â€œSpecial assembly?” They expect me to stand up in front of the whole school and talk about Egypt? Like I don’t take enough crap because everyone sees me as some freak from pyramid-land.
    â€œHoney,” Mom says, her voice softer, “I know this is a lot to take in—”
    â€œHow long?” I ask.
    â€œWe don’t know yet,” Mom says.
    â€œMaybe the rest of the school year,” Baba says.
    â€œThat’s five months!”
    â€œWe think that some time spent with your sittu will help you gain perspective,” Baba explains. The calm in his voice makes me want to scream.
    â€œSittu? You’re kidding me, right?”
    â€œYou think