Love from a to Z

ZAYNEB
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13
MARVEL:
VICTORIES
E
XHIBIT
A: V
ICTORY AT THE
pool.
Auntie Nandy was supposed to come home right away after school today,
but she texted to say that a last-minute meeting had come up, and that our
scheduled trip to see Katara, a reconstructed traditional Qatari village,
would have to wait until another day.
That was fine, I guess.
I was feeling completely good for once.
This morning had been epic. Like Marvel-movie-level epic.
Auntie Nandy and I had walked down to the fitness center, her in her
“regular” swimsuit, by Marc’s standards, with a thin cover-up on top, me in
my burkini with the weird, sleeping clamshell on the front. The attached
swim scarf, a zippered cap enclosing my hair, was up and on, goggles ready
for pool use snapped on top of it.
I held my back straight, my head up, my mouth closed, trying to match
Auntie Nandy’s steady steps to the facility, located in the middle of the
condominium complex’s paved courtyard.
She opened the glass door for me, and I took a step in—with my right
foot, as per Muslim custom. Maybe to make it an auspicious occasion? This
showing up as my unapologetic Muslim self?
“Bismillah,” I whispered.
I led the way to the check-in counter.
Marc, seated, scrolling on a tablet in front of him, looked up as I wrote
my name into the facility-use binder. Pool I wrote in the appropriate
column.
I smiled—serenely—at him.

---

He pushed his chair back and stood, glancing at me before searching for
Auntie Nandy’s face behind me. “I thought we spoke about proper
swimwear yesterday.”
Auntie Nandy took a step to the side and then forward, until she was at
the counter herself, a big smile on her face. “Hi, Marc.”
“Hi, Natasha.”
“Is something the matter?”
“As I told you yesterday, your niece needs to have proper swimwear to
use the pool here.”
“Yes, of course!” She continued smiling. “And voila, today she is not
wearing cotton leggings or a T-shirt. Instead, it’s spandex, same as my
swimsuit, same as yours when you swim, Marc.”
“We have rules, Natasha.” He put his hands on his hips. “This is a
condominium complex catering to expats who like certain standards.”
“Oh, no, no.” Auntie Nandy said. “Don’t use that on me. I’m an expat
from two backgrounds and both of those backgrounds, the American and
the Caribbean one, are okay with Zayneb’s swimsuit. Tell me then—exactly
which expats are you catering to?”
Marc stared at her.
“This is proper swimwear, Marc. It doesn’t breach protocol in any way.”
Auntie Nandy picked up the pen and signed her own name into the binder.
“Come on, Zayneb. Let’s go swimming.”
“I’ll get complaints,” Marc said, stepping out from behind the front desk.
“We have some members who are more vocal than others.”
“You mean you have some members who are more prejudiced than
others.” Auntie Nandy stopped walking and turned to Marc. “You can tell
those members I’m very vocal too. And I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want
me to take this matter out of our condo complex, would they?”
Her smile unfaltering, she waited a moment for him to answer. He went
back to his chair behind the desk, shaking his head.
When we were down the hall, I turned to Auntie Nandy and high-fived
her. “That, Auntie Nandy, was a work of art. You were flawless.”
“Never, ever quake in the face of hate, Zayneb.”
“And I can’t believe you were smiling the whole time!” I felt like
skipping to the pool in my sad clamshell burkini.
“Well, if you’re speaking up for someone, why be sad about it? Or upset?
Be proud of doing the right thing. Something I teach each and every student

---

I’ve ever had. Celebrate!” She held the door to the pool for me.
It was empty, the water as still as a sheet of turquoise glass.
We walked to the welcoming sight.
“I love you, Auntie Nandy!” I hugged her and then pushed her in. But, as
she fell laughing, she was quick enough to grab me, pull me in with her.
We swam the entire time with no one around—to bother us or question us
or alert us to rules about our female bodies—and, when Auntie Nandy left
to get ready for work, I floated by myself in the water, thinking.
Auntie Nandy had just been in control of the whole situation when she
challenged Marc. She made it look so easy.
But then I thought about the hard parts of speaking up. About why it’s so
difficult to do the right thing in front of those with the power to affect your
life. Say, to affect your future, your grades at school, your experience
learning.
Your experience living.
I didn’t want to think about it, but an image of Mr. Fencer just sitting on
an empty desk, in an empty classroom, swinging his legs, grinning while he
waited for me to come back to school—while he waited to pounce on me—
appeared in my mind.
I floated and floated until the image floated away too.
I refused to be the sad clamshell on my burkini.
Today was a day for victories.
• • •
Since Auntie Nandy was going to be late again, I decided to organize
myself.
After swimming, while she was at school, I’d gone to Souq Waqif, the
outdoor bazaar, on my own to shop for gifts for everyone back home.
Now all of my purchases were at the entrance of my room, in a huddle of
bags that the concierge had helped me carry up.
I shoved the clean laundry I’d done after returning from the pool on top
of my pillows and made my bed. Then I dumped the gifts I’d bought on the
white duvet.
As I was sorting them, my phone buzzed.
Emma Domingo.
Emma P. wants you to come with us to the dunes on Sunday. For her party.

---

Another message from her popped up as I thought about this. 
It’s fun and
fast. Dune bashing.
Mom was arriving on Sunday. It would be kind of weird if I wasn’t
home. But maybe it was only a part of the day?