Rebels by Accident by Patricia Dunn

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    I want to tell her Baba hasn’t forgotten, that he talks about Egypt all the time. But somehow, I think she’d be able to tell I was lying.
    â€œDeanna, you are very beautiful,” Sittu says. “Are you sure you are not Egyptian?” I’m relieved she’s being nice to Deanna.
    â€œI wish,” Deanna says. “My mother’s a little bit of a lot of things: English, Italian, Swedish, German, Portuguese, and some Irish. There’s some Native American mixed in there too. And my father…”
    Deanna pauses, but before she continues, Sittu says, “My son told me about how much your mother wanted you.”
    â€œThat’s me—a spermie,” Deanna laughs.
    Sittu looks confused.
    â€œIt’s what Deanna calls herself, because her mom used a sperm bank.”
    â€œVery funny. My son did mention what a good sense of humor you have.”
    â€œYour son’s pretty cool,” Deanna says.
    â€œWell, he can be a bit of a hothead,” Sittu says—almost the exact same thing Baba said about her. Baba actually said “heated head.”
    â€œMariam’s sittu —”
    â€œWhat is this ‘Mariam’s sittu ’? Just call me Sittu.”
    â€œOkay, Sittu. I don’t know if your son also told you about… Well, I just want you to know it may not look like I’m happy to be here, but I am. I’m so happy.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? I have never seen happier eyes in all my life, and I have been alive a very long time.” Sittu touches Deanna’s face where her smile should be. “When you walk into the room, the sun enters with you.”
    Deanna looks like she’s actually turning red. I’ve never seen her get embarrassed before.
    I nudge Deanna. “Now you’re supposed to say something nice to her.”
    â€œLike?”
    â€œThe flowers only grow when you arrive,” I say. Baba and I did this all the time when I was younger. I used to think it was a game Baba made up.
    â€œAt least your baba taught you a few things,” Sittu notes, as if I’m not a complete disappointment to her.
    â€œYou keep going back and forth, trying to top each other with compliments,” I explain to Deanna, trying to avoid Sittu’s gaze.
    There’s something in the way Sittu stares at me that reminds me of when I was interviewed for private high school. My parents thought it would be a safer environment for me. Both Baba and Mom were going to have to work two jobs just to pay the tuition, yet they really wanted me to go. I did really well on all the tests, but the woman who interviewed me shook her head throughout my interview, as if everything I said was wrong. She even shook her head when she asked me my name, and I know I got that answer right.
    â€œSo it’s like a contest?” Deanna says.
    â€œSomething like that,” Sittu says. “Mariam’s father was always good at contests.” She kisses me on both of my cheeks again but not as hard as before. “ Yalla .”
    â€œSo you want us to wait here for you?” I ask. “Or is there a better place to wait?”
    â€œWait?” Sittu looks confused. “Why would you wait here?”
    â€œYou said yalla , ‘I go,’ right?”
    Sittu shakes her head. “Mariam.” She sighs like I just failed some big test I didn’t even know I was taking. “ Yalla means ‘let’s go,’ as in ‘we go.’ Even the little Arabic you know is wrong.” She shakes her head again.
    I glare at Deanna, but she’s too busy looking at everything around her to notice. Now it makes even more sense why the guy kept pulling harder on Deanna’s suitcase every time she said yalla . The poor guy thought she was telling him we were all going with him.
    â€œ Yalla ,” Sittu repeats as she goes for my suitcase.
    â€œI can carry it,” I say.
    â€œWhy carry it? It