I Love I Hate I Miss My Sister (11 page)

Djelila runs. Jumps. She is all arms and legs. She is everywhere on the court. Racine’s opponents lead by two points. On the side, standing with his fists clenched, Coach Abdellatif shouts words of encouragement.

“Stay focused, Alice! Mark number five! Mark her!” he yells.

Djelila dribbles past one of her opponents. She has the ball. She is cornered; her thighs tense up, and, ultrafocused, she looks for an opening.

“Alice!” she shouts.

Alice dashes over just in time to catch the ball. Djelila is free. She runs to the basket. Alice understands and makes a long throw that Djelila catches. She makes a quarter turn, bends her knees, springs up on her legs, and jumps like a ballet dancer. The ball falls into the basket with a
whoosh
.

Alice and Djelila high-five quickly, and the game goes on. The girls from Montilan, in their orange jerseys, try to create an opening but don’t succeed. Energized by Djelila’s basket, her teammates don’t give Montilan any room. Marine gets the ball, and with one pass, two passes, three passes, it’s up to Djelila to throw again. The whole Montilan team is on her like bees on a honeypot. Djelila is hampered but traces an almost perfect curve, and the ball lands in the hoop.

The whistle blows. The game is over.

Djelila’s teammates swarm around her, hug her, tousle her hair, and give her high fives.

I am cold. I snuggle as best I can in my jacket and keep my hands in my pockets. I’ve been here for ten minutes, but I didn’t sit in the bleachers. I knew the game would end soon, so I decided to stand in the corridor, near the double doors.

After dinner, I watched TV with my parents at the same time that I played with Taïeb and Idriss. I couldn’t keep still. I got up during a commercial and told my parents I was going to go root for Djelila and I would come back with her. Dad was all too happy to see me go. Mom gave me a grateful smile. They didn’t want to say it, but they were clearly worried about Djelila as well.

My sister hasn’t seen me.

Coach Abdellatif comes up to the girls and congratulates them. His smile shows off his pearly white teeth. His ponytail is undone. When the whistle signaled the end of the game, he removed the rubber band that tied his hair back and put it in his pocket. It was a gesture of victory,
his
victory gesture.

“Great job, girls! You played really well. Outstanding!” he tells them.

The girls from Montilan are already in the locker room. Their coach, a woman with short hair who’s wearing an Adidas tracksuit, walks toward the Racine players.

“Brava, young ladies,” she says with a smile. “It has been a real pleasure to play against you.”

“Thank you,” everyone says.

“Yeah, thank you. Your team played well too,” Coach says.

Djelila, Alice, and the others try to look modest, but they don’t quite succeed. Triumph is written all over their faces.

“Well, we have to catch our bus,” the Montilan coach goes on. “I hope we’ll have occasion to meet again. And next time we’ll do what it takes to beat you. Believe me.”

She shakes hands with Abdellatif, nods to the group, and leaves.

Abdellatif smiles from ear to ear. He waits until the woman has disappeared through the locker room door.

“We got them!” he shouts.

He beams like a kid. His eyes shine the way Taïeb’s and Idriss’s sparkle when Mom tells them a story.

Alice glances at Djelila, who nods imperceptibly. Alice clears her throat.

“Hey, Abdel, can we ask you something?” she says.

“Anything you want, Alice, anything!”

“Could you leave us the keys to the gym tonight? We’ll drop them off in the morning, I promise.”

Abdellatif frowns. “The keys to the gym? What for? You’re not going to work out tonight, are you?”

Alice shrugs and smiles. “No, but we know that you’ve got to go and we’d all like to celebrate a little.”

“Don’t worry, girls,” Coach says. “I’ve planned a celebration for next Saturday.”

“But what about tonight?”

“Tonight, I can’t. Sorry. I told you that I had to leave after the game.”

“Yes, but can you leave us the keys?” Djelila tries.

Abdellatif shakes his head. “I can’t do that, girls. I’m responsible for the gym, and if anything were to happen here—”

“But nothing will happen,” Alice interrupts.

“I can’t. Now go and change.”

Alice opens her mouth to say something else, but Djelila touches her arm. No point insisting. Grumbling, the girls head toward the locker room. Djelila follows them. Alice follows Djelila, taking care to slouch her back and droop her shoulders so that Abdellatif feels guilty. As I watch the coach’s face, I’d say she succeeded.

My sister still hasn’t seen me.

No need to stay where I am. I step back and open one of the double doors. It is bitterly cold outside. A sharp wind freezes my nose. I rub my hands together. My head scarf protects my ears. In the parking lot, the Montilan team bus is waiting, its engine running. The exhaust pipe lets out a cloud of white smoke. The girls arrive one by one or in twos and threes. I can hear their coach near the locker room telling them to hurry. The only other vehicle in the parking lot is a green car. Abdellatif’s car. A straggling girl, her bag on her shoulder, hurries out. The coach is right behind her. There’s a hissing sound as the bus door closes, and the engine starts to run faster.

At the sound of voices, I turn my head. Djelila and Alice are the first Racine players to come out. They are laughing. Obviously Abdellatif’s refusal to give them the gym keys hasn’t upset them too much. I walk toward them.

“Sohane? What are you doing here?” Djelila says.

“I came to see you play,” I tell her. “You were great.”

“Really? You think so?”

The smile that lights up my sister’s face is like a miracle.

“Yes, really.”

Suddenly, Djelila frowns. “Did Dad and Mom ask you to come?”

“You know they’re not like that. I came because I felt like it.”

“I’m not going home right away.”

“But … Abdellatif said that—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alice declares, her eyes shining. “We’re going to celebrate somewhere else!”

“Where?” I ask.

“We don’t care! As long as we find a place to knock back our stash!”

Djelila nudges her friend. But it’s pointless. I can guess that Alice is talking about alcohol.

“Djelila isn’t going with you,” I say. “She’s coming with me.”

Djelila gives me a look that could kill. “Hey, that’s enough, Sohane. Who do you think you are? I go where I want, with who I want, and you can’t order me around.”

The biting wind has nothing to do with the feeling of
intense cold that invades my body. Girls stream out of the locker room. They glance over at us, wave to Djelila and Alice, and move on.

“Your teammates don’t seem to be going to your little party,” I say.

Alice shrugs. “Nobody else wants to come. ‘It’s too cold, it’s too late, I have to go.…’ ” Alice adopts a baby voice to make fun of her teammates. “Lame. But Dje and I don’t care! There are two of us, and that’s enough.”

More girls come out, chatting, followed by Abdellatif.

“Bye, girls. See you Tuesday for practice!” he says.

“Bye, Abdel, see you Tuesday,” they answer.

He shuts the gym door carefully. Two turns of the key.

“Good night, Alice. Good night, Djelila. You should go home before you turn to ice.”

“Yes, don’t worry, we’re going,” Alice answers. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Abdellatif climbs into his car. A few seconds go by. He turns the headlights on, starts the engine, backs up, blows the horn lightly, and he’s gone.

“Good! Come, Dje, let’s go,” Alice says.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Djelila!”

“Get off my back, Sohane! It’s time you realize I don’t need a chaperone! I don’t need you!”

“Djelila …”

Alice and Djelila walk off.

I hesitate. I’m tempted to follow them. I might still have
a chance to bring my sister back to reason. A giggle stops me short. The only thing is to go back home.

I walk fast. In my head, worry and irritation are waging battle. Djelila thinks she knows everything. She thinks she’s cleverer than anyone else. She thinks she’s behaving like an adult because she drinks alcohol. Good for her. But how can she do that to us? How can she do that to me? We are her family. Why does she need to reject us, to systematically go against everything we’ve been taught at home? She can’t have forgotten the teachings of the Koran, God’s demands. Tight jeans, cigarettes, and now alcohol. Do you hate us so much, Djelila? Are you ashamed of us? You disown your family, your culture, your education, your religion, you reject us, and you reject me. Why?

Quickly I make my way across the Lilac projects. Majid and his gang are leaning against the wall of Tower 38. As usual.

It would be better if they didn’t see Djelila.

They might start in on her again. Would they dare hit her? Majid slapped her once, but I’m not sure he would be bold enough to strike her a second time. He’s always been a coward. If he lays a hand on her again, it’s likely he’ll have to answer to Dad. But I’m sure they won’t hesitate to shove her around. Which might teach her a lesson.

For all I care, she can go to hell!

In any case, I can’t go home yet. Not without Djelila. Our parents wouldn’t understand. And going to bed is out of the question: I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’m going to
wait. And when she comes back, I’ll give her a piece of my mind.

I sit on a bench, facing the patch of lawn that runs along our tower.

Anxiety is gnawing at me. What if Djelila doesn’t come back? What if she decides to spend the whole night with Alice? What if something happens to them? I should have followed them to find out what they were up to. I glance at my watch. It’s a quarter to eleven. Not very late. But when does she plan on coming back? When should I begin to worry? This is ridiculous since I’m already filled with dread.

I’m cold. I curl up a bit. I should have taken my gloves. My foot is moving by itself. I get up and walk around the square once, my eyes never leaving the door of our building to be sure not to miss her.

I pace up and down. The orange light of the streetlamp is flickering. Sometimes, when Djelila and I were little, we sat by our bedroom window and waited for all the project lights to go out. We couldn’t do that today since the few working lights now remain lit all night.

Well, I have to stop thinking about Djelila. I’d be better off concentrating on the economics essay that I have to prepare for the end of next week. A really tough topic:
Once you have explained the reasons behind the adoption of a single currency in Europe, use the euro to demonstrate that a currency not only plays an economic role but should also be considered an institution
. I’ve analyzed all the correspondence lectures, all the documents supplied with the subject; I’ve reread my
economics notes from before I left Racine High. And still I don’t have a handle on it. But I have to get it done.

I look at my watch again. Eleven-fifteen. That’s all! I can’t believe it’s only a quarter past eleven.

I go back to the bench and sit down. It’s like sitting on an iceberg. I start hoping that Alice didn’t take Djelila to friends of hers. A place where there are boys. Djelila is so pretty.… If she drinks alcohol … Why didn’t I follow them? It was stupid of me. Maybe Djelila is in danger. She is so innocent!

What is certain is that when she comes back …

I get up again. I pace in front of the bench. A light goes off, then on, in a first-floor apartment of our tower. Maybe I should go back to the gym? No, I might miss her.

Eleven-twenty.

I no longer see Majid and the others. They probably split up, tired of trying to polish the dirty wall of Tower 38 with the backs of their jackets.

Djelila, Djelila. Where are you? What’s going on in your head?

Her friend Alice has changed a lot. She started playing basketball at the same time as Djelila. She had braids then, and her mother used to bring her to basketball practice and pick her up afterward. Alice was pretty shy. Djelila thought she was silly, I remember. They didn’t even talk to each other much.

I hear voices in the parking lot. Bursts of laughter.

Djelila.

I walk toward the blacktop alley to get a better view. It’s her. She grabs onto Alice for support. Actually, they’re shouldering each other to stay upright and laughing hysterically. They zigzag forward, stopping every two seconds to laugh again. Suddenly, Alice moves away, bends forward, her hands on her knees, and throws up. She wipes her mouth with a tissue, which she tosses on the ground. Djelila looks at her, startled at first, but Alice straightens up and they start laughing again. As if this is the funniest event of the year.

I think they’re pathetic.

They hug and Alice moves off, unsteady on her feet.

I don’t know where Alice lives and I couldn’t care less. The stupid girl can walk across the whole projects by herself in twelve-degree weather if she feels like it. I don’t give a hoot. I fold my arms. I’m going to tell Djelila exactly what I think.

As she stands alone in the middle of the parking lot, Djelila seems to hesitate. She looks around and raises an arm.

“Hey!” she says.

She can’t have seen me.

She walks with determination, confidently, across the parking lot. She knows where she’s going. I follow her gaze. Majid, Youssef, Brahim, Mohad, and Saïd have stopped. They are probably as surprised as I am. No way were they expecting to see Djelila stride toward them.

“Hey, Majid!” she says.

She stands in front of them, hands on her hips, defiant.

I am as still as a statue, not breathing. An alarm goes off in my head.

Get moving, Sohane, she’s about to do something stupid. Do something. Go get her
.

“So, you’re not snug at home with your mom and dad?” Djelila says. Her voice carries across the empty parking lot. It sounds thick.

Majid mumbles something I can’t hear. I know he spoke, because his head moved. His friends gather closer around, as if to protect him. To protect him from Djelila. What a joke!