Saving Kabul Corner (5 page)

“Shams,” said Hava Bibi, her voice tense. “I want no talk of the
feud
and
badal
. As far as I'm concerned, the feud ended when we all left Afghanistan. You and Jamil should go over and introduce yourselves, show there are no hard feelings.”

“But, Mom—,” muttered Shams.

“Shush!” said Hava Bibi. “It was a silly goat, and the feud is over. Swear to me you will not even think such nonsense!”

“All right,” grumbled Shams.

“Mom
is
right,” said Jamil, though there was a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Maybe we'll go around tomorrow and welcome them to the plaza.”

“If you say so,” said Shams, pushing aside the salad on his plate and piling on chicken kebob.

“Look, we just have to work harder to get customers excited and back at the store,” said Jamil. “Maybe a new advertisement or a raffle or something.”

As Ariana listened to her father about the cost of radio ads and flyers, something dense settled at the bottom of her stomach; apprehension combined with growing anger.
The news keeps getting worse.

A
RIANA
'
S MIND WANDERED DURING
Mr. Lambert's discussion on the importance of habitat conservation, and she rubbed the back of her neck where her mother had removed the chenille shirt's tag. The rough line of the label scratched her skin, driving her to distraction. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the picture of a squat, ugly European green crab Mr. Lambert held up. He was explaining how the crustaceans had found their way into the San ­Francisco Bay by stowing away in the ballast water of visiting cargo ships. The voracious invader species had killed off ninety percent of the native shore crabs and threatened them with extinction. It reminded her of Uncle Shams's dire warning that the opening of a new store would drive the Shinwaris out of business. Kabul Corner was an endangered species, and Pamir Market was their chief predator. Even though Hava Bibi and Ariana's father had calmed everyone down and convinced them that the Ghilzais were not out to drive the store out of business, anxiety hung over the Shinwari home. Everyone felt it.

Two weeks had passed since Pamir Market's grand opening, but the buzz surrounding the store hadn't died down, and the number of customers shopping at Kabul Corner had been cut by more than half. Well, except for their bread. Everyone still came to get bread from them, but then disappeared across the plaza to buy the rest of their groceries at Pamir Market. Mr. Balkh had gone in as a spy and reported back that the Ghilzais had marked down all their groceries by ten cents in comparison to Kabul Corner. If you added that up, people shopping at Pamir Market were saving at least five to fifteen dollars a visit.
With savings like that, why would they ever come back?

Pressure built within Ariana's chest, like a volcano building up magma.
Why did the Ghilzais have to open a store so close to Kabul Corner? Why couldn't they have gone
somewhere else?
Her father had run into Gulbadin in the parking lot earlier that week and introduced himself. Later that afternoon, over lunch, he'd told Hava Bibi that he'd done his duty to be hospitable and welcomed the Ghilzais to the plaza, but since ­Gulbadin had been in a hurry, they hadn't talked much. In the back of her mind, even though her grandmother insisted that the feud had ended back in Afghanistan, Ariana couldn't help but wonder if the Ghilzais had
really
gotten over the old feud.

The bell rang, interrupting Ariana's worried thoughts. She tugged on her shirt and trudged out, relieved that lunch was next. Caught up in the rush of students, Ariana navigated toward her slightly dented locker. After tossing her books inside, she grabbed her lunch box and slammed the door shut. The loud clang made her feel slightly better, so she gave her locker a whack for good measure. Down the hall she spotted Mariam's tawny head, close to Laila's, bobbing through the crowd. Ariana knew they'd just had social studies and were working on their ancient Egypt project together. The pressure in her mid­section pushed against her heart. It's so not fair. Perfect Laila gets to work with Mariam, and I'm stuck with knuckleheaded Josh.

Since Ariana hadn't known anyone well enough in her social studies class, the teacher had randomly put together the remaining kids who hadn't found partners. In her case it had been a slouchy towheaded boy named Josh Scrimption; he'd looked as thrilled to be with her as she had been to be paired up with him. So far Josh had vetoed everything she'd suggested. He even hated her idea of making a model of Pharaoh Cheops's royal barge.
It should have been me working with Mariam to mummify beetles, not Laila
. Ariana's fingers tightened around the metal handle of her lunch box. It seemed like she hadn't seen Mariam in more than a week—not after school, or during it either. Laila, on the other hand, was attached to her best friend's hip with superglue.

“Hey, Ari,” called out Mariam. “Ready for lunch?”

Ariana nodded, releasing her death grip on her lunch box.

“How was Mr. Lambert's class?” asked Mariam. A thick sheen of pink lip gloss stained her lips.

“Eh,” mumbled Ariana. “It was okay.”

“You okay? You look kind of tense,” said Mariam with a frown.

“I'm fine,” muttered Ariana.

“What's going on over there?” interrupted Laila, pointing to a gaggle of kids surrounding a table at the end of the hall.

“Oooh, let's see,” said Mariam. “Maybe it's a bake sale.”

The thought of freshly baked cookies perked Ariana up. Maybe they'd have her favorite—­snickerdoodles, covered in a thick coating of cinnamon sugar.

The trio edged closer, and from where she stood Ariana spotted a familiar girl sitting at the edge of the table—Patty Marsh, one of the popular girls from ­Ariana's old elementary school. Patty was also the current editor of the Brookhaven newspaper,
The Owl
. Next to her sat her second in command, ­Yoojin, a large box in front of her. Ariana's enthusiasm deflated.
No baked goods
. The crush of bodies propelled them toward a gap at the front of the table. Up close Ariana saw that the box was plastered with pictures of kids—poor, sad-looking kids. The label across the top read
Brookhaven Kids Helping Kids in Need
. But it was the person sitting next to Yoojin who gripped Ariana's attention. It was Wali, wearing a bright yellow-and-purple Los Angeles Lakers T-shirt, smiling, and handing out flyers.

“How's it going, Patty, Wali?” came a familiar adult voice from behind them.

“Great, Principal Chiu,” bubbled Patty, popping up like a yo-yo. “Thanks for introducing me to Wali. He's fund-raised for orphans before, and he totally knows what he's doing.”

“Wonderful,” said Principal Chiu, pausing at the table. “I knew you'd make a great team. Helping those in need is an important mission for the school this year.”

Ariana recalled Principal Chiu's welcoming address on the first day of school. She'd announced that one of the school's initiatives this year was to raise money for the Kids in Need Program, which helped educate children from disadvantaged backgrounds. It was no surprise that a busybody like Patty had pushed her way into a leadership role, but seeing Wali next to her, as if he belonged, made Ariana feel like her head was going to explode.

“Are you really okay?” whispered Mariam. “You're kind of turning purple.”

“I'm fine,” growled Ariana, not recognizing her own voice.

“Hey, Wali,” shouted a lanky boy as he entered the cafeteria. “See you at the court after school.”

“Later,” Wali answered with a wave.

“Wow. He seems to know everyone,” whispered Laila.

Ariana glowered. “Just like his family, pushing their way in where they're not wanted.”

“It doesn't look like he's not wanted,” said Laila under her breath.

Ariana shot Laila a look that would have sizzled a steak. “Whose side are you on?”

“Don't be silly, Ari,” said Mariam as Principal Chiu left. “Laila's your cousin; of course she's on your side.”

Laila shot Mariam a grateful smile. Ariana stared at them, a sharp prick of hurt nicking her heart.

“Do you guys want one?” asked a hesitant voice.

Ariana tensed. She jerked her head back toward Wali, who'd extended a flyer toward her. Without thinking, she grabbed it, and then tore it up, the smooth lavender paper crumpling between her fingers.
That feels good
.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Patty said with a gasp as she and Yoojin looked on with horror.

“I don't want anything from
you
,” growled ­Ariana. All of a sudden the image of a squat, beady-eyed European green crab flashed before her, threatening the local species.

Wali reddened and snatched his hand back.

“And we don't want your family around here either, so go back to stinking Los Angeles,” added Ariana, throwing the fragments of paper at him. Then she stopped in disbelief.
That wasn't supposed to come out of my mouth
.

The kids around the table, who'd been jabbering away a second ago, went dead silent. Everyone was looking at Ariana like she'd sprouted horns on her head.

“Dude, what's wrong with you?” muttered a voice in the back.

“How dare you!” huffed Patty. “We're doing this to, like, help kids in need.”

“She's, like, a total Grinch,” sputtered Yoojin.

“Uh, she's been under a lot of stress,” said Mariam loudly, grabbing Ariana's arm. “Really, really rough quiz in science . . .”

“Yes, very tough quiz,” piped in Laila, her eyes wide at Ariana's odd behavior.

As Mariam pulled Ariana away, Wali whispered for her ears only. “We aren't going anywhere,” he said. “This is a free country, and we're here to stay, whether
you
like it or not.”

• • • 

Ariana followed her nose into the kitchen and found Hava Bibi covered in a fine sprinkling of flour, kneading dough. She was making
gunzakhil
, a fried cookie, and the air smelled sweet with a hint of cardamom. The mouthwatering aroma sent a wave of comfort through Ariana. The day hadn't gotten any better when she'd arrived home from school. Mariam had just called, and not for her—for Laila. Ariana had thrust the phone into her cousin's hand and stomped toward the kitchen.

“
Salaam,
Ariana
jaan
. How was school?”

Ariana shrugged “Okay, I guess,” she mumbled as she grabbed a golden cookie, still hot from the oil.

“Well, you don't look like it was okay,” said Hava Bibi with a raised eyebrow.

Ariana sighed, cramming the cookie into her mouth. She knew her grandmother wasn't going to let her go without an explanation. “I ran into Wali at school,” she said, swallowing. “Wali
Ghilzai
.”

“Oh?” said Hava Bibi, looking up as she rolled out cookies.

“Yeah, and we kind of exchanged some words.”

“What kind of
words
?”

“I told him that he and his stinking family should go back to Los Angeles,” mumbled Ariana, her cheeks reddening.

Hava Bibi sighed. “I understand your feelings,
jaan
. Your father and Shams have had the great fortune of owning the only Afghan grocery store in town. But a little bit of competition may be a good thing. It will challenge them to do better.”

“But the Ghilzais had no right to open a store right
next
to us!”

“Perhaps the location is not the best, but they have every right to run any kind of business they want.”

“But what if they're here because of the feud,” muttered Ariana, the question burrowing its way out of her.

Hava Bibi waved the rolling pin at Ariana in an unexpected show of annoyance. “Don't even think that. That feud was left behind in Afghanistan with the death of my father and Bawer. I know Tofan, Gulbadin's uncle. He would never continue the feud . . .” Her voice went quiet. “He's a very honorable man.”

Ariana nodded, chastised.

“So don't pick a fight with Wali. He had nothing to do with his family's decision.”

“But he was, like, throwing it in my face,” said ­Ariana, not able to stop herself.

“Really? He was rude to you?”

Ariana remembered that all Wali had done was offer her a flyer. He hadn't said anything obnoxious. It was she who'd done that.

“All I'm saying, my dear, is that you should not judge someone so quickly. Give him a chance. Remember, a Pukhtun must always be
imandar
.

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘righteous.' No matter how difficult a situation you find yourself in, you must try to have good thoughts, speak good words, and perform good deeds.”

“I'll try, Bibi,” mumbled Ariana.
But it's going to be really hard
.

“Ariana
jaan
, come help me with these,” Jamil called as he entered the kitchen, with a large box from Krishna Kopymat in tow.

Ariana looked inside and saw huge stacks of advertisements printed on standard pale blue economy paper.

“I thought you could fold them up, since you like doing those paper foldy thingies,” teased her father.

“It's called origami, dad,” grumbled Ariana as she pulled out a light, almost translucent page and read the headline:
Free bread with purchase of $25 worth of groceries.

“These flyers should remind our old customers that since our bread is the best in town, they should get their groceries at Kabul Corner as well. We'll post them at the mosques and the community center, and advertise on the Afghan radio station.”

“Do you think giving away free bread is a good idea?” asked Ariana.

“Oh, yes,” said Jamil. “Your uncle and I talked it over. You know that we charge two-fifty per loaf of bread, but it only costs us one dollar to make. So we're really giving away a dollar's worth of stuff, but customers don't know that. They think they're getting something valuable—a loaf of our amazing bread.” Jamil smiled, pleased with himself.