Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,53

hard at her antics that we’re all in high spirits as we head downstairs to perform. I swallow everything I felt earlier, but I don’t push away all the memories that were opened from that awful time.

Instead, I draw the memory of the moment when Sarah learned that I was trying to hide my assault. How she took me out for fancy cupcakes to bond with me, to show me she cared about me, and I took a picture of her in my head.

Of her loving smile under a big thick frosting mustache.

I’m going to dance my heart out for Sarah.

* * *

The room is a long rectangle, and, except for the dance space in the middle, the floor’s covered with the Persian rugs and mirrored cushions Linda and I set up on Wednesday, so guests are sitting here and there on the floor. There are a few chairs at the edges for those who can’t sit on the floor, but most people are seated low and spread out.

We line up in three rows of four, with Khadija seated in the middle, for us to dance around at the chorus part. Sarah, sitting on a red velvet chair Ms. Mehta loaned us, gives a huge smile on seeing our group all arrayed. I know from Zayneb that we’re the third dance performing.

The music comes on, and Zayneb nods to get us hopping to the rhythm before we add our arm and hand movements, when the words join the beat.

Mehndi hai rachnewaali.

We spread jam on our right hands in unison while hopping our feet to the beat.

We spread jam on our left hands in unison.

We screw lightbulbs on the right. Then left.

We streamer our arms to the right, then left.

We screw lightbulbs on the right. Then left.

We streamer our arms and spin.

And continue for the rest of the song, coming together to dance around Khadija whenever the song swells.

I can’t believe how good it feels to do something perfectly synchronized, where even when we mess up, we all laugh and help one another get back on track. And then, when Tats comes in at the end and jingles the bangles on her arms dramatically before launching into a mashup of TikTok dance moves, while the rest of us look at her theatrically perplexed, our hands positioned in front of our mouths, it’s just the perfect ending.

While Tats finishes, I sneak a glance at Sarah and am thrilled at the delight on her face. She’s so happy, she’s actually tearing up, watching all of us.

I tear up.

She’s not going to be my sister.

She always was.

* * *

After the dance Sarah grabs me for a hug, laughing with happiness. “Janna! You’re an amazing dancer!”

I hug her back tight. Because she’s mine, someone I’m completely comfortable hugging. “Thanks! But I’m actually just good at following directions.”

“You have to do it again at the reception next year! Because it’ll be split women and men, so we can dance our hearts out!” she says excitedly, before turning to hug Dania, Lamya, and Khadija. “I got some great selfies to share with Maysarah. Her first henna party!” Khadija tells me before I move from them. She adds a wink. “And to bless Lateef’s eyes with.”

I smile and make my way to someone I spotted while spinning around.

While carefully picking a path through the crowd, I see Sarah’s mom and aunts on the chairs at my right, so I go over to give salaams. Only one of them hugs me, even though I veto my no-hug instincts and start out by trying to tentatively hug Sarah’s mom. She gives me a small pat on my back in response.

She has the same look on her face as when I first saw her at the mosque in Eastspring a few years ago, when Sarah’s family moved there. It’s the same slight frown that’s greeted me each subsequent time.

The frown that I previously attributed to a facial tic.

But now, without me summoning them, Dad’s warning words run through my mind: The same thing is happening to Muhammad. The way Sarah’s family is treating him.

Is it because we’re not Syrian that Sarah’s mom always scowls at me?

Why didn’t Muhammad answer the question when I brought up what Dad had said about the way Sarah’s family treats him?

After forcing myself to smile at Sarah’s mom one more time, I head over to the person I really want to see.

Sausun, seated on the floor niqab-less, grins big when she sees me coming and stands