One Amazing Thing by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page A

the ground with a thwack and Tariq launch himself at Mangalam. Plaster drizzled from the broken ceiling in protest, and her throat constricted with terror. But consumed by theirpassions, the two men were oblivious of the danger in which they placed the entire company.
    When Cameron hurried toward the melee, Uma followed. She was worried about him: after digging Tariq out, he had coughed until he was forced to use his inhaler again. She also realized that she had forgotten to warn Cameron of Tariq’s threat.
    I’m going to kill him.
    It was as she feared. When Cameron tried to pry Tariq’s hands from Mangalam’s throat, Tariq punched him hard. Blood gushed from Cameron’s nose. Malathi was sobbing, pulling at Tariq’s hair. Tariq swatted her away. For some reason, Cameron wouldn’t hit Tariq back (Uma was sure he could have knocked him out again) but tried to grab his arms. Tariq’s eyes were crazed. He butted Cameron hard with his head and Cameron reeled back, gasping. It was like their very own Lord of the Flies ! Uma couldn’t let it go on. She jumped into the fray, though she was terribly afraid for her broken arm, and caught Tariq’s shoulder. He turned, swinging, before he saw who it was. His fist hit her upper arm—her good arm, thank God. Still, she fell with a cry of pain. Perhaps that fall did some good because Tariq was startled into lowering his fists long enough for Cameron and Mr. Pritchett to catch him by the arms. He lunged at them, his mouth a snarl. But Lily added her efforts to the men’s, whispering fiercely into Tariq’s ear words that no one else could decipher, until he went limp and allowed her to lead him away.
     
    THEY WERE SITTING CLOSE TOGETHER (CAMERON HAD INSISTED on it), trading distrustful glances in the half-dark. The larger flashlight had fallen to the ground. Cameron let it lie there. He was wheezing. He wiped his nose on his shirt, but the blood kept coming.This propelled Uma to stand up. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, only that she needed to say something. For a moment her heart pounded. She had never liked speaking in front of a crowd. Even the lectures she had to give as a teaching assistant, with carefully prepared notes and jokes she had practiced in the bathroom mirror, had made her nervous. Then an ironic calm descended on her. Only a few things mattered when you were about to die, and what people thought of your speaking abilities was not one of them.
    “Folks,” she began, “we’re in a bad situation. It looks like the earthquake was a serious one. We don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here. I’m scared, and I guess you are, too.”
    She could see that no one wanted to listen. Mrs. Pritchett turned her face away. Mangalam was busy massaging his neck. Tariq had shut his eyes again. Malathi worried the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Lily, who was stuffing Cameron’s nostrils with clumps of Kleenex, scowled at her.
    But she had to go on. “Unless we’re careful, things will get a lot worse. We can take out our stress on one another—like what just happened—and maybe get buried alive. Or we can focus our minds on something compelling—”
    “Like what?” Mr. Pritchett said. “It’s not like we have cable TV down here.”
    Uma refused to let him annoy her. An idea was taking shape in her mind. With a little burst of excitement, because she sensed the power behind it, she said, “We can each tell an important story from our lives.”
    Mr. Pritchett looked offended. “This is no time for games.”
    Mangalam grunted in agreement. Malathi crossed stubborn arms over her chest.
    “It’s not a game,” Uma said. She hugged her backpack, wantingto tell them how powerful stories could be. But they were staring at her as though she were half-witted.
    “What if we don’t have a story to tell?” Mrs. Pritchett asked, sounding anxious.
    “Everyone has a story,” said Uma, relieved that one of them was considering the idea. “I don’t believe anyone