Rebels by Accident by Patricia Dunn

again.
    â€œWait,” she says. “Turn around.” She twirls her finger, and I slowly turn.
    I feel Hassan staring at me, and my neck feels like it’s on fire. I can’t tell whether it’s a wow-I-think-she’s-pretty stare or a wow-she-looks-awful-in-that-thing stare. All I know is that I want to run to my room and hide under the covers.
    Sittu sighs as she says something in Arabic.
    â€œYes,” Hassan agrees. “She looks so much like you.”
    Hassan thinks I look like Sittu? Sittu’s beautiful. Okay, now I know I can’t trust this guy. It’s not like I expect him to say, “She’s a dog” even if that’s what he thinks, but to say that I look like Sittu? That’s an exaggeration.
    Hassan avoids my gaze. Is he pretending now to be shy? I’m pretty sure this guy’s a big fake.
    â€œMariam?” Deanna calls out. This time, the kitchen door does hit me in the back. “I’m sorry,” Deanna says as she slips around the door to see who she hit.
    Hassan is no longer staring at me. He’s staring at Deanna. And she’s staring at him. They’re staring at each other. And it’s not the way two people stare when they’re thinking, “Who’s that?” It’s the way two people stare when they’re thinking, “Whoever that is, I’m in love.”
    â€œSee, Deanna? I’m wearing the dress,” I say, hoping to divert her attention from Hassan—and get her to forgive me for what happened earlier.
    â€œThat’s great,” Deanna says, but her eyes are still fixed on Hassan.
    â€œWell, I’m going to change now,” I say.
    â€œAre you okay?” Deanna asks, finally remembering that she hit me with the door.
    â€œFine. Just fine.”
    â€œOkay, habibti —” Sittu starts.
    â€œ Habibti ? ” I repeat. I can’t believe how much she sounds like Baba when she says that.
    â€œYou don’t know what that means either?” Sittu asks.
    â€œNo, of course I do. My love ,” I say, and I see Hassan in the corner of my eye, staring at Deanna. Now I wish I’d never tried his mango slices.
    The phone rings. “Maybe it’s your father,” Sittu says, and heads off to answer it.
    â€œDeanna, you coming?” I ask, trying to get her away from Mr. Phony.
    â€œAre those mangos?” she asks Hassan. Did she even hear me?
    â€œWould you like to try one?” Hassan smiles at her.
    â€œMariam!” Sittu shouts.
    I leave the kitchen before Deanna can answer, and walk into the dining room, where Sittu’s talking on a phone that looks older than I am. “Your baba ,” she says, handing me the phone.
    â€œBaba?!”
    â€œNo, sweetie, it’s Mom.”
    â€œWhere’s Baba?”
    â€œHe was running late for work,” she says, “but he said to tell you he loves you very much. Did you have a good flight?”
    â€œIt was okay,” I tell her. I try not to sound too disappointed that Baba’s not on the line. I feel bad about the way we left things between us. Hearing his voice would have made everything feel right again.
    â€œYou okay?” Mom asks. “I was worried about you.”
    â€œFine,” I say. “I’m just a little jet-lagged.”
    â€œWell, I won’t keep you, then. Deanna okay?”
    I look at the kitchen door. I hope so. “She’s fine.”
    â€œHer mom called earlier, but there was no answer. She sounded a little worried when I talked with her.”
    â€œCustoms took a long time,” I say. “Mom, I’m pretty tired.”
    â€œWell, I love you.”
    â€œLove you too.” I hang up the phone, and I look up at the apple-shaped clock on the wall. It’s 1 p.m.
    Sittu’s sitting at the dining room table, reading a newspaper. She looks so engrossed I don’t want to disturb her.
    â€œYes?” she asks, taking her reading glasses