The Turtle of Oman by Naomi Shihab Nye

at the second dune.” He pointed beyond the high point where camels walked.
    â€œBird-watching?” asked Sidi. “Well, we are bird-watching right from our chairs. Or maybe the birds are watching us.” A smaller, speckled-wing bird landed right on Aref’s foot, peered up at him, and flew away again.
    â€œLook at him,” said Aref. “He’s so curious. He doesn’t seem frightened at all.”
    â€œWhy would he be frightened?” Sidi asked. “We never hurt him. We only feed him.”
    â€œSo he likes us,” said Aref. “I like him too. He could be my pet. But he wouldn’t enjoy Mish-Mish. Let’s stay here forever, Sidi. Let’s live at this camp.”
    Sidi put his hand over Aref’s. “I love it too. But this camp isn’t going anywhere. It will be here when you return. First, you have to go on your journey. Your parents are so proud to attend a famous graduate school and you will enjoy your new school . . . it will be fun. Everyone in your family will be going to school at once.”
    â€œI would rather stay here!”
    â€œDon’t worry, you will come back. In three years, you will be back.”
    Aref was blinking hard to keep the tears inside his eyes. How many were in there, anyway? Were eyes little factories that made as many tears as you needed?
    â€œI want to be with you,” said Aref. “Every single day.”
    Sidi shook his head as if he were going to say “no” but instead he said, “Of course! You will still be with me. Always. Study hard and tell me what you learn. Find me some rare American rocks. Make your father mail them to me. We’ll send messages all kinds of ways.”
    There was a long silence in which a desert wind as huge as a highway blew right past them. Sidi closed his eyes. “Listen to that,” he said. Aref put his head down on his folded arms on the table.
    â€œYou can tell me about American policemen and basketball and muffins,” said Sidi. “I heard they have a lot of muffins over there.” Aref didn’t say anything. So Sidi went on. “Or maybe, you could tell me about the lakes and . . . maybe you will meet some fishermen. I wonder if they use nets or not. I will practice my e-mail techniques and turn into an expert for you.”
    This made Aref laugh. “No, Sidi, I don’t believe you!”
    Sidi shook his head. “Trust me, it will not be easy, but I will do it. I will even go to a computer class at the library if I have to. Then every single one of us will be going to school.”
    Aref turned his face away, wiped his eyes, and felt a tiny bit better. Sidi gave him hope, anyway. They could still stay connected.
    â€œWhy don’t you take another little run before it gets too hot?” Sidi suggested. “I’ll just sit here and watch you. I’ll do Aref-watching instead of bird-watching. Run in a big circle around the camp—see what it looks like from the camels’ point of view.”
    So Aref took off again, jogging. He headed up toward the dune. Since the soft sand absorbed each foot deeply, he felt as if he were running in slow motion, sinking a little with each footfall. A circle of birds flapped up from the brushy spot where they were nibbling, leaving little puffs of dust. A speckled brown lizard family stood in a circle with their heads together, having a morning conversation.
    Aref looked back at Sidi sitting in the chair, watching him. He waved. Sidi, his white beard gleaming, his shining damp hair combed back, raised one hand and held it in the air. Aref blinked. Right then he knew that moment was clearly written in his brain forever.

No Missing Feathers

    W hen Aref returned from his triple circular jog, huffing and puffing because of all that sinking, Sidi handed him a triangular white stone with crooked lines engraved across its surface. “See this? It’s the map of the run you just took. See,