ADAM FRIDAY, MARCH 8 - COINCIDENCES

 MARVEL:   COINCIDENCES

OR, IN THIS CASE, MAYBE I’d call it serendipity?

Though if I did, I’d be saying it was a happy thing that the girl from the plane yesterday was standing on the front steps of my home.

Let’s call it serendipity, then.

Of the infinite number of occurrences possible, this was the one happening: The person who I’d thought about last night when I’d unpacked and threw my journal in a dresser drawer, wondering how and when she’d begun her journal, that person was standing here looking at me, the hugest of grins on her face, surprise in her eyes.

Standing beside her was Ms. Raymond. I’m pretty sure this made my welcome smile falter a bit.

I knew she’d be coming over today, so it wasn’t as bad as seeing her yesterday at the airport. But still, it felt like my heart skipped a beat.

Just even a glimpse of her reminded me of Mom’s passing.

“Adam! How wonderful to see you!” Ms. Raymond took a step into the foyer and threw out both arms to me. “How’s university?”

“It’s good. Thanks for asking, Ms. Raymond. It’s great to see you.” I held a hand out for her shawl.

“No, I’ll keep this with me. We’re sitting outside, right? It’s a bit nippy.” She looked at the girl who had stepped in behind her, that dazzlingly big smile still on her face, cheeks flushed. “That’s the thing about Doha—it can get cool at night at this time of the year, especially near the water. Adam, this is my niece, Zayneb, my sister’s daughter. She’s visiting from Indiana on her spring break. Zayneb, this is Adam, son of the head of my school. I used to be his teacher when he was a wee little one.”

For a second I wondered if I should say we’ve met before. Zayneb and me.

Or was that between us?

“You wouldn’t believe it, Auntie Nandy. We kinda met each other on the plane here,” Zayneb said, beaming.

“No, really?” Ms. Raymond tilted her head back. “That’s awesome. How serendipitous!”

Ms. Raymond would say that.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding at them, wondering why things got weird for me. A minute ago it was like a bright light went on inside when I opened the door.

Now I was standing in my foyer in Doha in front of a girl I’d first noticed a continent away in London, wondering what to say next.

I couldn’t believe it: I’d tried so many times to talk to her yesterday—even at the airport, before she got away—and now she was right here in my house.

But nothing came out of my mouth.

Butler. Doorman.

That was my job tonight.

Yes. Stick to the script, Adam.

And then . . . later . . . you can talk to her . . . Zayneb.

“Everyone’s either in the kitchen or on the patio.” I led the way down the hall. “There are some people in here, as well,” I added, pointing to the sunken living room on the right.

“Not me. I go to where the food’s at,” Ms. Raymond said, continuing ahead. “Zayneb, have fun.”

“What do you mean?” Zayneb stopped at the entrance to our large kitchen, buzzing with guests. “Are you saying I can’t follow you?”

“Of course you can, Zoodles, or Adam can show you where the young people are, right, Adam?”

“Sure. But I think you should get food first. It may be the best thing at the party.” I nodded at Zayneb. “Sad to say, but it’s true.”

“Okay. Then tell me what I should try.” She stepped into the kitchen and turned to me, standing in the hall. “My aunt told me your dad caters interesting cuisines.”

I followed her. “He went South Indian today. You’ve got to try the masala dosa. It’s this type of crepe with spicy potatoes. Those are my favorite.”

“This is too funny. My best friend is Tamil, and I’ve eaten this food tons of times.” She took a plate and put two round, spongy rice cakes on it. “My favorite. Idli. You just pour the sambar on top, and the idli soaks it in, and it tastes amazing.”

She ladled vegetable curry on top of the cakes. The curry had been kept hot on burners, so when she returned the ladle to the pot, wisps of spiced steam scented the air between us.

I took a plate and added dosa and potatoes to it. “I guess I can eat too. Energy for my door-duty shift.”

“It looks so good.” Zayneb scooped some of the sauce with a spoon and tasted it. “And it is good.”

We stood there for a minute not saying anything, just eating. Then she paused and looked at me. “So where are all these people my aunt wants me to meet?”

“Mostly outside. I’ll point the way, but I gotta stay back. Committed to the doorbell.” We walked to the living room with our plates, Zayneb looking at the pictures on the stucco walls along the way, mostly single-subject photographs taken by Dad.

She paused in front of a close-up of a bee and then glanced up at the dark wood beams running across the ceiling. “I like your house. It’s like how I imagined a Spanish villa would look. Like when you read stories where people live in pretty villas, you know? This is what I would picture.”

I don’t know why, but when she said that, the light went back on inside me, like it had at the door.

She was pretty open. Okay sharing what she liked.

I felt a need to show her the best part of our house.

“Then I think you’re going to like this.” Now that we had taken the two steps into the living room, I pointed to the left, where the three sets of arched French doors were flung open onto our large, cobblestoned patio, beyond which lay a neat lawn. Beyond that were steps leading down to a boardwalk edging the Arabian Gulf, with the white sails of small yachts and traditional dhows dotting the water along the horizon. It was my favorite scene to look out at, especially on a night like this, with stars flecking the vast dark sky.

“That is beautiful. Oh my God.” She set her plate down on a side table and went toward the middle set of doors.

The doorbell rang, so I put my plate beside hers and went to answer it.

When I got back from walking the latest guests in, she and her plate were gone.

•  •  •

Dad beckoned me over to where he was standing with some guests when I stepped out on the patio, doorbell duty done. “Adam, come say hello to some new DIS teachers. This is my son, Adam.”

I shook hands and, in between learning names, glanced around. And saw her.

She was sitting cross-legged on one of the enormous fake white rocks that the landscapers at our residential community thought would be perfect scattered around everyone’s lawns. She held up a bubble wand while talking to my sister, Hanna. Or, most likely while Hanna was talking to her.

“You must be so thrilled to be studying in London,” said one of the teachers I’d just met.

I nodded.

Zayneb blew bubbles as Hanna whacked them with a badminton racket.

Dad looked at me. “Adam, why don’t you go talk to your friends? They’ve been asking for you since they got back last week.”

I guess he knew my mind was somewhere else.

I nodded and made my way to Connor, Tsetso, and a few other guys from my graduating class at Doha International School. They’d gone on to universities in different parts of the world, and most had gotten back for spring break earlier than me.

Beyond the initial hellos and quick catch-ups, I hadn’t sat down with them yet.

They were on lawn chairs near the steps to the boardwalk, their backs to the water, watching the guests who were playing badminton on the lawn. I joined their semicircle, sitting on the grass.

“Adam. Right on time. Right person to tell us, who invited that guy?” Connor pointed at a kid swinging a badminton racket round and round until it hit him in the face, at which point he screamed and ran to a woman dressed in the uniform many nannies in Doha wear. After she consoled him, he went back and attacked himself with the badminton racket again.

“I have no idea.” I laughed. “But practically everyone here is a teacher at DIS, so he must be a teacher’s kid?”

Tsetso put his plate down on a rock next to him. “Okay, who invited that guy?” he said, nodding at a man who, while talking to a woman, was also getting a good scratch in, moving his back up and down on the trunk of one of the date palms separating our yard from a neighbor’s.

I shook my head. “Drawing a blank. Not a teacher.”

Connor pointed in Hanna’s direction. “And who invited her? With your sister.”

Zayneb was still blowing bubbles for Hanna, who was now popping them with a magic wand.

“She’s Ms. Raymond’s niece. Visiting for spring break. Zayneb. From Indiana. Sorta met her on the plane over here,” I said.

“That lady with the dog is Ms. Raymond’s niece on spring break? That’s one old niece.” Connor laughed.

There was an elderly woman behind Hanna, standing by herself, rubbing her nose on the head of a Chihuahua in her hands.

Oops. I’d been looking at Zayneb. Why couldn’t I stop looking at her?

“Remind me why you guys think this who-invited thing is fun again?” I stretched out my legs on the grass and leaned back on my elbows. The kid out to get himself with the badminton racket was at it again, so I decided to entertain myself watching the next episode.

“ADAM!” It was coming from behind me. “CONNOR, ALL OF YOU GUYS, COME DOWN!”

I sat up and turned to look down the steps. More students from our graduating class, on the boardwalk. I’d noticed them taking pictures of the water when I first came outside.

“WHY?” Connor shouted, standing up. His long, plaid shorts paired with a differently plaided, scruffy shirt paired with a white boater hat over his bushy brown hair told me he hadn’t changed his crazy style after leaving for university in California. “WE’RE BUSY PLAYING ADAM’S FAVORITE GAME.”

“Madison has the video of you guys doing If Harry Potter Went to DIS from our grad party last year.” It was Emma Phillips. I could recognize her voice anywhere.

“YOU GUYS FOUND THAT?” Tsetso stood up. “I’m outta here.”

The rest of the guys got up too and began bounding down the steps behind Tsetso, simultaneously trying to pull one another back to be the one to get there the fastest.

Before he went down, Connor turned to me. “Your Zayneb? Playing with your sister? She’s coming over.”

I watched the badminton kid go running to his nanny for the hundredth time. This time she tried to take the racket away from him. In response, he threw himself on the ground.

“I think I met your sister. Hanna, right?” Zayneb sat on the chair Connor had just exited from. The only part of her I could see directly was her hands—left hand holding the bubble-solution container, right hand on the cap, a thin silver bracelet with a pendant dangling on her wrist.

“Yeah. She’s super friendly.”

“Also, a big fan of yours. I think I know everything about you.” She laughed and began opening the bubble container. “But don’t worry—I pretended to act surprised when she told me about the blue stone you got her for her rock collection.”

Maybe it was looking up at her and seeing the remnants of her secret smile before she blew more bubbles that made me blurt out, “Do you want to come see the water?”

Or it could have been how her scarf blended into the darkness of the sky behind her so only her profile was lit up, surrounded by bubbles and stars.

Or maybe I just needed to stop.

Stop projecting more meaning into her than she deserves.

“Sure. Your friends are down there, right?” She stood up, screwing the bubble cap back on. “I’m pretty sure on the way home Auntie Nandy’s going to ask who I met here. I can’t tell her that I met a ten-year-old girl named Hanna. So I better meet some other people.”

I nodded and let her go ahead of me on the steps.

“Adam.” As soon as we stepped off, Emma—Emma Domingo, as there were three Emmas in our class—waved me over. “Come see yourself pretending to be Lupin.”

Zayneb hung back to let me go ahead. I hesitated, not sure if I should lead her to everyone periodically breaking into howls of laughter in unison, clustered around Madison’s phone.

Or if I should lead her to the best place to see the moon above the water.

Then I remembered she wanted to meet people, so I led her to them.

I was pretty certain they’d love her.

ODDITY:   HOGWARTS HOUSES OR HOW EVERYONE SEEMS TO WANT TO BE GRYFFINDOR

They did love Zayneb, enough to give her their social media stuff. And tell her their Hogwarts houses.

She said she was mostly Gryffindor but also a bit Slytherin.

“You’re Harry Potter!” Emma—Emma Zhang—said. “He was part Gryffindor and part Slytherin.”

And that just made everyone talk about who among us was really Gryffindor. Brave. Inspiring. Remarkable.

That got me quiet.

I may be the most un-Gryffindor person there is in existence.

Like, I’m lying here in bed after the party, proud that I passed a full day at home without once thinking about how I have to tell my father about my multiple sclerosis.

There should be an un-Hogwarts Hogwarts house, one that doesn’t have any traits attached. Like bravery or wit or loyalty or cunning.

A house for people who just want to appreciate the good things in life—the marvels, simple and extraordinary.

Which reminds me: I didn’t tell Zayneb that we have the same journals. I never got the chance to.

Maybe I’ll wait for her to bring it up somehow. When we next meet.

I’m going to see her again. Zayneb.

Tomorrow.

I made sure of it.

Because, yeah, I’m counting, and today was impression number two.

I have to get to a fourth.