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Janna Yusuf has a lot to deal with.
The Arab Indian-American teen at the center of S.K.
Credit: Simon & Schuster
But thats not the biggest thing eating away at Janna.
And she might be the only one who knows.
Saints and Misfitshits bookshelves June 13.Preorder it here.
Excerpt from Saints and Misfits by S.K.
Ali
MISFIT
Im in the water.
ey pace in their flip-flops and bikinis, and I wait.
The ideal time is when no ones around and no ones looking.
I look back, and, hallelujah, the girl on the bleachers is gone.
Theres also a lull on the shore now.
I refuse to look around in case I see someone, everyone, watching me.
Maybe my face reveals something, because Dad starts right away.
Janna, why do you have to wear that thing?
You could have said,No, Im not wearing your burkini, Mom.
He waves around long tongs as he speaks.
Mom didnt get it for me.
I ordered it online.
I saw her hand it to you as we were packing the car.
Because Id left it on the hall table, Dad.
Its her kind of thing.
Whats wrong with the way Lindas dressed?
He snaps the tongs at Linda.
Its black and sleek.
Linda, you look great.
I smile at her, and she smooths out her flounces.
Too bad youre not her sizeshe could have lent you one of her suits, right, Linda?
Dad, I wont wear it.
Im a hijabi, remember?
I take a plate and add a piece of chicken from the platter.
Even at the beach?
Dads gesticulating again and looking aroundfor what, I dont know.
He wants an audience while he rants at me.
Maybe I shouldve listened to Mom and not come.
Before this, Id only spent the odd weekend here and there with Dad at his house in Chicago.
I was Daddys princess back then.
The woman in the chair listens intently as Dad lectures.
How come you have to hide your God-given body?
He turns a few burgers over.
Hes wearing a white T-shirt and red shorts over his God-given body.
Its not me who forces her to dress like that, thats for sure.
The woman looks at me, then at Dad and opens a book.
Linda places a hand on my glistening black back and hands me a can of pop.
Ill get you a burger when theyre done, she whispers.
I move to sit on the bleachers before I realize the beach girls are sauntering this way again.
Im a swirl of sand art against a black canvas.
I duck under the wooden slats of the seats.
Sand trickles down with the beads of water.
Some of it falls onto my chicken.
Flannery OConnor, my favorite author: Thats who I need right now.
And Id feel okay there because Flannery took care of things.
I forgot to pack her gigantic book of short stories because everything was last minute.
He talked her into letting me come.
She listens to practically everything he says.
She didnt know I had to get away from a monster.
And the truth is no one can know.
