Read One Half from the East for Free Online Page A

leather, rubber, and plastic. None look new, so mine, hand-me-downs from my cousin, blend right in.
    â€œReeeeeaddy?” the boys call out to us. They’re in a loose cluster on the other end of the schoolyard. My heart pounds.
    â€œBoys, grab your feet,” Basir commands. “Here we go!”
    I lock fingers with toes, my shoulder tight as I reach behind me. I wobble and look around to see if anyone notices. They all look steady on their feet, as if there are magic rods running down their spines that keep their bodies upright.
    â€œAttaaaack!” The battle cry rings out, carrying across the yard and overpowering the sounds of the girls.
    â€œGet him!”
    â€œWatch out—on your left!”
    I hop to my right, my left arm flailing, and wishing for a solid chunk of air to steady myself. Basir is just a few feet away.
    How are they doing this?
    If I can keep a good distance from Basir, I may be able to stay out of the action. That’s the strategy I’m going with. I tighten my grip and dig my fingers into the front of my sandal.
    I take a few hops forward, a zigzag from where I started. They are on us now. Ten boys taking small hops toward us, shoulders and elbows jutting out as they nearmy team. The clash begins and boys start bouncing off one another.
    â€œGet him!”
    I watch Basir take a few steps forward. Two boys from the other side have been knocked out, falling onto their backsides. I watch them rise and walk over to the sidelines, faces sour.
    I direct my attention forward again, reminding myself not to pivot. That’s when the boy with the W - I - Z - A - R - D - S hat catches my eye. He’s staring directly at me, as if there’s no one else in the yard.
    I bounce in the direction of my teammates, unsettled by his glare.
    But he comes straight at me, ignoring the tangle of boys. He rounds his way to me just as I try to bury myself amid my team. I’m not quick enough.
    â€œLook out!”
    He’s a few inches taller than me, and his eyes are narrowed. His hair is shaggy and uneven. He drives his shoulder into my side, charging at me with a loud grunt. I gasp, my hand slipping from my foot before he even makes contact with my body. I fall to the ground, hands outstretched.
    â€œGot you!” he calls out triumphantly.
    â€œYou dog!” I scream. I am angry and frustrated and my hands burn from hitting the earth.
    He laughs then turns his attention to the rest of my team, who have, by now, made it halfway across the yard and are completely unaware that I’ve been knocked out. His friends cheer him on as he knocks out two more boys. I am too frustrated to move. Why has my mother sent me out into the world like this? I don’t have what it takes. How could she not see that?
    It is easy to dance like a boy. Boys sway side to side and raise their arms like they’re hoisting a trophy. That’s all they have to do. But everything else about being a boy is hard because it’s so different from being a girl. Trying to act like a boy is like learning a whole new language, and I am really struggling to find the words. If I start to cry, there will be absolutely no hope for me.
    I’m brought out of my self-pity abruptly. The boys are shouting. My team has been toppled, every last one of them, even Basir. The W - I - Z - A - R - D - S boy, who knocked me over, has ripped through my classmates like a vengeful tornado. He will look my way. I should stand.
    I can’t get to my feet fast enough. I am a tangle of clumsy joints and wimpy muscles. Why did I ever think I could do this? I watch the boy. He is grinning triumphantly. His friend throws an arm around his neck in a playful headlock.
    The boy in the gray pantaloons takes off his W - I - Z - A - R - D - S cap. He steals a look over his shoulderand stares directly at me. His eyes are sharp, and his hair catches the sun’s light. His lips tighten at the disappointing sight of me.
    I am