Chapter 3 Building a Bridge

(Author's Note: The quote from Luke about Grace's hostility took place in one of my earlier stories, RURAL ARCADIA)

Price spoke into his cell phone as the three girls followed him. When they reached his office, they found the Principal sitting in the corner. Usually he left day-to-day operations to Price, especially the disciplinary type duties.

Grace was used to being in trouble, but the other two girls looked terrified. Joan's problem was probably not with Price, but fear of how her parents would react to her getting in trouble on day one. And the foreign girl, who had replaced the scarf over her hair, had been dragged into a disciplinary system of which she probably had no experience. She might actually be afraid that they were all going to be flogged or something. Grace felt obliged to speak up without being prompted.

"This girl didn't do anything wrong. Some racist, small-minded pigs were picking on her."

"Is that true, Ms…?" demanded Price. The Principal seemed to content to be an observer at this point.

"Yes, sir," the girl responded quietly, her voice subdued, respectful, but she didn't look away or blush at his brisk manner. She had an accent with a British tinge, the latter probably derived from her English teacher. "Some boys made rude remarks about my scarf and asked if I was bald under it. I explained that I wore it for religious reasons, but they continued to make jokes, and one of them snatched it off. Then, that girl struck him."

"I kicked him in the balls," said Grace with a hint of pride and satisfaction.

"Watch your language, Miss Polk," ordered Price.

"Oh, should I have said testicles? Or private parts? Being a girl, I don't know what guys call them when they're being refined."

Price seemed to give up on Grace. "What about you, Miss Girardi?"

"I saw Grace in trouble, at least two against one. That was enough for me."

"Hmmph. I'd say half a week suspension for you two--"

"Half a week! The first week of the year!" cried Joan. "We'll never catch up."

"I didn't catch the first girl's name," said the Principal suddenly.

"I am Morgiana Begh."

"Daughter of the new Islamic Studies professor at the college?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your father asked for assurances of your safety, given the war and heightened emotions about Muslims. We agreed to look into it. What have you done in response, Price?" the Principal asked the other man.

"I, um, agreed to increase the number of hall monitors by the end of the week," Price assured hurriedly, his arrogance turned into embarrassment at his oversight.

"And in the meantime, these girls have been doing your job for you. And just what happened to these poor young men who violate girls' religious possessions? Why aren't they here?" the Principal continued, his tone stern.

"They weren't there when I arrived," Price murmured hastily.

Grace was tempted to remark that they shouldn't be hard to find: look for three boys who seemed to be pained in the crotch, stomach, and ear

respectively. But she kept her mouth shut.

"So they can't very well complain how we handle the matter. Miss Polk, Miss Girardi, you may go. I'll let it slide this time, but try not to let this happen again," the Principal said, his voice firm, but not angry. "Mr. Price, I think you owe a phone call to Professor Begh. Miss Begh, will you stay and talk to him?"

Joan and Grace hurried out, then burst out laughing. "I don't know whether our friend up there had something to do with that, but thank God anyway," said Grace.

"Yeah. The look on Price's face when his boss started in with the questions. Too bad Mom doesn't work here this year; she'd have loved to see Price taken down a peg." She looked at Grace curiously, "Where did you learn to kick ass like that?"

"I just made up my mind to learn self-defense after Luke and I were beaten up during last year's election. That's not much subtlety to my style. Just learn the sensitive parts and aim for them. The solar plexis works for either sex, and for boys--"

"Right," Joan said hastily.

The girls separated to get to their next classes, which of course they had already missed part of. When they rejoined, Joan said she'd skip lunch; she wanted to look for Adam. So Grace went to the cafeteria alone.

---

The lunch-room was nearly full, but nobody was sitting at Morgiana's table: one girl in a Muslim scarf and four empty chairs. Grace doubted that there was an accident. She maneuvered herself there, not so much because she wanted Morgiana's company but because she would have room to sit. "May I?"

"May you what?" the girl asked confused for a moment before she realized. She nodded, "Oh, yes, sit down."

Grace sat, and watched as Morgiana picked at her food. "Is something wrong?"

"I do not recognize this meat," Morgiana said, looking at it distrustfully.

Grace laughed. "That's not unusual with school food."

"I must make sure that there is no swine meat mixed in. It is taboo in my religion."

"Don't worry, I've been assured that it's kosher, and I've heard Jews and Moslems follow the same dietary laws. Though I don't always keep them myself," Grace said with a smirk.

Morgiana looked shocked, "You are a Jew?"

Oh, great. Great going, Polk! She shoved the self-depreciating comments aside and asked, "Surprised?"

"You do not look J--"

"That's an old joke, and not very nice," Grace interrupted.

"I mean, you are blonde. In most pictures I have seen, Jews have dark hair."

"Pictures?" Grace asked, eyebrows raised.

"There are no Jews in my village in Turkey," Morgiana explained.

"Not welcome there, I presume," Grace said, her voice holding an edge.

Tears appeared in Morgiana's eyes at Grace's harsh tone, "Forgive me. I am grateful for your help and want to be nice, but I keep saying the wrong things. I do not understand."

A pang of guilt shot through Grace, something she seldom experienced. She remembered Luke's loving but frank rebuke from a few weeks ago, the thing that she was too embarrassed to repeat to Joan: you have trouble relating to people. There are a few people that you love and care for -- me, Joan, Adam. Otherwise you usually don't care what people think, and push them away. Most of the people Grace dealt with were jerks and deserved to be pushed away. But Morgiana did not deserve thatEven if her village had a history of anti-Semitism, that was scarcely Morgiana's fault, any more than the bullies' behavior was Grace's.

"No, Morgiana, it's not you, it's me. I tend to be a smart-ass, even when it's not necessary," Grace said, her voice taking on a different tone—one of apology. Not one she usually used—in fact, she'd once told Joan that she didn't apologize. But that was eighteen months ago.

"You should not compare yourself to a beast," Morgiana said with a slight frown.

"What?" Grace asked, confused for a split second before she caught on, "Oh." Morgiana thought a smart ass was a reference to a donkey; how could Grace explain that she was actually comparing herself to a rear end? Grace managed not to smirk or laugh at the misunderstood phrase, and hoped her smile would be regarded as a friendly gesture. "Let's start over."

"I would like that. Would you pay me a visit at home?"

Grace frowned, slightly unsure. Usually she didn't mind flouting convention, but this could be going a bit far-even for her. She saw that Morgiana didn't hold her religion against her, but what of her parents? She didn't want to walk into a situation that would be uncomfortable for all involved. A Jew visiting a Muslim from the Middle East? "Will I be welcome there?"

"Oh, yes. My father will want to meet young Americans. He has been hired by the local university to explain Muslim culture to Americans, and to explain Americans back home. He may even want to ask you about Jews in America. It will help him in his teaching."

It might be awkward, but no overt hostility apparently. "Give me a couple of days."

"Wednesday? I will write my address," Morgiana asked.

That would give Grace time to decide whether or not it would be a good idea.

TBC