Chapter Six Boys Only.

Right off the bat, the boys were a unit. Khalil was the leader. His word was pretty much law. Amir was his second in command, and Malik was the jester. That first night, Khalil decided that the boys were going to sleep on the beach in sleeping bags and make a fire. He was a Boy Scout; he knew all about that kind of stuff.

Jealously, I watched them plan. Especially when they packed the graham crackers and marshmallows. Don't take the whole box, I wanted to tell them. I didn't, thoughit wasn't my place. It wasn't even my house.

"Amir, make sure you bring the flashlight,"

Khalil directed. Amir nodded quickly. I had never seen him follow orders before. He looked up to Khalil, who was eight months older; it had always been that way. Everybody had somebody but me. I wished I was at home, making butterscotch sundaes with my dad and eating them on our living room floor.

"Malik, don't forget the cards," Khalil added, rolling up a sleeping bag.

Malik saluted him and danced a little jig, which made me giggle. "Sir, yes, sir:" He turned to me on the couch and said, "Khalil is bossy like our dad. Don't feel like you have to listen to him or anything.

Malik talking to me made me feel brave enough to say, “Can I come too?"

Right away Amir said, "No. Guys only." Khalil

Khalil hesitated. "Sorry, Zarah," he said, and he really did look sorry for a second. Two seconds, even. Then he went back to rolling his sleeping bag.

I turned away from them and faced the TV. "That's okay. I don't really care anyway."

"Ooh, watch out, Zarah’s gonna cry," Amir said joyously. To Malik and Khalil he said, "When she doesn't get her way, she cries. Our dad always falls for it."

"Shut up, Amir!" I yelled. I was worried I really might cry. The last thing I needed was to be a crybaby our first night. Then they'd never take me along for real.

"Zarah’s gonna cry," Amir said in a singsong

voice. Then he and Malik started to dance a jig together.

Leave her alone," Khalilsaid.

Amir stopped dancing. “What?" he said, confused.

"You guys are so immature," Khalil said, shaking his head.

I watched them pick up their gear and get ready to leave. I was about to lose my chance to camp, to be a part of the gang. Quickly I said, “Amir, if you don't let me go, I'Il tell Mom."

Amir’s face twisted. "No, you won't. Mom hates it when you tattletale."

It was true, my mother hated it when I told on

Amir for things like this. She'd say he needed his own time, that I could go the next time around, that it would be more fun at the house with her and Beck anyway. I sank into the couch, arms crossed. I'd lost my chance. Now I just looked like a tattletale, a baby.

On the way out Malik turned around and danced a quick jig for me, and I couldn't help it, I laughed. Over his shoulder Khalil said, "Good night, Zarah."

And that was it. I was in love.

I didn't notice right away that their family had more money than ours. The beach house wasn't some fancy kind of place. It was a real honest-to-God beach house, the kind that's lived in and comfortable. It had faded old seersucker couches and a creaking La-Z-Boy us kids always fought over, and peeling white paint and hardwood floors that had been bleached by the sun.

But it was a big house, room enough for all of us and more. They'd built an addition years ago. On one end there was my mother's room, Leila and Mr. Kareem's room, and an empty guest room. On the other end was my room, another guest room, and the room the boys shared, which I was jealous of. There used to be bunk beds and a twin in that room, and I hated that I had to sleep all alone in mine when I could hear them giggling and whispering all night through the wall. A couple of times the boys let me sleep in there too, but only when they had some especially gruesome story they wanted to tell. I was a good audience. I always screamed at all the right places.

Since we've gotten older, the boys have stopped sharing a room. Amir started staying over on the parents' end, and Malik and Khalil both had their rooms on my end. The boys and I have shared a bathroom since the beginning. Ours is on our end of the house, and then my mother has her own. Leila's is connected to the master bedroom. There are two sinks, Malik and Khalil shared one, and Amir and I shared the other.

When we were little, the boys never put the seat down, and they still didn't. It was a constant reminder that I was different, that I wasn't one of them. Little things have changed, though. It used to be that they left water all over the place, either from splash fights or from just being careless. Now that they shaved, they left their little chin hairs all over the sink. The was crowded with their different deodorants and shaving cream and cologne.

They had more cologne than I had perfume, one pink French bottle my dad bought me for Christmas when I was thirteen. It smelled like vanilla and burnt sugar and lemon. I think his grad student girlfriend picked it out. He wasn't good at that sort of thing. Anyway, I didn't leave my perfume in the bathroom mixed in with all their stuff. I kept it on the dresser my room, and I never wore it anyway. I didn't know why I even brought it with me.