How to Make S’mores

A week later, Ms. Wehrle calls me to her desk. 

“Raniya, I don’t have your permission slip for Outdoor Ed.” 

“Yes, ma—I’m not going.” I stop before saying “madam,” like I called my teachers THERE. It slipped out of my mouth during the first week of class, and everyone snickered. 

“Why not?” Ms. Wehrle frowns. 

“My parents said I can’t go,” I say. 

“Oh dear. Is it a matter of...finances?” Ms. Wehrle half whispers the last word.

“Pardon me?” I whisper back. 

“If it’s a matter of cost, we can talk to the PTA, and I’m sure—” 

“No, thank you,” I interrupt. My face grows warm, and I look around to see if anyone is listening. THERE, Abbu had a job at an office, where he wore fancy suits and shiny shoes. HERE, he goes to work in jeans and sneakers at a shop. But Abbu says we still have plenty of money. 

“Well then, may I ask why?” 

“Oh, um, I don’t know,” I mumble. A boy named Tony with dark hair is definitely listening from his desk. 

“Would it be okay if I called your parents to discuss?” Ms. Wehrle asks. 

“Yes. May I return to my seat?”

Ms. Wehrle nods, frowning again. As I walk past, Tony shrugs at me.

There’s a list of things we have to bring to Outdoor Ed. At the home store, Abbu purchases a bright-green sleeping sack for me, and I pick out a hat and gloves. 

And now I’m on the bus with my Outdoor Ed group, called the Frogs. I’m sitting on a hard green bench by the window, alone, while everyone chatters about what we’re going to do at this place called Skycroft. The bus pulls away from school, and I watch Ammi shrink into the distance. Just before she disappears from view, she wipes her eyes. As my chest tightens, I’m grateful she didn’t cry in front of me—I would have crumbled into pieces and Ms. Wehrle would have had to sweep me off the sidewalk. Ammi never cries. Even when we waved goodbye to our cousins and left our happy life THERE in Pakistan and everything I’ve known to board a plane HERE to Maryland three months ago, she forced a smile at me. 

I take a breath and wipe my eyes. Three girls in sparkly T-shirts and fluffy boots are whispering across the aisle. Behind them, boys are yelling to others in the back of the bus, while another kid taps the edge of the window, like he’s playing drums. I sink into my seat and wait for the ride to be over.

I wake up when the bus stops. I look down and something is missing—my lunch bag! I turn and see Tony, in the bench behind me, clutching my lunch and grinning. I don’t know what to do, so I turn around and say nothing.

“Don’t you want this?” Tony asks, touching my arm. “I mean, what’s left?” he adds. “I tried half your sandwich. Was that sriracha mayo?”

I can’t help turning around and staring at him. He really ate my lunch? 

“Just kidding. Here. It fell on the floor while you were snoring.” 

He holds out the bag.

“Did I snore?” My face warms.

“Kidding. Relax. It’s so loud on this bus I wouldn’t know if you were.”

I don’t have a response, so I turn around again. 

“You forgot something.” 

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see the bag waving in my face.

“Thanks.” I grab it as Heather, a Skycroft counselor, steps onto the bus. 

“Listen up! We’re hiking for the next hour. Leave your lunches in that bin, and we’ll bring them to the dining hall. Your other belongings will be brought to your cabins.”

We file off the bus, and it’s much colder than it was at home. Trees tower everywhere, and autumn leaves cover the ground. My hat and gloves are in my bag, so I shove my hands into my jacket and join the others trailing Heather and Ms. Wehrle. I look at the ground, trying to keep mud from getting on my white tennis shoes. A pair of red sneakers is staying near mine. It’s Tony.

“I was in ESL for a while too,” he volunteers. “I’m from El Salvador. Where are you from?”

“Pakistan.” I say it the way we do THERE, “Pock-iss-TAHN,” and can tell he doesn’t understand.

“PACK-iz-stan,” I offer again.

“Right.” He nods.

Tony is quiet for a while, and I wonder if he knows anything about THERE. Abbu says most Americans have only heard negative things about our country, like terrorism and poverty, and he thinks it’s our job to tell people about all the beautiful things THERE and what millions of real Muslims believe. No one’s ever asked me anything about that, and I hope Tony doesn’t either. 

“Well, see you later.” Tony catches up to another boy, who has blond hair. I glance around. A girl from my math class—Eva—is looking at me, a little smile on her lips. 

I keep walking.

In the dining hall, I locate my lunch and sit on a bench while Heather explains the remainder of the day. Everyone groans when she announces there’s another hike and cheers about something called s’mores. Tony catches my eye from another bench as I bite into my sandwich. I can’t help smiling and hold out half in his direction. He smiles back, shakes his head, and takes a bite of his own.

I’m assigned to the Laurel Cabin. My group heads along a path to a box-shaped building. Inside are bunk beds, and everyone rushes to grab one. I start to worry that I’ll be sharing with Ms. Wehrle when I spot Eva next to a set of beds. I snatch my bag from the pile and walk over.

“Can I share with you?” I ask.

“Sure. But can you take the top? I’m afraid of heights,” she says.

“Okay.”

“Nice sleeping bag.” Eva points at her own, which is identical to mine.

“Yeah.” I smile.

“You’re in my math class,” Eva continues. “You’re new, right?” 

“Yeah.” I wait for her to ask me where I’m from, but she doesn’t.

“I moved here from France in the middle of fifth grade,” she continues. 

“Really?” I’m surprised. Eva speaks just like the other kids.

“We lived in France for three years because my dad’s in the Navy. We move around a lot.”

“Oh.” That’s why she doesn’t sound French. 

“You’re lucky you started here in sixth grade.” 

“Lucky?”

“The end of fifth grade had parties and a promotion ceremony with a slideshow. I wasn’t in any of the pictures, and I didn’t know anyone.”

“I don’t know anyone,” I say.

“Yeah, but four elementary schools feed into our middle school, so everyone doesn’t know some people.”

“I guess.” I don’t see how that is the same as not having any friends, but I don’t say so.

The second hike is better because I have my hat and gloves and Eva with me. Heather and Ms. Wehrle take us on a trail to the original Washington Monument. It’s nothing like the tall, pointy white tower my family saw in Washington, D.C. This one is made of gray stones and resembles a giant barrel. 

“What are s’mores?” I finally work up the nerve to ask Eva. 

Eva smiles mysteriously. “Oh, you’ll see.” 

After the hike, we return to the dining hall. The Frogs have dinner duty, so we set the tables. Tony walks in, grabs a handful of forks, and drops them next to the plates I put down.

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” I answer.

Eva motions to me. “They want us to bring out the drinks.”

I give Tony a half-smile, and as we walk away, I feel him watching us. 

“You like Tony,” Eva says in a hushed voice, gripping my arm. “I think he likes you too.” 

It feels like Eva wants me to say something, but I don’t know what it is.

“So?” She looks at me like we’re sharing a secret, and I feel a pang of missing Deena. “Do you like him?”

“Yes. He’s my classmate.” I’m relieved he didn’t actually eat my lunch and that he’s being kind to me.

Eva tilts her head as though she’s trying to decide something. Then she hands me a pitcher of water.

I learn what s’mores are after we eat cheeseburgers and fries. We head outside to a giant fire and put big fluffy squares called marshmallows on long sticks to cook. They catch fire and we blow them out, and they turn black on the outside and gooey on the inside. Then we make a little sandwich with them on sweet crackers and chocolate.

Eva is sitting next to me and also speaking to another girl named Laurie. Tony and his friend approach with an enormous stack of s’mores.

“We’re making a s’mores tower—the biggest ever. Wanna get in the Guinness Book?” Tony says.

“That’s not very big.” Eva seems unconvinced. 

“That’s why we need yours.”

Eva starts to hand him the squares she just finished assembling, but midway, she stops and shoves them in her mouth. She laughs as marshmallow oozes through the sides.

We all tear into the s’mores tower, causing it to topple over, and catching the pieces before they fall to the ground. Melted chocolate and marshmallow goo coat my fingers. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in America.

“SNAKE!” someone shrieks.

“Just a twig, people!” Heather holds up a branch. “Relax!”

I tell Eva and Laurie about when Abbu picked up the hose in our garden THERE to water our jasmine bushes. “But it wasn’t the hose—it was a long, black snake,” I say. 

“Did it bite him?” Eva asks, her eyes wide.

“No—he dropped it and it slithered away.”

“I would’ve died right there.” Laurie shivers.

“Me too,” I agree. This is the first time I’ve told anyone HERE anything about my life THERE.  

It’s brisk outside, but cozy by the fire with my classmates. I feel the warmth of the flames on my face-and on my insides. Tony, who is back on the other side of the circle now, meets my eyes and smiles.

_{Abridged from “How to Make S’mores” © 2018 by Hena Khan. Used by permission of the author.}

^{This story was originally published in the November 2022 issue.}