“After school, Nouri and Jalal dribbled and shot baskets with a ball they’d found. It was slightly deflated but they still managed to play. Jalal had just passed the ball, and Nouri had caught it, when a girl named Farrah, her head scarf flying, came running. “Mutanabbi Street has been bombed! Many people are dead!” “Mutanabbi Street?” Nouri called back. “Are you sure?” Such a thing couldn’t happen on Mutanabbi Street. Mutanabbi was a safe place. Everyone got along there. People didn’t care abou...t which sect you belonged to. Why would anyone bomb Mutanabbi Street? His mind raced. “Yes! It was a car bomb!” Nouri held the basketball tight against his chest. What had happened to Talib? Was he safe? Nouri hadn’t seen his cousin since he’d taken him the baklava a couple of months ago. . . . After school, Nouri boarded the bus. He’d told Jalal and Anwar that he had to help Mama clean their courtyard. And he’d told Mama that he was going to Anwar’s to study for a geography test.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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