My Name Is Parvana Read Online Free

was sitting on the platform with the guests from the military and the foreign agencies that had given them money.
    If her mother was feeling any anger at the government man, she certainly wasn’t showing it. She looked happy and maybe just a little nervous that her students wouldn’t behave properly.
    Nooria would certainly be annoyed. Parvana’s older sister was always crabby about something.
    Her sister was sitting with the other teachers, all wearing the dark blue chador that marked them as staff. They were all young women who had taken a crash course on how to be a teacher. Nooria, too, looked happy and not angry.
    Of course she’s happy, Parvana thought. She has a whole classroom of kids to boss around now, instead of just Maryam and me.
    Maryam was Parvana’s youngest sister. She was standing in the first row of students, directly in front of Parvana, wearing the white chador that all the students wore.
    Maryam was a squirmer. She couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes, always bopping around to some pop tune in her head. Mother said she was contrary, just like Parvana. Parvana thought it more likely that Maryam still had energy inside her that couldn’t come out when she was kept inside their small apartment during the time the Taliban was in charge.
    Parvana was supposed to keep an eye on her, but she had mostly given up on that. Maryam would settle when she was ready to settle, and not a moment before.
    Parvana kept moving her eyes until they landed on Asif, sitting with the other school staff, looking like he was actually listening to the government man’s silly speech. He no longer looked like the angry boy Parvana had found in a cave a little over four years before. They had wandered Afghanistan together, filthy and hungry.
    Today he was wearing his good snow-white shalwar kameez. His dark hair was shining and curling around his ears. His face had filled out, no longer hollow-eyed from hunger.
    He was still more fun to argue with than anyone Parvana had ever known.
    On Asif’s lap sat Hassan, the little boy Parvana had found in the bombed-out village. Hassan had been a baby then. Now he was ready for kindergarten. He was sitting tall and still. Only Asif could get him to behave so well.
    There were two other school staff — Mr. Fahir, the chowkidar who kept control of the gate, and Mrs. Zaher, the cook.
    Parvana thought about all these people, and forgot about being angry.
    She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of applause. The government man had finally stopped talking. Mother, as the headmistress of the new school, stepped forward. Together they unveiled the sign with the school’s name:
     
    LEILA'S ACADEMY OF HOPE
     
    Parvana blinked to get rid of the tears she felt in her eyes. It had been her idea to name the school after the tiny girl with the big imagination. Parvana and Asif were going to plant a flower garden in her memory, too.
    Maryam took two steps forward from the group and sang the Afghan national anthem, clear and true. She was always singing along to the radio, and when the radio wasn’t on, she sang Afghan and American pop songs from memory. She sang the national anthem as if she was more proud of her singing ability than she was of her country, but so what? Her little sister could count on her voice. Afghanistan still had to prove itself.
    Maryam finished strong, everyone applauded, and photographers took her picture. The formal part of the ceremony was over.
    While tea was prepared, Parvana took a group of parents on a tour of the school.
    “Here is the kindergarten room,” she said, opening the door into a small, bright, colorful room with mats on the floor and a few toys along the side. “Children up to the age of six are in this room. They will learn songs, how to wash their hands, basic counting, how to write their names, things like that.”
    “Will they learn how to pray?” a man in the back of the group asked.
    “Um, yes, they will.” Parvana was