Mohammad asked. “It’s okay. We’re allowed,” I said. “If I get in trouble, my parents will be really upset with me,” he said. “Mo, we’re going to feed some cats, not rob a bank,” Simon offered. “Mohammad, we’re okay,” I said. “We’re going in through the front gate. The security guard, Mr. Singh, will let us in. It’s all good, okay, buddy?” “Well, okay,” said Mohammad. While it would have been quicker to cut through the hole in the fence, I wanted everybody to meet Mr. Singh, and I wanted him to meet them. We were a strange little posse. There was Simon from Korea, Mohammad from Somalia, Jaime from China, Rupinder from India, Devon from Jamaica, and Alexander from Russia. And if you wanted to go back far enough, I was from Scotland. Then again, if you went really far back, we were all probably from Africa. We were like a slice of the United Nations. We were from all over the world, and we were all friends. Mr. Singh was in his booth. He saw us coming, gave us a big wave and a big smile.
