Hiiii! Hey! Merry Christmas Eve and have a WONDERFUL Christmas! I hope your day is full of blessings, joy, family, friends, presents, giving, cupcakes, donuts, and probably every thing in the world that's good. ^__^

"Responsibility makes you question the importance of your own wants and desires." -- Ash

            “Bentley Westford Remington III.” The minute Mrs. Isaac says that name, we all turn to see who in the world could have that big mouthful of a name as a teenager. He’s lanky yet lean. He looks my age, about fourteen. Thick, dark brown hair falls into his eyes, and he keeps reaching up and pushing the strands back. I can’t make out his eye color because his eyes are partially covered by his hair, but they simmer with conflicting emotions.

            “Here,” he responds shortly. “and I go by Ben.”

            I think names always have a story behind them, even if your parents chose your name on the way to the hospital or if they knew what they were going to name you years before you even came into physical existence. And Ben, for sure, had a story behind his name, one he must not have liked. I was curious about who he was immediately, because really, what teenager is named Bentley Westford Remington? That is, in simple terms, craycray.

            The weeks flew by after the first day of the new semester, and it became a comfortable routine for me and Bentley: we only talked when we needed to, which was never. It was Creative Writing class anyway, so it was mostly individual work.

            One time, Harun, Ben, and I all had to work on a project together.

            “What up, home skillet!” Ben grins widely as I sit down. Everything about him is friendly and accommodating, from his smile, to his body language, to his hand gestures. It’s hard to believe that someone like this, someone so carefree, can have a name that’s so pompous and stuck up.

            “Hi.” I respond cautiously.

            “So, the project. I think we should have a flash mob.”

            This suggestion catches me off guard. “W-what?” Is the intelligible response I can muster given how taken aback I am. “A flash mob?” Slightly better.

            “Yeah!” He leaps up out of his chair, the physical manifestation of uncontained energy and creativity. “We could do it during this class, and get the JROTC students in on it when they’re doing their drills. Then we can cut it and put in our marketing pitch.”

            It was a project where we had to market a product. We were supposed to film a commercial. It wasn’t really a project involving creative writing but what the heck? The teacher, Mrs. Isaac, wasn’t exactly what you would call conventional.

            We have a month to film the commercial. Mrs. Isaac gives us class time to work on the project, but it wasn’t enough. Harun is in my group as well, so our parents let us both stay after school to work on the project with Ben and his other friend, William.

            The month flew by, and we all aced the project. After that, Ben and I were always on a hi-bye basis, but never more. It was two weeks after that project was over, freshman year, when he finally approached me.

            I blow out an exhausted breath as I make my way to my locker, relieved because I don’t’ have to hurry like I do every other day. Christian’s mom was going to give us a ride to the Colombian bakery to buy food for a Spanish project we had due tomorrow. Harun was supposed to meet me here at my locker before we both went to meet up with Christian.

            As I spin the lock, something hits me in the face. I turn to my left, where Hamza is calmly taking stuff out of his locker and putting in some binders. “What the hell?” I yell. His locker is seven down from mine.

            The sad part is, it’s not like we’re assigned lockers. So I didn’t just forcibly end up near Hamza. Nope. We got to choose our own lockers, and because of our last names, we were at two different orientations, meaning we chose them at different times. And we still ended up near each other. I’m telling you, Fate just gets bored sometimes and decides to screw people over.

            “What?” He asks.

            “Why did you just throw that at me?” I pick up the wadded ball of paper.

            “I thought all the trash should be in one place.” He replies, still looking into his locker with a bored expression on his face. I leave my locker and walk over to where he is and give him a slap upside the head.

            “Asshole,” I mumble underneath my breath. I don’t curse often, mind you, but something about this kid just does things to me. And not in a nice way.

            When I walk back to my locker, I hear him say, “Only to you.” The smirk is evident in his voice. The hallway clears out, and we’re about the only ones left. There are a few other kids in the hallway, but all the way down on the opposite side, far away from where we are.

            Somebody barrels down the hallway, and Hamza and I turn at the same time. It’s Ben. He stops in surprise when he sees me. “Hey.” He says to me.

            I smile. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

            “I could ask you the same.” I lift my eyebrows.

            Ben simply grins. “I have to get some stuff out of William’s locker for track conditioning. What about you?”

            “A friend is giving me a ride home, Bentley.”

            He shakes his head. “You’re like the only person I would allow to call me that. Feel honored.”

            “Really?” I ask in surprise. I didn’t think we were on such close terms. “I do feel honored.” I grin at him.

            Laughing, Ben just shakes his head. “I knew you were cool. We should chill sometime.”

            That’s another thing I always liked about Ben. He was always just so honest in what he thought, and he always spoke what was on his mind. It’s hard to find sincere people like that.

            Again, he managed to surprise me. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” I say it with uncertainty. Somebody drops a binder, and both my eyes and Ben’s eyes travel to see who it is. Hamza curses at the sight of all the papers in his biology binder splayed out on the floor. I bend down and hand him his papers before resuming my conversation with Ben.

            “Great.” He grabs the pen out of my hand and takes my hand. I resist the urge to pull away; I’m not into touching guys or much physical contact. “This is my number.” He smiles and starts to walk away, leaving me to stare down at the ten black-inked numbers on the back of my hand, pitch black against light brown.

            “Weren’t you supposed to be getting your stuff?” Hamza asks rather rudely. This makes Ben turn around.

            “Oh! Yeah. Thanks. I got distracted by Eiliyah.” He grins and goes in the opposite direction to William’s locker. I roll my eyes at Hamza and walk out the building, pulling out my phone to text Harun to see where he and Christian are.

            I feel Hamza fall in step with me. “He’s an idiot. I don’t know why you like him.” He says, scowling.

            “How do you even know him?”

            “He’s in my gym class.”

            “Ben’s nice.”

            “He has the longest fucking name I’ve ever heard. Bentley Remington Westford III. Who the hell names their kid that?” He retorts.

            “Well clearly, his great-grandfather named his grandfather that, and his grandfather must have liked the name so much he named his father that, and his father named Ben that. So that’s…three people who would name their kid Bentley Remington Westford.”

            “He’s a tool.” That’s the best Hamza can come up with.

            “Why are you even walking this way?”

            “Christian’s my ride.”

            That makes me stop. “Christian’s my ride too.”

            Hamza doesn’t bother stopping walking. He just rolls his eyes behind his thick glasses. “No shit. He’s dropping me off after you guys go to the bakery.”

            The next day, at school, Ben asked me about Hamza.

            “So you know Hamza, huh?”

            “Yeah, I do.” I respond, wondering where this conversation will go.

            Ben reclines back in his chair, smirking. He reaches up to shove hair away from his face. “Huh. Interesting.”

            “What?” I ask.

            “Nothing.”

            “No, seriously, what? Why are you looking at me like that?” His grin keeps growing wider and wider.

            “No reason.”

            Boys are so weird. That’s all I thought at the time, and no one brought up Ben for another few months until one day at the end of ninth grade before school ended. I was walking to my locker, and Hamza and Christian were already at Hamza’s locker. Their heads were bent in conversation, and they immediately stopped when I approached.

            Hamza and Christian look like they’re deer caught in front of a car’s headlights. I shoot them a you’re-weird-I-don’t-know-you look to get the message across. Their mouths snap shut and Hamza starts shoveling stuff out from his backpack.

            Someone taps me on the shoulder as I get out of my biology binder. I turn to see who it is and grin when Harun’s smile greets me. He gives me a huge bear hug, and he’s the only person I would let do that.

            Harun’s not always around when all this stuff happens, but I tell him. He’s my ultimate best friend aside from Sayeeda. He’s also the best hugger there is. I’m just saying that, you know, as an FYI. Because I’m not going to lie, he’s pretty easy on the eyes as well. Which only makes my job as protective sister harder because of the looks girls give him, before they find out he’s deaf. Shallow b—buttheads.

            His hug feels amazing, as always. He’s wearing a hoodie, and it’s soft and comfortable. He pulls away and signs, “How’s my big sister doing?”

            I can’t help but smile. “I’m fine, allhamdulillah. Just super tired.”

            “Well, Zubair is picking us up today!” He signs with excitement on his face. My heart leaps. Zubair’s home from college? And he’s picking us up? I start doing this awkward little hop of excitement. If Zubair is home, that means Zaid is home as well.

            “Are you serious?! That means Zaid is home too!” I start signing so quickly I can’t even see my fingers clearly. Our parents probably didn’t tell us they were coming home as a surprise.

            As we keep talking, someone races by. “Yo, Eiliyah!” Ben says. He stops walking so swiftly and stands in front of Harun. “Hey, Harun. What’s up, homie?” He enunciates so that Harun can read his lips, but other than that, he’s the exact same around Harun as he is around everyone else. For that, I feel like giving him a hug.

            “Hey, man.” Harun talks a little too softly. I motion for him to pick up the volume. At that moment, a group of guys walk by. Omar is among them, and I feel my gut clench when I see him. Harun sees him too, but he’s better at the emotion thing than I am. He just carries on with the conversation as if nothing happened.

            “Yo, Eiliyah, gettin’ down with a new guy?” Omar shouts across the hallway. Instantly, my face erupts in red, even though the full extent of my blushing can’t be seen because of my brown skin.

            Ben turns to look at Omar, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t show that it’s affected him in any way. “I’ll see you later, Eiliyah and Harun.” He smiles and walks away, carefree as ever. Omar guffaws and Krish and AZ give him high-fives.

            “Careful, you’re raking  up a long record.” Omar winks and walks away, leaving me standing there with the insane impulse to beat him up. Harun holds me back. “Not worth it.” He signs.

            You know those moments when you’re barely holding onto your self-control? Like you have to put yourself in a zone, and you cannot afford to let any thought invade your internal monologue because you know if you do, stuff would not end well. Yeah, well, that’s how I felt at the moment. And I failed with my self-control.

            I’ll admit that. Hell, I’ll say it again: I failed with my self-control. Omar Khan just does things to me…and not in a good way.

            One second I’m standing at my locker, the next second I’m charging down the hallway. I wrap an arm around Omar and put him into a chokehold. He starts gagging and thrashing but I semi leap on top of him and we’re both walking down the hall, him staggering, me in top of him. It’s pandemonium as students stop and stare at the scene unfolding before them.

            “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Omar yells. “Get—off—me!”

            “You stupid idiot, LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!” I shout. “Before I choke you so hard you lose more brain cells than you already have!” He finally trips and falls, and I go flying too.

            By this time Harun has run over to where I am. He doesn’t even bother signing, he’s full on shouting. “Eiliyah! Calm down! Stop! He’s not even worth it.” He grabs me by the arm and tries to get me up.

            The anger is fading, but it’s still there. I pound Omar’s face once or twice with a fist. “Don’t you DARE say anything like that ever again! I’m sick of you stupid shit, and next time you bother me, shit’s gonna get cray, asshole!”

            Then, as ladylike as possible, I stand up and brush off my clothes. Omar is lying on his back, clutching his nose and moaning. “Get up, idiot. That’s not good for your nose’s blood flow.” I snap in disgust. Harun puts an arm around me, and it’s only then that I realize I was shaking.

            I sigh and walk over to my locker to get my backpack. Christian and Hamza are still staring at me in shock. “What?” I say. If it was just Hamza, I would have snapped, but Christian hasn’t done anything.

            Christian just shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you later, Eiliyah.” He walks away when he’s thinking something he doesn’t want to say.

            I calmly zip up my backpack and thank the Lord that no administrators showed up and saw me put Omar into a chokehold. It’s only freshman year and I don’t want a referral on my record. Harun and I walk outside the building.

            Another thing I got lucky about: it’s lunchtime, so at least I didn’t miss the beginning of some class.

            Why did I attack Omar? Because I was sick and tired of his hypocritical self. I was tired of being walked all over, and on top of that, he severed his relationship with my best friend (Harun) and anyone that messes with my brother is so in for it.

            And secondly, the comment Omar made was so inappropriate and degrading. That was another reason. What did Ben have to do with it? Not much. Ben didn’t seem like that big of a deal in the whole story.

            But I found out later he was.

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IMPORTANT STUFF!! I've written a chapter in Hamza' point of view...for all of you who wonder what the heck goes on in that boy's head. If someone can make a cover for one-shots from Battered, With Love, I can upload the one-shot ASAP. If you're interested, just message me.

Have a wonderful break, enjoy Christmas, and don't get fat off of cookies. And if you have any left over...show a Musilm sista some love and send them over LOL.

~ ♥, Ash