Long time, no upload. My apologies. But this is the first upload of 2013 and it's chapter 13! That accounts for something, right?

"We think we're living, but we're only existing. Living is when you are cognizant of who and what you are. In this world where people crave acceptance and sell their individuality for conformity, we're only existing. We're not living. And it sure as hell isn't the same thing." -- Ash, while musing in English class and thinking about existentialism and Albert Camus' The Stranger

            “I haven’t seen you around here before.” A quiet voice cuts my thoughts.   

            I glance up, only to see a pair of deep blue eyes stare at me. His eyes hold mine as he awaits my response.

            “Ben?” I can’t mask the surprise on my face. “Ben!” I say again, this time with more certainty, as he smiles, deepening the dimples in his cheeks.

            He moves to hug me and I freeze immediately. This makes him back up. “Oh, yeah! The no-hugging thing. Because you’re Muslim and all that.”

            I nod. “Yeah. Thanks for remembering. Sit down! I haven’t seen you in two years.” That’s the best part about waking up every morning. The events of the day are like presents; you never know what you’ll find as you go throughout the day; whether it’s good, whether it’s bad. And maybe that’s the scariest and the most beautiful thing about living: that surprise.

            Ben takes a seat next to me. “So. Answer my question. I haven’t seen you around here before, and I live across the river.” I look out past the water of the river, at the houses lining the other side. Wait, scratch that. They’re not houses. They’re mansions. I forgot Ben’s family belonged to high society.

            “I come here when I can. It’s one of my favorite places to think.” I respond. We gently start swinging on the benches. “It’s like a getaway spot because I don’t see anyone from school here.” I stare out into the water, waiting for him to respond. His silence makes me realize what I’ve just said. “No! Ben, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! I don’t mean you. You, I like. Just…other people that I seriously can’t stand.”

            He just laughs good-naturedly. “I know you didn’t mean me. I’m just so damn irresistible. Girls are clawing at each other to be chilling with me, right?”

            I glance at him, at his blue eyes that are filled with humor. “Yup, you know it, Bentley.”

            “Oh shut up, Eiliyah.”

            This just makes me smile wider. “So, how’s private school? You’re greatly missed, you know.”

            He rubs his eyes and sighs. ‘In all honesty, I hate it. Too uptight, too conformist for my taste.” When we were sophomores, Ben got shipped to some New England private school that his father went to.

            “But isn’t that where—”

            “Yeah, yeah. The whole damn family went there. I was actually lucky enough to be able to go to public school for a year and a half. I wish I could have finished out the year before my parents sent me off but…it is what it is, you know?”

            Unfortunately, I do know. “So.” I look around, at the vendors selling hot dogs and ice cream, at the rippling water, at the birds flying, settling, flying again. Motion. Yet time stands still for us, because there’s a hiccup in our history, like a scratch on a record. We went from one point to another so quickly that we’re trying to fill in the gaps. “Why are you back now? It’s the middle of the school year.”

            Ben grins a peaceful grin. “I got suspended for two weeks.”

            I drop the book in my hand as my eyes widen. “What?!”

            “Yeah.”

            “Why?”

            “Does it matter?”
            “Depends on how you look at it.”

            “Exactly.” He says firmly. “Hey, is there anything going on? I have nothing to do for a while and my parents aren’t exactly in the mood to talk to me.”

            God, I hope he didn’t do anything crazy. “Well, the local mosque is having their annual carnival to raise money for charity. You want to come? It’s always a big deal for us. It’s actually not half bad.”

            “Huh. When is it?”

            “Well, it’s…” Then, I remember. “Shoot! It’s this Saturday and Sunday! And Friday night too.”

            “Are you going to be there?”

            “I won’t be there Friday night but I will be there all day on Saturday and half of Sunday. Maybe.”

            “Anyone else I know?”

            “Christian’s supposed to come by Saturday after church. Remember him?”

            Ben nods. “Yeah, I do. Nice guy. Okay, anyone else?”

            I think for a minute. “Hamza? Remember him? I think you and he had gym together when I was a…freshman? Yeah, when we were freshmen.”

            He shuts his eyes for a second and then replies by saying “I remember him. And that Omar kid. The one you jumped?”

            My cheeks heat up a few degrees. “Yeah, Omar. They might be there. My cousin Sayeeda will be too!”

            “I want to meet her. I remember you talking about her. She seems hilarious.”

            The thought of Sayeeda makes me smile. “She is. I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to her in a while. She lives half an hour away.”

            Ben pushes the swing so it creaks and sways back and forth. A slight wind picks up and soothes and caresses my face. I tuck my hair behind my ear and wait for his reply. “I’ll come then. I’m curious to see how the Muslims get down. What time is it?”

            “It starts at ten.”

            “My parents have been forcing me to go to church, so I’ll be late. Then we do this brunch thing. So can I come by at one?”

            Nodding, I say, “Yeah, whenever you want. Christian is coming around two or three and the carnival lasts until ten at night. I’ll be there for the whole twelve hours.”

            He smiles at me, his blue eyes sparkling like the water in front of us. “I’ll be there.”

            The entire week at school passes by uneventfully. Sadhana and Sarah both say they’ll come to the carnival on Saturday. On Friday night, Harun and I go to the mosque after school for the youth night. All the volunteers for the carnival on Saturday and Sunday are there. Sayeeda is there, and Rhys, Harun’s best friend whom we ran into at Publix, tags along as well. I’m driving this time, as usual. Sayeeda is in the passenger seat, and the boys are chilling in the back.

            “We should go out to dinner sometime.” Sayeeda comments on the way to the mosque.

            “I would like that. I just have to find a day to do all of it when I don’t have so much homework.”

            “I don’t think our parents would even let us do it on a light homework school night.”

            I sigh. “Yeah, I doubt it.” We stop at a traffic light and I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. My foot taps on its own. It’s like each part of my body is doing its own thing, and my body hums with restless energy. A random declaration pops in my head: something is going to happen tonight. What, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s like my mind and my soul work faster than the conscious part of me, and I spend most of my time trying to figure out my own self. It’s a scary feeling when half the time you don’t even know what’s happening with your life.

            “Salam, young brothers and sisters.” Brother Alex smiles at us widely. He’s twenty-two, a college student who converted a year ago, and all the teenage girls adore him. “I’m glad all of you have volunteered to spend your valuable time helping the masjid with the carnival. Today, we’re just going to go over booth assignments. We’ll be rotating so you don’t get bored out of your mind. Everyone cool with that?” He smiles and out of curiosity, I turn to look at the group of girls to my left. They exchange looks with each other and their smiles widen.

            “That’s cool.” Aqib, a tenth grader, speaks up. The rest of us nod.

            “Alright. Ladies, there is a section of booths where small businesses and boutiques can set up shop. Since all of you love shopping, I’m sure you’ll love to help there.” He grins. “Am I right?”

            “Yes!” Sayeeda says excitedly. I can’t help but laugh. Have I mentioned how much Sayeeda loves shopping?

            “Awesome. So I have some grasp on the way a female thinks.” Alex responds. He goes on to explain how there will be ten booths for small businesses. Some of the booths are owned by various non-Muslims and Muslims in the community. I recognize one of the bakery booths to be Rhys’s mother’s. I glance at him when I hear the name being called out and he flashes me a thumbs up. No wonder he’s here. He has to be there tomorrow anyway, to help out his mom. Alex reads of the other businesses; there’s a booth that will be selling headscarves, called hijabs. Another booth specializes in jewelry. Sayeeda gets that booth, and I can tell she’s about died and gone to heaven.

            I hear my name being called just as Hamza and his little brother and sister walk in. “Sorry we’re late.” Hamza says apologetically. His sister Hidayah makes her way over to where the girls are sitting. She’s sweet. A little stuck-up at times with flares of attitude, but we’ve always gotten along. His little brother Hussain joins his big brother with the boys.

            “It’s alright, man. It happens.” Alex responds in an easy-going manner. That’s what I’ve always admired about him. He’s so content with whatever happens. “Like I was saying, Eiliyah and Jenna will be helping out at Amirah’s Boutique’s booth.”

            At the announcement, my stomach drops. Amirah’s Boutique. That’s Omar’s mom’s booth. And Omar and Zayd are cousins. So Zayd’s mom will probably be there too. Meaning their sons will probably be coming by frequently. I bite my tongue to control how taken aback I feel right now. Oh God, how will I do this?

            After Alex finishes off reading the list of girl volunteers and goes into the back room to get a list of assignments for the guys, chatter and conversations break out as everyone turns to talk to each other. I use their temporary distraction to my advantage. I shut my eyes and think positive thoughts. Allah, I’ve gotten through everything You’ve tested me with. This may be hard considering everything Omar and even Zayd has done, but I know with Your help I can get through this. I will make the most of every situation You face me with. I just need your help, but I promise I will try my best to be grateful to You for this. Somehow. Ya know.

            With a smile and calmed insides, I open my eyes. Sayeeda raises her eyebrows at me. “How are you smiling after you found out you’re helping Omar’s mom for hours tomorrow?”

            “Because it’s his mom I’m helping, not him. I can do this, Sayeeda.”

            She wraps her arms around me. “I know you can.”

            It’s comforting when someone believes in you when you don’t even believe in yourself. Story of my life.

            The next morning, my parents shoo us out of the house. “Challo, challo, challo!” My mom shouts. Challo means go in Urdu. “You’re going to be late! Go!” Harun and I are running around the house trying to get ourselves ready and fed under the eye of our mother.

            “Ma, stop stressing me out.” Harun says with a pout.

            Mom simply shoots him a look and puts a hand on her hip. “Come on, pretty boy, don’t be a wimp.” She signed that to him, and my back was turned, but we all have a habit of signing and speaking at the same time. as I hear her say it, I turn around in shock.

            “Mom! You did not just say that.” My eyes and Harun’s are wide. My mom did not just say that. Not my mom of all people.

            “What? I can’t be hip like you guys?”

            “No one says hip anymore, Mom.” Harun informs her. She simply swats her hand in the air and tells us to leave the house. We do, without much of a breakfast except for a few Eggo waffles. We arrive there seven minutes early, at 9:53, and go into the park’s main office to meet up with the coordinators of the carnival and inform them that we’re here. Only five or six of the other teenagers are there, along with a few people Juwariyah’s age who are running after their little kids.

            “Is everyone here?” A man with a thick Arab accent asks. Surveying the room, he concludes that everyone is indeed here. Well, until he says, “Wait a meenute, two Muslim bruhzzers are not here weet us. Anyone know who is meesing?”

            I glance around and can’t find out who’s missing. Harun signs to me, “Hamza’s not here. Neither is Hussain.” I speak up and inform the man that Hamza and Hussain are missing and assure him that they’re probably running late. Omar and Zayd give me unreadable looks when I say this. I ignore them.

            Hamza and Hussain show up a few minutes later and we are instructed to go to our booths. My booth and Sayeeda’s booth are across from each other so we have a fun time making faces at each other. Rhys’s mother’s booth is a little far from where I am, but still in a distance where I can see her. Rhys is with her. I was in the bathroom when Brother Alex was reading off the assignments but I know Harun is in charge of concessions for the east wing.

            I see him behind the booth and it calms my inner worry. God willing, he’ll be fine. Sister Amirah, Omar’s mom, puts me in charge of fixing up one of the mannequins that are off to the side. She has more of a tent than a booth, actually. We have an hour to get the display set up.

            When I turn to see what Harun is doing, I see Hamza sitting next to him. My surprise makes me fumble and the pin that I was using to pin a dupatta to a mannequin’s Indian tunic. I search the ground for the silver sliver that’ll reflect the light of the sun if I look from the right angle. “Beta, what are you looking for?” Aunty Amirah asks me, calling me child in Urdu. She’s Pakistani, but we speak the same language, though different dialects.

            “I’m looking for a pin that I dropped on the ground. I was attempting to pin the dupatta.” Her kind eyes, winged with creases from laugh lines twinkle with kindness. “It’s ok, beta. Here, let us look for it together.” She bends too and starts looking, but I find it improper and disrespectful if I leave her to looking for the pin.

            “No, aunty, I’ve got it.” I get on my knees and finally locate the pin. “Here it is.” I pick it up, dust the dirt off, and continue to pin the scarf. Aunty Amirah sets up the display of matching jewelry.

            “How have you been, dear?” She speaks in that slow, relaxed way of hers. Days that Harun and I went over to Omar’s house to play lacrosse, she would always talk to us as if we were her own children. The amount of love that she showered us with, especially Harun, never made me feel like I was a pity case, like I often felt when others gave me their attention and love like she did.

            “I’ve been good, allhamdulillah. Busy with school. It’s almost time to start applying for colleges.”

            “And where have you decided you want to go?”

            I sigh. “My parents and older brothers and sister say that staying in-state is cheaper. Juwariyah went to school inGainesvilleand Zubair and Zaid went toMiami, so they’re really advocating it.”

            She doesn’t respond for a few seconds and I can’t see her face because my back is turned and I’ve busied myself with angling the clothes on the rack in the back. When I turn around, I don’t expect her eyes to be staring right into mine. Her expression is one filled with thought, like she’s trying to decipher something about my answer. The close inspection—both physical and non-physical—makes my palms sweat and my heart quicken its pace. I clear my throat and tuck a piece of hair behind my right ear before throwing my attention into moving the chairs around. I fight the urge to clench my jaw in nervousness, in agitation. I don’t like it when people inspect me this closely. Superficial glances I can deal with. But close inspection leaves room to find out secrets, even if they’re written with invisible ink.

            “Eiliyah,” she begins gently, “I asked where you want to go. Where do you wish to go to college?”

            God, please. Anything but having to voice my wants and desires. It’s too dangerous. Clearing my throat, I respond by saying, “I don’t know.” The lie sticks to my throat like slime hitting the wall with a firm impact. I do know. “Chicago, maybe. We have family there.”

            She nods. “Where else?”

            “North Carolina.” She nods again, slowly, easily, as if it—this, this conversation—isn’t about mere formality. It’s about this sincere interest in learning about someone. For the next twenty minutes, we continue getting everything perfect and we even recruit Sayeeda into telling us if the booth looks good or not and which display looks best. When it’s time for the carnival to actually start, we seat ourselves and wait. I text my mom saying Harun and I are okay; I’m okay. She responds by saying she’s glad he’s doing well.

            I turn my gaze to all the action around me, soaking in information with special care to the small details that go unnoticed by most. Reality slams and hits me like the unforgiving heat of the sun when Omar appears. “Ma, I need some money for food.” Impatience coats his tone; he can’t even stand still, his fingers drumming against the material of his khaki shorts.

            “I have my purse in the car.” His mother says in response. “Do you want the keys?” She starts to rummage through her pockets before he shakes his head and responds saying he needs to be back to his booth because the rush is starting. “I’ll go and get it then.” His mother says. “Aunty Amirah, would you like for me to go and get your purse? Parking is a long way from here.” I offer. She shakes her head and smiles.

            “It’s okay, beta. I’ll go. Just take care of things here for a minute. Omar, can you at least stay with Eiliyah for a few minutes? You know the pricing of things better, in case a customer comes by.” Omar looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here but he keeps his mouth shut for his mother’s sake. I know that despite everything, Omar will keep his mother happy as much as he can. Oh, the irony of it all when I see him at school hooking up with more girls than I can count using both my hands when I know he can’t date.

            Aunty Amirah leaves, leaving Omar and me alone at the booth. He takes a seat in the chair farthest from where I’m sitting. Well then, Omar, I don’t think you’re so great yourself. A customer approaches and asks about the brooches. Omar takes over and uses his stupid charm (that actually works) and manages to sell a scarf and an Indian outfit. And those things are eighty dollars each, so I begrudgingly admit that Omar has the personality and the charm when it comes to people. I just wish he hadn’t used that on me. It would make letting go so much easier.

            After the customer leaves, we resume sitting in awkward silence. It’s one of those moments that I know has the power to change things drastically if I just open my damn mouth, but nothing, no words, come to mind. What am I supposed to say? You’re a jerk that chose popularity over friendship? Somehow that doesn’t sound like it’s going to help. The temptation to say something grows inside me, and I even find myself formulating what I’m going to say to him. But while my brain is ready, my lips stay firmly put together. I can’t bring myself to carry out the physical part of the action.

            Do you ever have those moments? Where you wish you were brave enough to say something in your heart, but your mouth won’t open and your brain can’t force it to? As I see Aunty Amirah approach us, I know the moment is gone. The chance is gone. I won’t be able to say anything to him now.

            And the confusing part? I don’t know if I’m okay with it or not.

            Ben, as he said he would, comes at around one, when I’m all hot and cranky and sweaty. After helping Aunty Amirah for a few hours, I get tired and frankly, bored. Clothes and jewelry and finding the perfect earrings to match an outfit do not entertain me for long at all. I wish I could have been at the same booth as Sayeeda or Harun. Or Rhys. I like Rhys. And I like his mom too. Oh, and I like baked goods. Yum.

            I see Ben come through the gates and watch him like the creep that I am as he buys a ticket, laughing and talking to Brother Abdullah, the ticket seller for the day. He makes his way around and goes on a Ferris wheel. The thing is, how many people are perfectly okay with going to a carnival by themselves without feeling conscious about their lack of company? I would, but that’s because there’s not that many people I like being around for that long. But the way Ben does it, just enjoys himself with or without people, makes my admiration grow. As another woman in shorts and a tank top comes over to Sister Amirah’s booth, my mind wanders to how Ben is, so free and content with himself.

            “Hello.” The woman says.

            “Oh, hi.” I smile as I break out of my thoughts.

            “I was wondering if you could help me find an outfit for my friend’s wedding. She’s getting married in December.”

            I nod. “Sure. Is this for the wedding reception? Where is she from?”

            “She’s fromIndia. Yes, the wedding reception.”

            “If you don’t mind me asking, where is it?Florida’s weather fluctuates, so long sleeves may be a better option, though it can get really hot in these outfits too.”

            “The wedding is inOrlando. By the Disney resorts.”

            I nod. “Great. It might be a little cold, but let’s look for something that doesn’t have two layers, just in case it’s so humid that it’s hot.”

            She smiles in gratitude. “Great! I want to see what you have.”

            Standing up and walking over to the racks, I go through the outfits on the rack. I hold up a baby blue and maroon red anarkali, which is this high-waisted knee-length type of dress with long sleeves with skinny pants and a scarf to drape over. The jewels on the thing glisten in the light and I can tell the woman likes it. “It’s gorgeous. Can I feel the material?” I wordlessly hand it over to her.

            “I’ll take it. What about jewelry?”
            “We have jewelry here. But, the owner said that nothing matches this particular outfit so she said you might have to try the booth across from us. They should have something.” Smiling, she nods, pays, and walks over to where Sayeeda is. I know my cousin will have fun with this.

            Looking around, I spot Aunty Amirah finishing up with a customer as well. Past her is Harun talking to Ben. Well, Harun’s talking and Ben is responding while Harun attempts to read lips. I continue watching them for a few minutes until I see Rhys come over and help Harun out by being the translator. Aside from me and Sayeeda, Harun will only let Rhys translate.

            “Would you like to take a break?” Aunty Amirah’s voice breaks through my thoughts. I can feel warm heat rolling on my cheeks as I realize she saw me looking over there.

            “It’s okay. I was just thinking. Checking up on Harun and all that.” Dear God yes, I would like a break. But I don’t want it to seem as if I’m bored. It’s unnerving when someone realizes what you want, even if it is something as tiny as a break.

            “No, no. Please. Take half an hour off. You’ve been working for a few hours now, and thank God we’ve been getting a lot of business, but it is tiring.” I’m about to protest again when something catches my eye.

            It’s Ben. He’s here. I mean, I knew he was here but he’s now at the refreshments booth where Harun and Hamza are. Omar, who’s working in the booth next to Hamza and Harun, is over there too. Ben is saying something and he glances back at me and the boys turn. Something is up, and my protective sister instinct kicks in. “Okay, thank you, Aunty Amirah. I’ll be back soon.” I flash a smile which she returns and go across to where Sayeeda is. The woman she’s helping, Andrea, lets her off for a break as well.

            “Wait, I want to go give Yahya some money so he can buy food.” She says.

            “Want me to go with you?”

            She shakes her head. “It’s crowded here. It would take forever. Go meet up with Harun and I’ll be there soon, inshallah.” Inshallah means God-willing. She takes off and I head over to where Harun and Ben are.

            “Eiliyah!” Ben smiles in spite of the serious expression he wore just a few seconds ago.

            “Ben! Hey! You came. It’s nice to see you.” I smile at him and he smiles back. I can feel multiple pairs of eyes on us and I look to where I feel the stares coming from to relieve the awkwardness. When Hamza and I make eye contact, he busies himself making a slushie, his mouth in a tight line.

            “I’m leaving now.” Omar says. It’s a declaration, but hints of harshness and hostility are evident in his tone. What got his stupid Nike knee-high socks in a bunch? God. This guy changes moods as quickly as the temperature of a beaker that has an exothermic reaction between magnesium and hydrochloric acid going on in it (excuse the chemistry reference).

            “Are you on break?” Harun asks and speaks out loud for the sake of Ben.

            “Yes I am. Sayeeda is supposed to meet up with us soon. She went to go find Yahya.” I speak and sign simultaneously. Yahya is Sayeeda’s younger brother. His parents actually have him on a bedtime even though he’s ten, so he couldn’t come last night with us to the mosque.

            Harun nods and includes Ben into the conversation. “Ben, how long are you staying?” Harun’s words are a little slower and carefully said, the only indication that speaking out loud verbally is not his forte.

            Something seems to go off in his brain. “My suspension ends next week,” as he speaks, he starts signing, “and my parents said that I have to go back immediately. But I might find a way to get suspended again so I’ll be back in Floridafor a while.” He grins but I cannot even register his words.

            “Ben?” I ask slowly, staring at his hands as if they’re glowing. “When did you learn how to sign?”

            “Oh, this? I’ve known for a while now. I just got the nerve to try it.” He shrugs carelessly.

            Before he can continue explaining, Hamza sets down a Styrofoam cup with force. “Blue slushie. Three dollars.” The girl smiles and pays him. She can’t be older than thirteen. I can tell by the baby fat on her young face and the shy duck of her head as Hamza focuses his dark brown and green eyes on her. As she pulls out the money and he takes in her flustered state, he starts grinning widely but quickly erases the smirk when she looks up, transforming his face into one with an innocent expression on it. “Thank you.” He flashes a wide smile and the girl gets her drink and walks away with a dazed grin on her face. Oh, to be thirteen and boy crazy.

            Harun, Ben, and I all turn our attention away from Hamza at the same time. “Sign language. Where did you learn?” Another customer comes up and Harun shoots us an apologetic look and goes to help them. Hamza was doing most of the work while Ben was talking to us, and he did it without complaining. I’m surprised.

            “At the private school—Crestfield Academy, that’s what it’s called—they offer sign language as a course. I managed to convince my parents to let me take it. I’ve seen you and Harun sign to each other and I’d like to talk to him and deaf people in general I guess, in a way where they don’t have to read my lips. I tried that once to see what Harun and Elise do it and damn, it’s hard. So if they can’t speak, hell, why not learn sign language?” Elise is Ben’s cousin. She’s also deaf, though she was born that way.

            “Have I ever told you that you always surprise me?” I ask solemnly.

            “It’s still nice hearing it.” He says with a laugh. Glancing around, I realize that the customers have cleared and this area in general has gotten kind of quiet. I can hear Omar’s voice at the next booth.

            “So, Bentley, when the hell are you going home?” Hamza asks rudely. I knew he didn’t like this guy but he’s blatantly being rude.

            “Actually, I am home.” Ben remarks with a serene smile, his words matter-of-fact and not at all like those of a smartass. Only Ben could turn a clearly rude remark into a friendly conversation.

            “When are you going back to school?” Hamza rephrases his question.

            Harun raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, just wipes the back table and front counter down.

            “Next weekend probably. Or, you know, I might stick around.”

            “And why would you do that?” The condescending tone in Hamza’s voice is so apparent, it’s absurd.

            “Well, you know, I want to make sure everything is fine and that no one is getting mistreated.” His eyes flicker and he meets the gaze of all of us until he tosses his head towards Omar as he says the strange words. “Isn’t that right, Omar?”

            Omar turns and flashes him a huge smile. “Hell yeah, homie. That’s right.” His lips are turned up in a smile but a vein in his temple is throbbing and his jaw is clenched tightly. Only a totally oblivious person would not pick up on the tension between the three boys.

            That totally oblivious person shows up about thirty seconds later in the form of Sarah, my sophomore friend, Sadhana’s counterpart. “Eiliyah!” She squeals, causing me to fight the urge to wince at the pain my ears just endured. “Hi!” She catches sight of all the boys I’m surrounded by and freezes. Something in her expression changes. “Can I talk to you right now? It’s really important.” Before I can say anything she drags me to the side of the booth.

            “Sarah, what the heck? You just showed up here randomly and you basically just dragged me away. What the hell is wrong with you, child?” I straighten my shirt which got rumpled at the expense of her urgent pulling.

            She unconsciously strokes her hair. “Eiliyah, I told you I’d be coming today.”

            “Oh. Yeah, you did. Any particular reason why?”

            She kicks the dirt with the toe of her sandals—who wears sandals in the middle of a grass field?—and nods. “Yeah. Look, I was planning on telling you this later but I’ll chicken out if I don’t do it now.”

            Now the curiosity builds. “Okay. What’s up?”

            She stares up at me with large, almond-shaped dark brown eyes. They shine as she says, “I have a huge crush.”
            “On who?” I turn back and catch sight of Harun and Ben talking and Hamza working behind the counter, taking an order from a customer.

            I turn back to see the glimmer in her eyes. “Hamza Musa-Ali. And I need your help in getting him.” Her words startle me and I look at her and then tear my gaze away, at anything other than the hope in her eyes. My eyes catch sight of a boy with green eyes. His eyes lock with mine, and I know. I know that no matter what I do, things inevitably just got more complicated. And when this all ends, someone will pay the price. It’s a grim realization, but as I process Omar’s actions, Ben’s words, Hamza’s glares, Harun’s innocence, my confusion, and Sarah’s hope, I know all hell will break loose soon. And Sarah’s feelings will only add to the suffering. Of whose, I don’t know. But of someone’s. And that in itself makes my stomach turn in dread.

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This is supposed to be the big KABOOM chapter. Everything takes off from here because what Ben knows is the centerpiece of the whole book. Have fun figuring it out, dears.

Hamza's POV is up! Check it out. Vote, comment (on this chapter as well!!) and fangirl your hearts out.

All my love,

Ash ♥