Hey everyone! New chapter tiiiime (starts dancing like an idiot)

"I used to curse, once upon a time. I don't any more. What's the point of it anyway? Why use the voice God gave you to say things you end up having to censor anyway?" -- Ash

           I knew I would love English class the minute I saw it. For the left wall of the classroom, it’s a floor-to-ceiling window. We’re on the second floor. See what I mean? A double win. An instant love. A melting heart. You get the idea.

            The teacher, Mrs. Winthrop, asks me for my name. “Eiliyah Suleiman.” I respond. She looks down at her roll call.

            “Seat nineteen.” She responds. We smile at each other and I turn around, looking for a desk with a 19 on it. My heart leaps when I see it’s by the window. Like, directly by it. My seat is on the far left.

            I can’t help but grin when I sit down. Oh heck yeah, I’m going to have a great time in this class. When I turn to admire the view from the window, the first thing I see is bright blue, like a small child has generously painted the sky with paint. Delicate green leaves firmly attach themselves to thick brown branches, curving and bending carelessly, gracefully until they form the shape of a tree.

            A plane zips through the sky, small enough to be held in my hand. Where are those passengers going? London? India? Milan? The Bahamas? Are some of them going to visit family? To celebrate a birth? To grieve over a death? Who knows? This world is comprised of mini-worlds; my world, learning to coexist with theirs.

            The bell rudely breaks my thoughts. “Ok! Good afternoon everyone and welcome to IB English IV!” How are teachers so cheerful after they’ve repeated a speech four times already? How? “We’re going to be doing a lot of reading in here, obviously. Your IB exam for English is at the end of this year and it is extremely important that you pass this exam. Whether or not you get your International Baccalaureate diploma depends on it.”

            That sneaky fear stabs my heart, making it painfully lurch inside my chest, like how your body feels when someone slams on the brakes. I have to pass my exams. Nine months. I have nine months to make that happen.

            “What if we don’t pass?” A guy’s voice asks.

            All heads, including mine, turn at the sound of the voice. A tall, muscular boy is sitting, reclining back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, his arm muscles stressing the material of his bright red shirt. A cocky smile spreads over his face as he soaks in all the attention that’s on him. Wait, is that…?

            “Well then. YOLO.” Mrs. Winthrop says, grinning. She nods at his shirt, which is bright red with ‘You Only Live Once’ written on it.

            The entire class starts cracking up, a deep and amused laugh, laced with appreciation. Mrs. Winthrop looks like she’s thirty-five, relatively young for a teacher. I’ve heard only good things about her, but that only made me cautious. The teachers I love, everyone says they hate. The teachers I greatly dislike, everyone loves. It doesn’t seem like the case with Mrs. Winthrop.

            We move on from the subject of exams and start talking about summer reading. “Pass those essays up, guys!” Sighing, I hand the girl next to me, Jennifer, the thick packet with four pages of my guts spilled all over them in an attempt to meet the minimum page limit.

            It’s only then that I realize that my brother isn’t sitting next to me. Where the heck is he? I look around, confused, not believing in the reality of the situation. He should be in this class, should he not? I mean, I know he has a translator and everything but every year, we have all of our classes together, except for Newspaper (I’m on staff, he’s not) and the few classes we take separately (I took Psychology, he decided to go for Economics).

            With my eyebrows still furrowed, I raise my hand uncertainly. “Yes?” Mrs. Winthrop asks. Fish sticks. I was kind of hoping she would come over to me individually. The entire class turns again to see who she’s addressing.

            “Um, isn’t Harun Suleiman supposed to be in this class?” The class, including Mrs. Winthrop, pause. She actually stops collecting essay when I ask my question.
            “I don’t know. Is he supposed to be?”

            My hand subconsciously reaches up to rub my neck. “Yeah.”

            She walks over to her desk and sets down the foot-high stack of essays. “Let me check roll call.” Even the “popular” kids—and I say popular with quotation marks because who the heck are these kids popular among? Themselves?—stop chattering and eagerly wait her reaction. Carmen-Sofia Montez quietly asks Krish Mehta why I’m asking.

            I focus my attention back on Mrs. Winthrop rummaging through her seven roll calls for her seven classes. “Ah. He’s in sixth period.” What? Harun is supposed to be in this class with me. What is he going to do for oral presentations? I mean, he has his translator but we still prefer to be in as many classes as possible.

            “Oh. Ok.” I say, and slump down in my seat a little. I am not a shy person, but everybody’s gaze on me causes my cheeks to heat up slightly. Thank God nobody can really see me blush.

            “Is he your boyfriend, Eiliyah? Wow, you finally got one?” Krish Mehta says mockingly. Carmen-Sofia, who is sitting next to him, laughs and slaps his arm, lingering on his bicep (or lack of). Ew. It’s Krish. He’s so…he’s so Krish.

            I sweep my gaze over to Krish. Him and a bunch of his friends are all snickering. I shoot him a tight smile. “I wouldn’t be talking, Krish.”

            Collective ooohs elicit from all my classmates. “What’s that supposed to mean? What, that weirdo that you’re always with finally got rid of you?” Krish starts laughing. See what I mean? This is why Krish is not attractive or desirable in any way.

            I’m about to ignore him when somebody else speaks up. “That’s her brother, asshole.” It’s only then that I realize that the person with the black hoodie in front of me is Hamza. I didn’t notice him because the guy in front of me looked too tall to be him. Damn. He’s actually taller than me now.

            “Hey, hey! Guys, the only time you can curse in this classroom is when we read something. Or when you get your tests back.” Mrs. Winthrop calls out, but she doesn’t look too mad.

            “So why are they always around each other? Last time I checked, incest wasn’t socially acceptable.” Krish guffaws again, and slaps hands with Raj Mehta (who is nice on occasion), Zayd Khan, and Omar Khan. I pretend like it’s nothing when Omar slaps hands with Krish. It is nothing. Omar is the past. Forget about the fact that he knows about Harun.

            “Last time I checked, being an idiot was looked down by society too, but here you are, Krish.”

            “Guys! Please, stop! It’s the first day of school!” Mrs. Winthrop holds up her hands. Ok, I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of me but I want to jump Krish and pound his head in on the linoleum floor. I’m pretty sure he knows why Harun and I are always together. “Can’t we just be at peace with one another?”

            “We’ll be at peace when Krish knows how and when to shut up.” Shoot. I’ve done it now. The entire class gasps and begins laughing appreciatively. Mrs. Winthrop shoots me a dry look. Great. So much for getting a bloody awesome college recommendation letter from this woman.

            “We’ll be at peace when Eiliyah stops acting like she’s better than everyone.” Krish is egging me on. His smirk and innocent, wide eyes say it all.

            “Oh, like you, Krish?” Why are me and Krish even having this conversation? I’m done.

            “At least my brother isn’t a retard that can’t talk.” Oh f*** no. That’s it. Keep calm. If you leap up and take him, you’re going to get suspended. And he’s going to end up with a concussion. Stay calm. It’s one of the principles of Islamic teaching: patience. Stay patient.

            “Krish Mehta!” Mrs. Winthrop looks mad now. “I can’t even believe I’m having to say this! You’re seniors! Not just seniors, you are IB seniors. You are supposed to be among the most mature and focused students on campus. Yet you’re fighting like five-year-olds. Krish, apologize for your disrespect.”

            God, this is so clichéd. What is this, some crappy teenage novel? Nothing eventful happens on the first day of school. I can’t even believe I wasted so much of my breath on Krish.

            Krish does apologize, and I forgive him. I don’t really want to, but I don’t want my anger to get the best of me. Additionally, I’m bad at holding grudges. My anger at Krish is already fading away quickly. Forgive and forget. Thank God for that simple philosophy.

            The rest of the class period is kind of awkward, and I catch some people whispering and staring at me. I pretend I don’t notice, when I really just want to tell them to either make their staring less obvious or to stop staring altogether.

            When the bell rings, I try to make it out as quickly as possible but somehow, Omar, Zayd, Raj, Krish, Hamza, and I are the last ones to get out. “Hey Eiliyah, no hard feelings, right?” Krish grins at me, but I know it’s not genuine.

            “Sure, Krish. No hard feelings.” I start to walk out.

            “Why doesn’t her brother talk anyway? Besides the fact that he acts like a retard.” Krish asks his friends, laughing. Omar’s laugh is more apparent than the rest of the other boys’.

            “You idiot, her brother is deaf. And he’s actually really cool.” Hamza speaks up, his tone biting. I can’t even turn around, though they know I’ve heard them. I continue walking, the emotions hitting me like one merciless wave after another. My eyes prickle with tears, not because I’m hurt, but because I feel so confined. Confined by these judgments and assumptions.

            But also…something else. I can’t place my finger on it but Hamza defending Harun like that…I can’t put what I felt into words.

            As I walk away from the boys’ laughter and jokes, I realize that no physical distance will separate me from this, this judgment, this confinement by what people say, think, and assume.

            I see my brother Harun in the hallways, walking in the opposite direction as me, trying to make his way over to English. A big, bulky boy shoves past him. “Asshole, can’t you hear me?” He shouts as he walks by.

            My tumultuous emotions coupled with the rudeness of the boy pile on and contribute to need to get away from it all. God, I can’t wait till college. Can’t wait to get away from everything.

            “Hey, where were you in fifth period?” My brother signs.

            “I was wondering the same thing. I have English fifth. I don’t know why we’re not together. I’ll go talk to the front office.” I sign back.

            He shakes his head, and begins talking again, his hands moving so quickly only I can keep up with the thoughts he’s communicating. “Let’s just wait and see how it goes. If I think it’s too much, we’ll switch our schedules around.”

            “That seems like a good idea.” I sign back. He flashes me the sweetest, biggest smile that makes my heart feel lighter. He gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. As he begins walking away, he signs one more thing. “It’ll be ok. Love you.” So he noticed that something was wrong. Only him, out of three thousands kids that go to this school.

            Keeping my head down, I walk to my next class. I keep mentally replaying everything that happened in English. God, please give me your guidance. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this day without You. Thunder cracks in the sky as the dark clouds keep rolling in. So is that a no, God?

            I don’t know. I don’t know about anything right now even though it’s only the first day of senior, and that uncertainty is a scary, scary feeling to deal with.

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So whatcha thankkk? You like it? No? Yes?

Lemme break it down.

Hamza and Eiliyah -- they've known each other since 7th grade. They are friends and enemies rolled into one. They're relationship is VERY complex but it was NEVER romantic.

Harun -- Eiliyah's twin brother

Krish Mehta -- residential idiot based off of someone I know

Vote, comment, fan, add to your library, everything. You know why? Because it motivates me.

I think I'm going to upload the memory supplement tomorrow? What do you think? Wanna know more about Hamza? ;)

Love,

Ash ♥