New chapter! This is easier for me to upload because the chapters are prewritten and short.

"I'm attracted to God and religion because it's so beautiful. But I don't have faith that I'll appreciate that beauty for what it's worth. If I could ask God for just one thing right now, I would ask Him to make me a better person, because good people appreciate beauty the way it deserves to be appreciated." -- Ash

           My cousin Sayeeda and I had made plans to meet up at Panera after school, to swap first day of school stories. Usually, this ended in us debating something like religion or social expectations on women or something equally awesome and nerdy (yup, no clothes or boys in the picture).

            She lives thirty minutes away from me, but goes to a different high school. We could have gone to the same high school if she did IB but she decided not to. I wish she had; battling the imbecilic forces of Krish Mehta would have been a hell of a lot easier.

            “Girl, you be lookin’ fly!” Sayeeda comments when we meet up with each other in Panera. I walk over to where she’s sitting at the front. We hug each other. There’s something about a hug that’s unexplainable. It’s like finding something you lost a long time ago; relief mixed with sweet relish. And I’m not much of a hugger either. But being hugged by a sister is something different.

“So, let’s order, and then get down to business.” She suggests. I nod and give my order to Tongue Piercing Girl over at the front counter (she’s been working here since forever).

            Then, we make our way over to where Burt is, over at the counter where he’s making sandwiches. Ok, so his name isn’t really Burt. It’s Hayden, he’s eighteen, and a college freshman. But Sayeeda and I call him Burt secretly because of our tendency to assign random nicknames to attractive young males that we happen to come across. Hayden is Burt because one time Sayeeda commented by saying “I wouldn’t mind being his Ernie.” Thus, the birth of Burt. Don’t give me that look. I’m sure other girls do it to.

            “Thank you, Hayden!” I saw as he hands me my tuna salad sandwiches.

            “Have a good day, ladies.” He says, nodding. Sayeeda and I exchange that typical mashallah-this-muchacho-es-muy-guapo look and grab a small table in the back.

            “That boy is worthy of so many mashallahs.” Sayeeda says, nodding towards Burt. Mashallah means praise be to God. It’s the phrase we use to describe all things awesome.

            “Tell me about it.”

            Sayeeda grins and fixes her headscarf. Everything about her style is bold yet beautiful. The rings, the brilliantly-colored earrings, the subtle outfits with their splash of fun color. This girl has some serious style going on. No wonder I always catch boys admiring her, even if she’s obvlious.

            “So. You want to start?” I ask.

            She makes a face. “I found out my Spanish teacher was a Marine for twenty years. She is one of the biggest pushovers I’ve ever meet. Ya Allah!” Oh God is right. Pushover teachers are the most tempting to take advantage of—the source of major moral conflicts.

            “What else?”

            “Some dude asked me if I had a bomb strapped underneath this.” She points to her headscarf.

            I shake my head. “Was he joking?”

            “No, he was dead serious.”

            “What’d you say?”

            “I said it was my hair, not a bomb. Then I grinned at him like a creep.”

            “Congrats. Way to advocate that hijabis and Muslimahs in general are sane, healthy, productive members of society.”

            She laughs. “Oh well. So. How was your day? Any Krish or Hamza stories?” She awaits eagerly as she takes a bite out of her Caesar salad.

            I flop back in my seat. “Yeah. Well, Krish was just being Krish.” I tell her the whole story, metaphorically spilling my guts out. That’s the thing about best friends and cousins rolled into one—they just have these kinds of powers over you.

            Sayeeda is very, very quiet when I finish telling my account of what happened. I tell her everything—even the parts about Harun, even though I know that’s going to hurt her more than anything. When I’m done, she sits there with her eyes closed for a while.

            “Sometimes, I wonder if there’s even a god.” She starts.

            That makes me do a double-take. Sayeeda is one of the most religious people I know. “Really? I mean, I question the validity of the concept of a god but…”

            “I never quite understood it before I put on the hijab. I mean, why are there bad things going on when God is supposed to be so benevolent? But I think I understand it now.”

            The sun streaks through the window, casting liquid golden rays on the wood table, a peace offering from Mother Nature. The slanting, narrowing lines remind me of that hallway again, sloping inwards to one definite point. I don’t want it to be like that; that definition, the confinement.

            “What do you make of it?”

            “God is benevolent; we are not. We, in part, operate and run this world. God is just the editor-in-chief of the newspaper, we are the reporters. Make sense? We are bound to make mistakes, which is why there’s an editor up there to proofread and edit everything.”

            It clicks. “Interesting analogy. It’s true.”

            “I just wish…God, seeing Harun having to endure this—hell, seeing you have to endure this enough to make me want to storm over to your school and meet this Krish guy. What an idiot.”

            “Omar and Zayd were part of it too.”

            This does it. The look on her face—wide eyes, stricken—shows what I’m feeling. “Omar would do that?”

            Her shock stings the wound, a rubber band snapping against already broken skin, an already broken heart. “Apparently.”

            “But why he of all people? I know he is what he is now but I never though he’d go that far….” Sayeeda trails off.

            I close my eyes. “People change. That’s it, right?”

            I nod slowly. People change. That’s just it, right? “How can he do that? Has he forgotten everything about the past? Every memory we had together? Hell, the friendship Harun and he shared?”

            “Yeah.” I fiddle with the packet of my jalepeño chips. “What we seem to forget in this world,” Sayeeda begins slowly, looking out the window. “Is that silence does not mean acceptance. Painless or painful.”

            Damned straight. The clouds cover the brilliancy of the sun. The rays disappear, taking their gift of warmth with them.

            When we’re about to leave—I have to give Sayeeda a ride home, my phone buzzes once. I choose to ignore it. It buzzes again. Then a third time. Glancing at my phone, I slide it open. When I see the beginning three numbers, 328, my stomach does a flip. “Sayeeda,” I hiss. “It’s him.” Immediately she’s next to me, reading the screen.

It just amazes me that you think this is a game. I’ve liked you for a long time.

            “That’s romantic yet super creepy at the same time!” Sayeeda squeals. We have a hopeless romantic in aisle I-Don’t-Have-a-Perception-of-Reality.

            “Sayeeda, it’s just flat out creepy. Any secret admirer with decency wouldn’t turn this into a game. He would just come up to me and tell me who he was instead of doing this.”

            “Shut up. He’s shy. You’re kind of intimidating.”

            “I’m just quiet. And I just speak my mind when necessary.”

            “Yeah. Boys like that.”

            “Girl, boys don’t like me.”

            “Mmhmm. Ok, honey boo boo child.”

            The horror, oh the horror. “Ew! Did you just call me the same name as that one bratty girl on Toddlers and Tiaras?”

            We walk outside and finally reach my car. As we continue talking, a loud engine rips through the adjacent parking lot. Our heads turn at the same time. A motorist rips out of the Publix parking lot, several hundred feet in front of us. A mother with two small children was walking her kids back to her car, near where the motorist ripped through with his motorcycle.

            “God, the people in this world.” Sayeeda huffs.

            Shaking my head, I’m about to get in when I spot a pair of bright red shoes. AirJordans. Naturally, I turn to see who it is. After staring for about five seconds, I realize the shoes belong to Christian. “Hey, there’s Christian.” I say, nodding over to my right.

            When we’re seated in the car, Sayeeda turns around to creep on him without the possibility of getting caught. This girl, I swear. Only her. “Ooh! Eiliyah, why didn’t you mention he got all cute over the summer?”

            “Because he gets cuter every summer. And dude, the boy is like my brother. That I can’t hug. Or touch. But you get the idea.”

            Laughing but keeping her gaze on Christian as I back out of the parking lot, she squeals. “Sayeeda! There’s a super cute guy with him. Drive by there.”

            “What? No. We have to go this way.”

            She flops back into her seat and glares at me. “Drive the other way so that we ride past Chris and his friend.”

            “No.”

            “Yes.”

            “No!”

            “What if his cute guy is my soul mate? Then what? You’re just gonna leave a sister hanging?” Oh no, not the pout. I detest it when she does the pout. It makes me give in every time. This girl knows how to push my buttons. She of all people knows that I have a hard time saying no if there’s nothing morally wrong with the situation.

            Ignoring her so that she can’t gloat about winning me over, I swing the car back around and drive the opposite direction, towards where Christian and whoever Sayeeda is talking about are standing. I only glanced at Christian’s friend once, but he had his hood on. It’s probably one of his cousins visiting fromSpain.

            As we drive by, Sayeeda sneaks glances out of the window. I look straight ahead, paying special attention to stopping so cars and pedestrians coming out of Publix and Melina’s Ice Cream Shoppe can get by.

            Sayeeda gasps and smacks my arm. “Ow! What?”

            “Is that…oh my God! Is that Hamza?” Sayeeda sort of knows who Hamza is. She’s seen him a couple of times at the local mosque.

            We’re now way past them. I turn right and glance out through Sayeeda’s window. Two seconds isn’t enough to identify the boy as Hamza. He’s wearing different clothes, but I know it’s him by the car.

            He and Christian are chilling on the hood of Hamza’s dream first car: a Hyundai Elantra. He’s wanted that car for three years. He never shut up about it all through eighth grade and freshman year.

            Speeding up, I book it out of the parking lot. “That was a sufficient waste of time. Got to check out my guy friends?” I ask.

            Sayeeda nods happily. “Dude. Marquenion is such a cool, little town. You see everybody everywhere.”

            “It’s because that’s the only Publix in the whole town. Everybody comes here. If you go grocery shopping, you’re bound to see someone you know. I saw one of my substitute teachers there last week. I found out he likes mozzarella cheese.”

            A light, amused laugh rumbles out of Sayeeda’s chest. “Wow. Why couldn’t I live here? Burnsmont is too big for that sort of thing.”

            “I don’t like it. I see everyone from middle school here. Thank God I go to high school two towns over.”

            She just shakes her head. “Have I ever told you how weird different you are?”

            “Sorta. Yeah, actually. When I dip my French fries in ice cream.”

            We stop at a traffic light. Sayeeda makes a face when I look over at her. “That’s gross.”

            “Yeah, well, everyone says spinach is gross too, but it’s not.”

            The light turns green. My foot gets acquainted with the accelerator once more. We wind small streets until Sayeeda’s house stands in front of us. As I’m drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, Sayeeda invites me in. Well, more like tells me to come in. Hell, what’s there to say? She lives at my house; I live at hers. Such is the sisterhood that we share.

            I’m about to respond when my phone vibrates loudly. Then twice. Then three times.

            “You should get that.” She comments, her eyebrows raised.

            I check my messages. Two from Drew. One from Christian. The Creep’s message is still there, mocking me, the unknown number laced with mystery, with the burning curiosity that comes with not knowing. “Did you ever respond to The Creep?” Sayeeda asks.

            I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t planning to.”

            “Do it!”

            “No. I’ll look like an idiot, Say. Seriously. It’s so obvious it’s a joke.”

            “You don’t know that. Respond.”

            “No.”

            “Yes.”

            “No!”

            “Yes! Do it, or I will.”

            Sighing in frustration, I comply. Yeah right. That’s all I text back. After it sends, I put my phone down to continue talking to Sayeeda.

            Literally, fifteen seconds later, my phone vibrates again. Sayeeda picks it up this time, not seeking my permission. It’s not needed. Familiarity transcends politeness. “He said: You’re harder to crack than any other girl I’ve met. That’s why you stand out.”

            Groaning, I stare up at the slice of sky that I can see from the window. Brilliant blue meets levelheaded dark green; dancing, mingling, balancing each other out in their individual intensities. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

            “Why do you have to deal with it? It’s not that bad.”

            “It’s obviously a fake person.”

            “And? What if it is? But what if it’s a real guy wanting to get to know you.”

            “We can’t date.”

            “I’m well aware of that fact. But whoever it is, have a little fun with it. Just take a chance for once, Eiliyah.”

            I look over at her, not understanding. “Take a chance at what?”

            She stares right back at me. “Being your age. Living your age. Doing something for yourself. For once.”

            The red flags start flying. I shake my head and look out the window to break away from her gaze. I’m avoiding the inevitable, but desperation and life has driven me to the edge of what I can take.

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OHHHH!! DA CREEP IS INTRODUCED! Yeah. Who do you think he is? He goes to Eiliyah's school. You may or may not have met him already ;)

PS: How many of you read my little musings? The bolded quotes at the beginning of the chapter?

*Explanation about the creep being uploaded tomorrow in chapter 6!!