New part! I'm on a roll :P

"Cheating is so dishonest. We scron at people that 'cheat' on their spouses. But when you cheat in school, you're cheating yourself. And don't you have a duty to yourself to be the best you can be?"  -- Ash

           When I was younger, I loved reading teenage fiction novels. You know, Meg Cabot, Sarah Dessen type stuff. But the funny things about those books, looking back at it now, is that every moment of the character’s life is eventful—something is always happening.

            But the thing about real life is that half the time it’s boring, and the other half of the time is when stuff actually happens. There are days we just float on by, and days when it feels like a bunch of stuff has just been crammed all in one day.

            It’s ridiculous I tell you. The first two weeks of school pass by uneventfully; the first day of school was soon forgotten. The only thing eventful about my life? The A I got on my chemistry test.

            One Saturday three weeks after the first day of school and my going off on Krish, my dad is reading the newspaper. “The carnival is in two weeks! Look at this. ‘Local Muslims Hold Annual Carnival’ says the headline.” While he’s talking, he looks up and talks so that Harun can read his lips. When Harun still looks a little confused, Dad sets down his paper and signs the information to him. Harun nods in understanding and then grins excitedly.

            We usually go to the carnival every year, but last year Harun broke his leg playing soccer so he missed out. The twins (my nephews) Musa and Isa both love the carnival, so we usually all go with my sister’s family. Whenever my brothers are home from medical school, they come to, if they can.

            “What time is it?” Harun asks. My mom walks over to the table and sets down a plate of scrambled eggs.

            “Nine to three.” She responds.

            “Oh! That’s going to be so much fun.” I say that as I sign it. That’s the funny thing about sign language—I can’t just talk or just sign. I usually do both at the same time.

            “All proceeds go to charity relief to various countries all over the world, says Imam Abdullah Mahmood.” Dad reads off from the newspaper.

            I sign that to Harun because he couldn’t read Dad’s lips very well on account of Dad having his head down as he read. “Are we all going?” Harun asks.

            Mom and Dad exchange glances. “We don’t know yet, Harun. You should go with Juwaryah, Jamal and the boys. How about this? We’ll come by later. You two should sign up to help set up.” Mom responds.

            Set up? “Can we get CAS hours for it?” I ask the same time Harun signs the same question. We grin at each other.

            “Yes. I think it would count as Action hours. How many more do you need to meet your IB requirement?” Mom asks while signing.

            “Five more action hours.” Harun replies.

            “I need ten.” I say and sign.

            “Fatty.” Harun teases. I glare at him.

            “Not all of us can be as athletic as you.”

            “True. And nobody can be as hot as me either.” He mock fans himself. My mother shoots him a look and he grins back at her. This is an entirely different side to Harun that nobody at school ever sees: this sweet, funny, annoying, sarcastic, teasing part of him. It’s amazing how we think we know someone just because we’ve spent four years with them at school, but we really don’t.

            “Ok! I have your summer reading tests graded!” I’m sitting in English class again, and Mrs. Winthrop is grinning at us like getting our tests back is a good thing.

            “Oh God.” Remember that YOLO guy from the first day of school? Yeah, him. He groans loudly. “I don’t want to get those back.”

            “You all did fine.” Mrs. Winthrop says, and picks up a tall stack of white paper. “Tanner, I’m sure you did fine as well.” Yup, the guy’s name is Tanner Maxwell and we went to the same middle school for one year before he moved.

            I’ve never had a class with him until now. Never even saw him around school, though I’ve heard so many things about him from other people.

            “I know I didn’t, Mrs. Winthrop. Which is why it sucks, because you’re my favorite teacher.” Tanner fake pouts. Oh good Lord. Mrs. Winthrop just laughs as she hands back Jai and Nicole—all the people in the front row basically—their tests back.

            Bismillah. I think. Allah, please let my grade be good. Inshallah. A slight gust of cool, air-conditioned air blows in my face as my paper sails and lands on my desk. I turn it over. A twenty-five out of twenty-five on the writing. Thank God.

            The multiple choice part that’s attached is not as good. “Add the denominators and numerators of both scores and that’s what’s in the grade book.” Mrs. Winthrop explains. I calculate that mentally and double-check with my calculator.

            “Jennifer, do you have a calculator?” I look up to see who’s talking to Jennifer, who sits to my right. It’s Hamza. He’s sitting with his legs in front of him but he’s turned around.

            “No, sorry.” Jennifer responds. “My score is pretty easy to calculate.” I hit the equals sign on my calculator and get my score. I set it back down on my desk and look up to see Hamza looking at me, looking at the calculator sitting on my desk.

            He simply turns around and asks Harmony Nguyen if he can borrow her calculator. She nods and searches deep into her backpack as he waits. “You can use mine if you want.” I say. He pauses, turns around, and shakes his head no.

            Well then. That’s cool too. I put my calculator away and start doodling on my test, blocking out the world. What I do every day. When I begin listening again, Carmen-Sofia is asking Mrs. Winthrop something about her older sister who graduated two years ago.

            “Yup, I remember her.” Mrs. Winthrop says, nodding. “She was in the class where I had four sets of identical twins.”

            “Whoa, really?” Marcus asks.

            Mrs. Winthrop nods and puts her hands over her eyes. “Yes. God, that was a nightmare. And there were absolutely no distinguishing features for the girl sets of twins I had. They even parted their hair the same.” The entire class laughs. “And they sounded exactly the same. Same voice. Quiet, too.”

            “That must have been such a pain.” Nicole comments. She flips her hair to get it out of her face and so many of the boys get distracted by it and stare at her dark brown-black hair that hits the small of her back. Jennifer and I look at each other at the same time.

            “Actually, the first set of boy-girl twins I’ve had is this year.” That statement registers in my subconscious but don’t really process anything until I see Mrs. Winthrop pointing at me. “Yes. You and your brother.”

            “Uh…what?” The entire class starts laughing. As I curse at myself for doodling, I make the connection.

            Mrs. Winthrop just smiles at me, which makes me feel even worse for not paying attention. “I was just saying that you and Harun are the first boy-girl twin pair I’ve taught in IB, and I’ve been teaching for twelve years now.”

            “Oh. Wow.” That’s the only thing I can come up with. My cheeks are still a little red. God, sometimes I’m so awkward. Everyone turns around. Harmony Nguyen and Hamza both turn around and stare at me and then glance at each other.

            “You know,” Mrs. Winthrop says thoughtfully. “You and your brother are so alike. I don’t ever think I’ve met twins that similar.”

            “Ohhh, Eiliyah, hear that? She think you a dude!” Zayd woops. An entire row of brown girls giggle. Oh God.

            “Guys, that’s not nice.” Mrs. Winthrop says easily. That’s the thing about teachers trying to defend you—they mean well but to them, it’s just a meaningless comment. To the person receiving the comment…it’s a whole other story because they share a history with whoever said it. And Zayd and I go way, way back. Unfortunately.

            The class just laughs. None of these kids get it, get what exactly, what event in my life that Zayd is referring to. So funny how you can be around people who have so much between them and not even realize it.

            “Well, they like…are always around each other.” Nicole says.

            Mrs. Winthrop replies with an “I’ve never seen them together but you two sit in the same seat, and you both never pay attention. You two are both always staring out the window.” She grins as she says that. Oh. So she noticed.

            “Oh. Yeah. We both like the sky.” I laugh a little bit and thankfully, she smiles back. Just as she’s replying, Harun walks in. Allah (God), what are the odds of that happening? It’s weird, how life works out like that. Like the movies. Except my life thus far doesn’t have a peachy, happy ending.

            “What are you doing here?” I sign. I can immediately sense everyone looking at us in interest. It happens. You get used to it. When we were little, people would gather around us at the store wanting to watch us signing to each other.

            “Everyone is staring at us again.” I sign as Harun sets down a heavy box next to the window, close to the desk where Hamza is sitting. He immediately sits up and crosses his arms.

            “It’s because of my sexy body.” Harun grins. Out loud, he says to Mrs. Winthrop, “Mrs. Williamson says that’s all the SAT stuff you have to pass out.”

            It’s weird hearing my brother’s voice. I’m so used to him talking to me with his hands that hearing his voice is just…different.

            “Whoaaa! He can talk!” Tanner says with his mouth open. It’s that jerk-face-innocent look. The I’m-going-to-pretend-I’m-stupid-so-I-don’t-get-called-a-jerk look. Harun, who’s facing the opposite direction, can’t see his lips moving.

            Almost all the IB kids have heard Harun talk—rarely, but they’ve definitely heard him. It’s not a big deal, but of course Tanner has to make it like it is. Tanner is one of those people that gets a kick out of making other people feel uncomfortable. He’s never had many classes with Harun either.

            Mrs. Winthrop seems to have missed the comment too because she’s writing something down for Harun to take back. All eyes are on me again, waiting to see how I’ll defend Harun.

            “Bro, you can actually pull off standing smart sometimes. He can talk. You both surprise people with your abilities.” Harun turns as somebody stomps his foot and goes “Ohhhh!” He works off of those vibrations to get around.

            “What’d you say?” He asks, his hands moving rapidly.

            I look at Harun. I look at the boy who said that to Tanner. “It wasn’t me.” I say, swallowing. “It was Hamza.” Harun’s normal composure falters a little. Mine does too. The only difference is he shows it. I refuse to.

            It’s not until Newspaper class that I see just the person I want to see—Janessa. I don’t have many close school friends, but if I was asked who my closest school friend was, I would say it was Janessa. She’s the only one—besides Omar, Zayd, Christian, and Hamza—that’s ever been to my house.

            My house, my personal life—my life outside of school—it’s like this whole other world. It’s not a world that I want to share with many people, but Janessa is definitely different.

            I met her freshman year but never became good friends with her until sophomore year, until we found out that we were both the only sophomores on newspaper staff.

            “Hey!” Janessa comes over and hugs me when I walk into the room. She’s a hugger, I’m not. Somehow she’s managed to convert me.

            “Hey! What’s up?”

            “Nothing much. I got the articles sorted. Got here kind of early. We have to edit ten each.” I wince. Oh God. Ten articles. Most of them are from our newbie reporters; today is their first deadline. That, along with the piles of homework I have…I’ll never get to Juwaryah’s house early enough to practice with Jamal and the twins.

            The bell rings and our editor-in-chief, Ash, tells us what deadlines are coming up. Ethan and Drew, the other two copy editors, sit next to me and Janessa. We all sit in a line and sort out articles.

            We begin working as soon as we’re dismissed to do our individual assignments. The new sophomore reporters are loud and rambunctious, and after it takes me three attempts to read one sentence, I can’t take it any more. “Guys, you might want to go out and do some interviews for the next deadline.” I suggest. It’s not their turn to write, but the ones that do have to write drag their friends along.

            “Tactful way to tell them to shut the heck up.” Drew says, smiling at me. I grin back.

            “I try.” We resume working on our articles. As I cross out verbs and write them in their correct tenses, I hear loud rap music playing. I think Ethan and I glance up at the same time.

            Matthew’s chilling there, listening to music with his headphones in. His eyes are closed, and the bright white headphones are a sharp contrast to his dark brown hair. “Matthew, turn it down.” Janessa calls out. He can’t hear her.

            I sigh, reach over, and take out one of his earbuds. Rude, but none of us can concentrate. If we don’t edit well, our grades suffer massively, as well as the reputation of our publication. “Dude, you messin’ wit ma flow.” Matthew states. He looks mad but his eyes have a hint of playfulness in them.

            “Stop tryna talk like youse a rappa.” I shoot back at him. He laughs.

            “Touché, home brah.” Janessa erupts in laugher next to me. Matthew just grins, but only she and I know why she’s laughing so hard.

            This is Matthew’s second year on staff, and we were both reporters last year. He was in our grade, but he’s not in IB, so we never saw him around before. And Matthew is fine with a capital F. Seriously. He rocks white boy prep. And Janessa’s laughing because I just got friendzoned. Or home-brah-zoned. Not that I mind. All boys on the face of this planet are officially friendzoned until May, when I graduate.

            The phone rings and our newspaper advisor, Mrs. Lockwood, picks it up. We continue working until she says, “Kait, your mom is in the front office. You’re getting picked up.” Kait, a small girl with a bohemian style of dressing, leaps up.

            “Yay! See ya guys!” She puts on her backpack and then stops abruptly. I mindlessly cross out a word and write another one in its place. “I have to get this interview form filled out…and it’s due today.”

            Mrs. Lockwood looks at the paper. “It’s fine this time. Just ask someone to do it for you. But Kait, next time you need to get this done beforehand.”

            “Hey, can you get me that stapler?” Drew nods over at the stapler on the table in front of us. I nod and walk over to the table.

            “Eiliyah!” Kait says suddenly. I nearly jump. Damn this girl can be loud. And she’s freaking spastic too.

            “Uh…yeah?”

            “Can you get this guy’s signature on this interview sheet? I already filled out all the stuff. You just need to go to his class and get his signature.” Kait is looking at me with her huge blue eyes, so pleading, that I can’t say no.

            “Sure, no problem.” I blindly take the paper from her and sit back down. “I could use a break from editing anyway.” I smile at her and she grins back.

            “Thank you so much! Bye guys! See you tomorrow! Mwa!” She blows kisses at everyone as she skips out of the room. This girl is too cheerful for her own good.

            “What a spaz.” Matthew says, shaking his head.

            Ethan just shakes his head. “She’s annoying.”

            “Everyone that talks is annoying to you.” I point out. He shrugs and goes back to his work. I look at the clock. We have fifteen minutes of class left.

            “I should go get this interview sheet filled out.” I glance down at the form. On the far left it says who the student’s seventh period teacher is. Thank God Kait remembered to ask and fill that out. Next to it is the grade. This person is a senior. As my eyes shift to the far left of the page to read the name, I freeze. It’s an instantaneous reaction. The minute I see the name, my heart stops. My brain blanks out.

            Janessa looks over at me when I grow very, very quiet. She glances at the name on the interview sheet. She freezes as well, but she’s quicker to recover. “If it’s awkward for you…” She trails off. “Want me to do it?” She asks softly, so Matthew, Ethan, and Drew won’t hear.

            For this weird reason, I can’t let her do this for me. I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it.” I smile at the boys when they look up as I get up. “See you guys in a few.” I walk out the door, into the hallway with it’s slanting planes, my mind screaming at me not to do this, not to see him, as my feet blindly carry me forward.

            His classmates and teacher all look up when I walk inside. I hold up my press pass. “Hello, my name is Eiliyah and I’m on newspaper staff. I have something that I need one of your students to sign. It’s already filled out and everything, so he doesn’t have to do it.” The science teacher, Mr. Potter, assesses me for a few seconds and then shrugs.

            “Sure. Who do you need?”

            I swallow, though it’s unnoticeable to them. “Omar Khan.” The whole class quiets down. I turn towards the class. My eyes slide over all his classmates that are looking at me in curiosity until I spot him. He’s sitting in the middle of the room, in the back.

            His black hair looks glistening brown and golden from the sunlight streaming from the back window by the lab area. That, coupled with his dark brown eyes, make him look like an angel, even though he’s anything but.

            “What do I have to sign?” I walk over and hand him the paper.

            He arrogantly reads it. “You got a pen?” He asks lazily.

            I shake my head. “No.”

            “Why would you come here with something for me to sign without a pen?” He cockily flips his head over to look at AJ Mehta. He and AJ start laughing, leaving me standing there.

            “Why would you come to bio class without a pen?” I shoot back. It’s so funny how I sound so much stronger than I feel.

            “Aye girl, don’t say nothing to my man over here.” AJ says.

            “Just sign the damn form.”

            “You mad bro?” Omar asks with his eyebrows raised. He reclines back in his chair but slowly signs the paper. He thrusts it back at me. It flies down to the floor. He just looks at it and doesn’t pick it up, even though it’s closer to him. Finally, I bend down and pick it up.

            With as much dignity as I can muster, I turn my back and walk out, walk out pretending that Omar and I were never best friends, walk out pretending that Omar was never the first boy—hell, the first person—to see me as Eiliyah, not Harun’s sister or Harun’s twin or the undeserving, luckier one who should have gotten sick instead of her brother, walk out pretending he never, ever took my heart and broke it, walk out pretending like he never took those broken pieces and trampled all over them with his Air Jordans.

            Outside the classroom, the sun smiles down on me. Inside my body, my heart shudders at how heavy a burden it carries.

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