Aye aye! You ready for dis boii? <-- ghetto fail?

"It's like we try to look at the complexity of life through the mask of simplicity and the simplicity of life through the mask of complexity. Interesting." -- Ash, while walking to Newspaper class musing about the world and why Nicki Minaj is famous.

           The IB social structure is a peculiar thing. Let me break it down for you. Firstly, you should note that IB is nothing like the rest of American public high school. Not even like AP classes (advanced placement, college level classes).

            IB, as aforementioned, stands for International Baccalaureate. So diversity? Yes. Our classrooms are like someone walked the streets ofNew Yorkand picked up twenty random kids from the streets. You know what you’ll get? You’ll get twenty to twenty-five teenagers in one room, all of who are from a different country.

            Each one of my classes always—and I mean always—consists of the brown kids (Bengali, Pakistani, and Indian), the Asian kids (Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Thai, all the Southeast Asians), a few white kids, one or two black kids, a couple of Hispanic kids, and the random European kids and any other nationality I forgot to mention.

            That’s what it consists of—racially. Seriously, IB kids are all over the place. I’ve been to a church before for community service, and last year and sophomore year, I went to garba with my Hindu friends (garba is a religious dance). I’ve had non-Muslim friends come to Eid prayer and attempt to pray. The only thing I have left to do? Go to a synagogue. I’ve even got the Hindu temple covered (went there for the youth group’s project to make care packages for the homeless).

            Then there’s the social structure. That’s where Omar and Krish are at the top. The four Mehtas—Krish, Raj, AJ, and Akash—exclusively hang out with the Khans—Omar, Zayd, Amaan, and AZ. Amaan and AZ are the nicest, and so is Raj. I’m closest to them out of everyone in the little octet.

            These eight guys are in high school terms, the s***. Not many people date in IB but flirting? Hell yeah. It’s like a flirt fest. And these eight guys are always the targets.

            After them, a little bit lower, there are their other friends, which would include Drew, Connor, David, Nathan, Hamza, Christian, and any boy that is remotely smart and/or cute.

            Then there’s the most popular girls, the girls that can show up to school with a plain T-shirt and jeans and still look smoking hot. They don’t necessarily date the Hot-Oct (long story as to how that name came to be, involving chemistry), but there’s definitely that friendship and flirtation.

            Girls that are at the same level as the Hot-Oct (I feel pathetic for even referring to them as that, but this is for the sake of time. I don’t want to be listing out all eight of the boys’ names) include Harmony Nguyen and Carmen-Sofia Montez. These are gorgeous girls. Not just pretty or cute. No. These girls are nearly professional dancers with the potential to model if they wanted to.

            Freshman year, Hamza would never be at the caliber of the Hot-Oct in terms of hanging out with the girls that the Hot-Oct hung out with. I mean, Hamza was friends with Omar, Zayd, Amaan, and AZ from the masjid but girls like Harmony wouldn’t look at him like they started to junior year and now, senior year.

            Aside from all those kids, you have all the little subgroups of close friends—the quiet girls, the chem kids, the math geniuses, all that. Then you have people like me, who just float from group to group.

            Harun is more popular than me. Maybe not Tanner Maxwell popular (he would also be the kind of boys Carmen-Sofia and Harmony hang out with), but up semi up there.

            The funny thing about Harun, the thing I love, is that he could be hell of a lot more popular than he aspires to be. And that’s just it, what I love. He doesn’t aspire to be that because he understands that there are more important things.

            Freshman year, Harmony had the biggest crush on him. And let me just tell you: Harmony is the epitome of East Asian gorgeousness. That’s what initially spiked Harun’s popularity: the fact that mostly everyone knew that Harmony was smitten. And Harun could have really used that to boost himself up to Omar Khan-level popularity. But he chose against it, which is what makes him the strongest out of all of us, in my opinion.

            The strongest of mankind are those that pass up worldly pleasures and desires because they understand that there is something beyond the realm of the seen.

            And where would I stand, you may ask? What are my almost claims-to-fame? I have plenty. Because I’m so lucky that every year, there’s always some big rumor to go around about me. Usually, that involves me liking some other guy or dating some other guy.

            For those of you that are wondering why, I’ll hold off on explaining that for a while until I paint a better picture of my life and what I deal with every day.

            See, freshman year, I punched a guy in the face—actually, it was AJ Mehta. Yup, punched him square in the nose. My eldest brother Zubair gets brownie points for teaching me how to do that. Technically, I was only allowed to use it on boys that were attempting to rape me, but is mind-rape an exception answer? His idiotic thoughts were forcing their way into my head. So I did something about it.

            The conflict, whatever it was on, was back when both me and AJ were younger and less mature than we are now. He said something, I snapped because I was tired of all the crap he kept spitting out all year in English class, and boom! Next thing I know, blood is squirting out of his nose.

            That earned me the respect of the kids that thought AJ was an idiot too. But you can imagine the backlash from Omar and Krish, right? Actually, they were quieter about the whole incident. But LindaRosa Quintanilla and Hamza were the ones to react the most strongly. They were there when I punched AJ.

            Before you wonder why they would react the most strongly, you have to realize that Imma thug. I gots a lotta enemies cuz dey hatin’ on ma swag. Ok, no. I have no swag to speak of. The reason they reacted so strongly is because…well, you have to understand that that was an off-year for me and Hamza. We nearly hated each other, and LindaRosa Quintanilla and I weren’t too peachy either.

            And that is the abridged version of the social structure of the IB graduating class atOkawonHigh Schoolin sunny ol’Florida. I know, looking at it from an objective point of view that I could be up there with Christian’s rank of popularity at least, if I wanted to. But I rejected it, just like I rejected the Art-Farts in middle school, and I paid the price big time for it.

            The funny thing is, we were all friends. In middle school, I knew Omar and Amaan from the mosque, even though we didn’t go to the same school. We were all in Sunday school together, along with Sayeeda and Harun. The guys were all awkward around Harun. They didn’t know how to act. But Omar stood out.

            It’s break time. Sayeeda and I do the usual. We go over to Harun. Technically boys and girls don’t intermingle at the masjid, but all the boys are effectively avoiding my brother. It’s like he has a disease. You know what that feels like for my heart? When my mom boils potatoes and takes a knife and slashes them down the middle. Yeah, that.

            We sit there next to him talking and he talks back, but I know that he’s hurt by the pain in his eyes.

            The world is a superficial place. One thing, one stupid, insignificant little detail like being deaf is enough to make everyone avoid you like you’re sick and contagious. Imagine being a kid and finding that out. Almost as worse but not quite, imagine being that kid’s twin sister, having to learn that. Ignorance cuts deep.

            “A boy is walking towards us.” Sayeeda signs. She’s not as proficient as I am, but she’s faster than most. Harun and I have our back to whoever is approaching. Sayeeda’s eyes widen. “It’s Omar.” She signs. Omar? As in Omar Khan?

            “Salam.” I hear a voice say. I turn around. Harun senses footsteps from the slight vibrations in the gym floor where we’re sitting.

            “Walaikum’assalam.” Sayeeda and I say, returning his wishing of peace upon us. It’s the standard Muslim greeting. He clears his throat but he doesn’t look awkward.

            “Salam, Harun.” Omar says. He sits down next to Harun and looks at him when he talks.

            The thing is, a lot of people get awkward around deaf people, and I don’t necessarily blame them. Not many people know what to do. Harun talks regularly because he wasn’t born deaf, but reading lips isn’t that easy because so many words require almost the same lip movement. It helps if you look directly at him, but most people are so nervous or unsure that they don’t realize that. What I loved about Omar is that he was courteous enough to do that.

            “Hey.” Harun says. I motion for him to speak louder. He tries again, and Sayeeda and I wince as his voice echoes around the gym. A lot of kids turn and shoot us weird looks but Omar doesn’t look like he cares.

            “Want to play lacrosse with me at my house next week?” That’s how he said it, just outright like that. Omar, I mean. Harun managed to keep his composure, his face expressionless, but my heart was pounding.

            The sad thing is, most people aren’t genuine, which is why I’m so overprotective of Harun. I don’t want him getting hurt by people just taking pity on him. And I wasn’t too sure about Omar’s intentions. We were in what…fifth or sixth grade at the time? Fifth grade. I met Omar in fifth grade. Harun had been deaf for five or six years at the time. He was still mastering lip reading and sign language.

            Omar mimes using a lacrosse stick and catching a ball. Harun’s eyes immediately light up in understanding. “That’s cool.” He says. His voice is a little too loud, but it’s not like he can tell. Some people turn and look at us, and Sayeeda just glares at them until they turn away.

            “But,” Omar says. “You’ve got to teach me how to speak sign language.” Harun doesn’t catch that. His eyes furrow in concentration until he gives up and asks me what Omar said. I quickly sign it to him and he smiles when he understands.

            “Only if you teach me how to play lacrosse.” He signs. Omar looks over at me.

            “He’s saying only if you teach him how to play lacrosse.” I explain.

            Omar imitates the sign for teach. “What does that mean?”

            “Teach.”

            “Teach.” He echoes. He does the sign again. “Cool! I already know a word!” He looks so excited, his smile wide and genuine, like the warmth of the sun on a fall day.

            Here’s the thing about girls that is totally unfair. I’m going to just spill this secret to any boy reading this: we are suckers for adorable-ness. We don’t know what it is, but if you’re adorable, that’s just it. We’re sold. Done for. In love. Whatever you want to call it.

            And I think it’s because of that mothering instinct in is. Most of us girls just love to mother. So if you are adorable and remind us of a little kid at the right times, there’s a high chance we’ll fall for you.

            That’s the way it was with Omar. I recognized that spark in him, that little something, and from then on, I was a goner.

            It’s not the fact that he was so sweet to my brother—that’s not it. I just loved the way he stood out but what made me like him the most was that innocence he had to him. That excitement he had when he first started learning sign language, all the hours he patiently taught me, Sayeeda, and of course Harun to play lacrosse, all those moments he’d flash that lopsided grin with that one dimple in his left cheek…it was all that.

            We were friends for four years. From fifth grade to ninth. Now he’s just somebody from my past, but I’d be lying if I said I considered him nothing to me.

            I have so many good times associated with Omar, but it’s over, and I acknowledge I’m never going to get that time back.

            How does he sleep so peacefully at night knowing I still think of the times we shared, lying awake staring at the moon because I can’t sleep? Damn those sweet memories.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry if it was uneventful.

Have a wonderful day,

Ash ♥