a/n: i guess i should clear this up since i keep getting asked - this is not SAAS's spin-off. it is completely different lol. querido is a spanish term of endearment and means dear, i believe, just a heads up. habibi - my love (to a boy); habibti - my love (to a girl) (both of those are arabic)

dedicated to fantasical for the adorable cover she made for me LOOK AT IT it's so cute dammit

c h a p t e r 3 : every calendar's days are numbered

In the dim light and heady aroma of the rickety old restaurant we're currently in, Theo refuses to meet my eyes while we wait for our to-go orders to be called. We're sitting across from each other at a small, square, two person table that has one leg shorter than the rest and seems to squeak in protest every time I breathe out.

I take the opportunity to stare at him while he determinedly focuses on the tacky football-themed decor. He's very handsome. I believe his mother is Maldivian, and his father is a white American.

His heritage is clear to see, however. He has this skin that's a shade or two darker than caramel and a head of unruly, inky black curls that constantly fall all over his eyes. He has hyperpigmentation around his elbows and neck, and I can see faint scars marring the otherwise smooth skin of his hands. His eyebrows are thick and his lips are full and his nose is large, and I think, not for the first time, that if this guy was even the slightest bit nicer to me, I would bend over for him in three seconds flat.

I feel no shame. Theodore Badem, enigma aficionado, is a sex god, at least in my perspective. He has this broad shouldered, slightly ruffled appearance. Very slight whisper of muscle on his arms and back, but dressed in the kind of clothes that don't hint at anything. Looser fitting; dull colors. Understated. He's beautiful.

It isn't that Theo is outright feared or loved by the student body. I wouldn't even go so far as to say he is particularly well-known. He's beautiful, sure, and he's got a bit of a hot temper that lands him in trouble more often than not. I think he might run cross country, but he generally doesn't involve himself with many things. Simply keeps to himself and his friends.

Simply a boy I've known for ten years, who's hated me for nine. Our interactions alternate between him flipping me off and him ignoring me, and I don't remember the last time I saw him smile at me.

I'm surprised he hasn't tried to tackle me or something me in order to get his Rubik's cube back, but so far he hasn't even mentioned it, which is even more surprising. The whole reason I thought he came with me is to get it back, and yet I still have it, albeit transferred from my bra to my pocket.

But either way, here he is now, sitting across from me as we wait for our food, completely unaware of the thorough, borderline creepy ogling I've been engaged in for the past few minutes.

I try to decide how to get him to ask me to tutor him, instead of me telling him, and I'm also trying to think of the best way to tutor him without somehow ending up with his fist in my face. Not that I think he'll hit me, because that requires physical contact and if my perception is correct, I think he's more scared of touching me than I am of goats, which really says something. Ironic, I know, laugh it up. An Arab who doesn't like goats, that's so funny.

"Zu! Get your cute little butt here!" Marta, the owner, chirps, a paper bag clutched in her hands.

I get up without waiting for Theo and jog on over to the pickup station. "Thanks, Marta," I say cheerfully, shoving a twenty dollar bill into her hand. "Keep the change. How are you? How's business?"

The adorable middle-aged lady smiles at me with all her teeth. "Business is going as usual," she says. "Especially since we added burritos to the menu! Mi madre never made those for me, but you Americans seem to love them!" Her dark brown eyes twinkle, and I laugh at her amusement at how us Americans change everything.

"What can I say? Nothing hits the spot like your burritos, Mar-"

"Oi, Chatty Cathy," Theo interrupts quietly. His mouth is right next to my ear, and I jump in surprise at his proximity. "Stop making friends with everyone before we're late."

I raise my eyebrows. "Don't be so rude. Aren't you at least gonna say hi to Marta?"

He groans. "For fuck's sake, how do you know every single person in this city?" I look over my shoulder to frown at him, and he shakes his head in exasperation. "Hello, Marta," he says politely, plastering a charming smile on his face. I'm slightly taken aback by his abrupt change in mood, and I'm even more taken aback by how handsome he is when he smiles.

Marta seems surprised too, only just now noticing him. "Hello, querido," she says kindly.

"Well, we really must be going, this nerd needs his school," I joke, nodding at Theo, who drops his smile to scowl at me. I put my hands on the counter and jump up a little so I can lean over and kiss Marta's cheek. "See you later!"

"Bye, Zu!"

I toss Theo his burrito when we make it out of the dimly lit restaurant into the brightness of the afternoon sun. Almost immediately after being exposed to the heat, I have to wipe the sweat off my forehead and grimace. "I hate hot weather," I say.

"Then you know how I feel about you," he mutters unkindly.

I wince at his reply but cover my hurt by slightly unwrapping my burrito and shoving it into my mouth. I moan slightly, because after being hungry the entire day, the rice and meat and beans really hit the spot.

After a moment of walking, Theo says, no, demands, "Give me my Rubik's cube back."

Ah, there it is. "No," I say gravely.

He growls. "Why did you make me come with you then, if you were just gonna screw with me?"

Noticing the way he scarfs down his food, I raise my eyebrows. "And yet you're grateful, because it ended with you plus food."

"Speaking of," he says, unsurprisingly glaring at me, "did you pay?" I ignore him and continue eating. "Zunaira." I realise that he has never said my name in any other tone besides angry or annoyed.

"Chill out," I grumble through a mouthful. "It's not a big deal - it's a burrito. Just eat it and shut up."

He grumbles incoherently beside me, but I don't pay attention. "Can you answer my question?" he finally asks. "Why did you make me come with you?"

"I didn't make you," I correct. "You came of your own accord."

"For fuck's sake-"

He will not let me eat in peace. "Theodore, my love, the light of my life, my other half, if you do not fucking shut up and let me eat, I'm going to trip you up and shove you down the sewage drain."

"My love?" he repeats. Of course he chooses to focus on my sarcastic terms of endearment and not the threat. "I don't like you."

I snort. "What, you trying to convince me or you?" I ask wearily. It gets tiring when he does this. I honestly have no idea what I did to him to make him so hostile, but I suppose this is my own fault. I know I should just stay away from him - his negative vibes are too much for me. He may be fun to tease, but only in small doses, only for small periods of time.

We reach the school then, and I toss my rubbish in the bin. I don't look back at Theo, and instead shove my hands in my pockets and trudge back into the school building. I push my glasses back over my head, because without the nose pad, the pad arm is digging into my nose, and it hurts like a bitch.

"Zunaira! Zunaira!"

"What?" I snap, but the fierceness is impeded by my blasted sneeze. "What is it?"

He scuffs his shoe on the floor, not meeting my eyes. I'm pleased to notice that he seems slightly nervous. Unsure. "Will you tutor me?" he asks.

I stop and stare at him, taking in how he breathes heavily, how his hands are clasped tightly together. He hasn't said a nice word to me since the second grade when he offered me his crayons when I forgot mine at home. But he's done what I wanted, he asked me to tutor him. My gaze sweeps over him once more. "No."

***

I sit at the dinner table, my four year old sister Suraiya settled in my lap. I stare suspiciously at the part of my father I can see over his newspaper, but he seems unconcerned. "Why are you home?" I ask.

Baba pulls the newspaper down enough so he can peer at me loftily. I grimace. "Why can't I come home early once in awhile?"

"Because 'once in awhile' is never for you," I say. "You've never come home this early before."

Suraiya squirms in my lap, so I set her down and let her toddle away. Mama enters then with some pita and hummus in her hands, which she sets down in front of me. I cross my arms and Baba bites his lip, setting down the paper on the table. "Having intuitive children is tiring. Can't keep anything from you, can I?" he says. I glare, my mind whirring with possibilities of what he's doing at home, none of which are good.

Mama sits down beside him and pats Baba on the shoulder, which seems to encourage him. He sighs and his shoulders slump. I feel my heart drop. Something's definitely the matter, something's definitely wrong.

"I lost my job," he says finally.

My eyes widen, and my hand abruptly moves to the pita so I can rip it apart with my teeth. "Seriously?" I ask. Baba has worked for that stupid IT company for years, and now he's being laid off?

"Yes, Zunaira," he says, his already heavy brow creasing even further. "In simple terms, my CEO was found to be embezzling, and he had no choice but to declare bankruptcy. The company's dead now." Mama frowns worriedly and clutches onto Baba's arm.

"What does that mean for us?" I ask with a frown of my own. I shake my hair out, but my hand remains on my scalp, scratching it anxiously. It's hard enough for us already. Baba got his degree in Lebanon, but it's useless here. It doesn't translate the same in the United States, and so even though he has his Master's, he gets paid much less than he should be.

"Habibti, I don't want you to worry," Baba says sternly. "It's not your place to worry. We'll be okay."

"Baba," I groan. "Just tell me!"

He crosses his arms and leans back, regarding me. I stare back defiantly and copy his movements. "It'll be a bit harder to find a job with this on my record," he says carefully. "But it won't be impossible, so don't worry, alright?"

Don't worry? I roll my eyes. "I'll find a job, too," I promise.

At this, Mama shakes her head. "No, habibti. I need you at home to take care of Suraiya, Musa, and Hudaifa. I got Stella to increase my hours, so I won't be home as much, and Baba will be out job hunting and on interviews."

"Come on," I plead. "Let me help out a little, yeah? Come on, Mummy, please."

"You'll be helping by staying and home and watching the kids," Mama says firmly. There is no room in her voice for argument, so I throw my hands up in the air in frustration, shove an entire pita in my mouth, and depart upstairs to my room.

I sit in the middle of my bed and chew thoughtfully on the dry pita. Suraiya waddles into my room, yanking my two year old little brother Musa behind her. "Where's Hud, habibti?" I ask her, patting the seat next to me. Suraiya lets go of Musa so she can struggle onto my bed, and I reach over to pick up the other little tot. Musa has mine and Mama's dark curly hair, and Suraiya has the thick, lighter and straighter hair of my father and Hudaifa.

"I don't know," she squeaks, out of breath from the task of getting up next to me.

I stare at the two of them. They're so cute. I don't think I can even trust anyone to look after them, but I think the situation is worse than Baba's letting on. I think I'll really need to get a job if I want to be able to afford college, not to mention the payments I still need to make on my car.

"How was pre-K?" I ask. Suraiya doesn't answer, too invested in pulling out all the thread off of my comforter. I turn to Musa instead, who's reaching up to tug on my septum piercing - his favourite activity after walking around naked.

I push his chubby hand away and roll off my bed, making him giggle. I swing him onto my hip and bend so that Suraiya can jump onto my back, and then I walk out of my room in search of Hud.

I find the ten year old in his room, nose buried in his Nintendo DS, the sounds of gunshots erupting as he viciously attacks the buttons. "What's up, Hud?" I say, not for the first time wondering how much less violent my life would be like if Call of Duty didn't have a DS version.

He pauses his game to glare at me, but when I raise my eyebrows challengingly, he looks a little sheepish. "Nothing," he says. "Mrs. Parker gave me a sticker in class today, though."

"Really?" I exclaim. "Nice!"

"Nice!" Musa repeats. I trundle over to Hud and reach out my hand for a high five, and then suddenly Suraiya and Musa are scrambling to pile on him too. I grin and leave him to fend for himself while I go back downstairs.

"I'm going out, Mama!" I yell, rushing out before she has a chance to yank me back in. "I'll be back later!" Anyways, I still hear her screaming for me to text her my location every ten minutes. Classic Mama.

I get in my car and speed off to the closest strip mall, the one that has Safeway and a bunch of other mom-and-pop shops. I park, very badly might I add, and walk into the first one I see. A thrift store for books, CDs, and DVDs.

"Hi," I say to the bored girl at the counter. "Are you hiring?"