Bad Decisions

Hamza Musa-Ali

            For once all my homework is done. I can’t really believe it, because I keep looking at how clean my desk is. No papers piled in stacks everywhere, no binders open, no textbooks out of their place on my shelf. My backpack is actually zipped up and ready to go for tomorrow morning, and it’s only nine.

            Alicia missed the mark on this one, I think to myself. I’ve never liked Eiliyah. I mean, come on. It’s Eiliyah. There’s something so small town about her. Like, who the hell likes someone they met in middle school? That’s like a one-way ticket to living in the same town all your life, going to a local college, moving out of your parents’ house only to move a few minutes away, marrying someone you’ve known forever, and having a bunch of kids who all go to the same schools that you went to. No fucking thank you. Just the thought of a small town life like that makes my skin break out in sweat even though my fan is on the fastest setting and I’m lying right below it on my bed.

            I groan in frustration. The damn thoughts won’t stop clouding my head. Alicia is wrong. She’s wrong. She is so, so wrong. That’s my new mantra. My new approach at life. There is no way that I actually like Eiliyah. I just hate her because she’s so—she’s such a damn know-it-all. Like those annoying ass kids in middle school who thought they were above you because they were already thinking about the meaning of life and shit while you were just waiting for the new FIFA game to come out.

            That was Eiliyah, actually. The serious, studious type, all throughout middle school. It figures though. The non-hot girls are always like that. I turn to my left side—the side I prefer to sleep on—and stare out the window. I wish a thousand times that this was New York City—the commotion, the lights, the sound of the traffic even in the early hours of the morning. That’s what keeps me alive. That’s what keeps me going, the existence of a place on this earth that I’d actually love to be.

            I’m thinking about Times Square when Hidayah swings my door open. Saying that I’m pissed is a massive understatement. “Mom says to pray,” she announces.

            I snort. “How about no?”

            “Hamza…”

            “Just tell her I prayed and that I’m going to sleep.”

            “I’m not going to lie and cover for you” is her reply.

            “Well then leave and this never happened.” She rolls her eyes and slams the door. At least she shuts it. God damn it, I can’t wait to leave here. I can’t wait to be out of this house, living life on my own terms.

            I get up to turn off the light so that no one can bother me. When everything is black, I lie back down and tuck my hands behind my head, thinking more about the future. I started doing it as a kid. Like a coping mechanism, I guess. I’d just shut my eyes and try to imagine a month, two months, a year ahead. And I guess in the last few years, I’ve been thinking about New York, where I want to make a future.

            Alicia was wrong, I chant again when I find my mind wandering there. The hell was she talking about anyway? Me, liking Eiliyah or some shit and then her warning to act on it before some guy swept her up off her feet? I think Eiliyah is the last person I’d ever have feelings for. It’s just so…weird. So anti-climatic.

            The thing is, I started dreaming about New York in ninth or tenth grade. It’s the only hope I let myself have because, hell, if you hope for anything else that involves other people, eleven times out of ten they’ll disappoint you. But New York is different. This is all on me and what I do, and I trust myself enough to know that if I get down to it, I’ll make it.

            I have yet to start on my NYU app, but that’s my top choice in the city. I’d be okay with another school, I guess, as long as I’m actually in the city. I don’t really know what I want to major in, but I know that I sure as hell don’t want to continue my parents’ landscaping business. I hate that kind of pretentious side of business and meeting with clients—just the amount of meetings and promotional events my parents end up going to is awful. How you have to please the other person, the little office gifts, the business hierarchy where the people who actually do the work and need the most money are on the bottom—I hate that shit so much.

            One good thing that came out of it, though, is that my parents travel a lot with me and my siblings, I think as some sort of compensation for never being around and maybe some kind of device to lessen their own guilt. Whatever. We do three or more trips a year. Hidayah, Hussain, and I each choose a location for a one-week trip every year. Hidayah likes picking stupid stuff like the Bahamas or Key West (Key West wasn’t that bad) and Hussain is into dorky historical sites but I always choose New York City. Always.

            By now I know the city almost as well as if I lived there and I live for the one week every year we go there. So even though my parents are pretty absent most of the time, the NYC visits make it worth it…almost. And when I was in high school and began shaping my future around living in NYC permanently, I always imagined I’d be going to NYU, majoring in whatever the hell I wanted to major in, and living in some studio apartment in Manhattan or something. And maybe, if I was older or something, I’d have a girlfriend.

            And I fucking hate myself for this, but yeah, there was a time in tenth grade or something I wondered what it would be like to be living in New York and running into Eiliyah randomly, what it would be like for us if we were older. I’m not an honest guy most of the time, but the fact that I did that—even once—is enough to sear Alicia’s warning into my memory and kick start a mantra that looks like it’s the only thing keeping a hold on my sanity.

            I don’t realize that I’m clenching my jaw this hard but I am and it makes my head throb. I punch a stupid pillow out of self-loathing and shut my eyes, trying to get some sleep, some peace before school. Screw Eiliyah. And screw Alicia’s warning, if that’s what you can call it.

            When I wake up the next morning, I decide I’m skipping at least half the day of school. The problem is that even though my parents are sleeping, I can’t trust my siblings to keep their mouths shut about where I’ve been (or not been). I’m their ride to school anyway.

            The upside is that a few of the guys decide to meet at Dunkin Donuts around the time that school starts, so I can drive Hidayah and Hussain to school and then drive to the Dunkin Donuts that’s about five minutes away. As much as guys like Krish and Omar can be asses, they’re usually down for whatever.

            Hidayah, of course, takes forever to get ready and makes me and Hussain wait for ten minutes before she comes out of the house in a plain top, jeans, and a cardigan. “What the hell took you so long?” I ask, even more pissed off at the fact that she’s wearing exactly what I saw her in right before I left the house.

            “Outfit change gone wrong” is all that she says. I turn around to yell at her. Hussain just looks out the window. He’s smart enough not to get caught in the crossfire and I’m too tired to even yell at Hidayah right now. I drive extra slow on purpose, actually obeying all traffic laws for once. My only consolation is that Hidayah’s getting madder and madder as the time ticks by until I’m pulling up to school just as the final bell rings.

            “Thanks a lot for making me late, asshat.” I can barely hide my laugh as she swings open the door and speed walks to the office to get her tardy slip. Oh man, a little less than a year and I’m fucking out of here.

            The remnants of my conscience do allow me to feel bad for making Hussain late as well. The thing is he’s a good kid. I know he hates being late because he’s one of those kids who goes to school to learn. I vaguely remember him once telling me that he prefers to get to class early so that he can have all his stuff out and revise prior notes before the teacher starts lecturing. I know. He’s that kid.

            My guilt multiples when he doesn’t say anything to me. He doesn’t yell like Hidayah. He just gives me a small smile and moves to open the door. “Hey,” I say, stopping him. He pauses, still silent. “Give me your planner,” I command. He hands it to me wordlessly.

            I turn to the section where the passes are supposed to be written. I know he has Mr. Cole, my history teacher, for first period and the guy’s a total hardass. He won’t let Hussain go without either a pass or a major patronizing lecture to ensure he’s humiliated. I fill out all the necessary stuff: date, time, location. For the signature, I flawlessly forge the librarian’s initials. Doubt Cole’s actually gonna check it out.

            “If Cole asks, you were in the library waiting to print your science PowerPoint notes.” Hussain’s eyes light up a bit and he thanks me gratefully. I clap his shoulder awkwardly because I don’t know what else to do and tell him to have a good day.

            As I pull out of the ramp and hit the road again on my way to Dunkin Donuts, it bothers the hell out of me that Hussain looked so surprised when I helped him out like that. Is that really how he sees me? Like some asshole that would screw everyone around him over because he’s too busy being an ass?

            Hussain’s expression keeps playing again and again in my head even when I swing open the door to Dunkin Donuts with the D shaped doorknob thing (I used to think they were so cool when I was a kid). My friends are all at the corner table, having already ordered. There’s coffee cups and brown bags with donut crumbs everywhere.

            Krish and I do the hand slap handshake thing and I nod at the other guys. “Aye, man,” Akash says. “We didn’t know what you wanted so we didn’t order.”

            “It’s cool. I’ll be back. Save a spot for me.” The line, thank God, isn’t that bad. There’s only a few people in front of me. I’m on my phone, checking Twitter and Facebook when I get to the counter. “Hello and good morning, what can I get you today?” The girl behind the counter is way too damn peppy for seven in the morning.

            “Um,” I finish reading Raj’s status from last night before looking up. She doesn’t bother to hide her annoyed look, but that’s not what distracts me. It’s the way her black wavy hair is up in a ponytail and the way her eyebrows are raised, impatient for me to put away my phone and order. I don’t even know what I want. Suddenly dry-mouthed, I scan the rack for donuts that I like. “I’ll get the red velvet with the vanilla frosting,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

            “Okay, anything else?” Her mouth quirks as she taps at the screen. “Just a medium coffee,” I mumble as she hands me a waxy brown bag with the donut inside. I’m pissed at myself as I carry my stuff back to the table.

            “Hey, Christian didn’t come?” Omar asks, noticing his lack of presence.

            “Nah, he’s not cool with missing school.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The thing about Christian is that he doesn’t do shit he’s not supposed to do, like missing school. He’s like Hussain. He cares about school too much to miss it for anything other than being sick.

            Omar shrugs, having lost interest. The guys start talking about girls from school that they would bang. AZ asks me who’s hotter, Janessa or some other chick in my physics class, and I say the chick in my physics class because Christian is Janessa’s girlfriend and that violates basic bro code.

            I’m not thinking about any of the girls they’re talking about. With every bite of my disgusting donut I’m thinking about the girl who I thought of when I was ordering this, the girl’s whose favorite donut is red velvet with vanilla on top.

            After the Dunkin Donuts thing, I debate whether or not I should swallow my pride and talk to Alicia again. She heads back to Spain on a Thursday afternoon, so Christian’s parents drop her off at the airport. I miss her more than I realize and I feel kind of bad that we didn’t end on a friendly note. My parents were talking about going to Spain or France this summer—and she did mention that she may come back to Florida next summer if Christian’s family doesn’t go to Spain—so maybe I’ll see her sooner than I think.

            After she leaves, I kind of slip into the same old, boring ass routine again. I hate it, I really do. I hate how repetitive it is—getting up at six for school, slaving my way through seven classes, going home to massive amounts of homework, filling out college apps, and then spending the weekends procrastinating on homework until I stay up all night Sunday to finish it.

            I want to leave so damn badly. Is it possible to feel claustrophobic of the same old environment, the same old people, the same old damn routine? It’s like when I was a kid and my parents took us to parties, I’d always end up begging my mom to leave. It’s like that now. I’m begging, but there’s no one to get me out of this.

            And the plan to “break Eiliyah”? It can hardly be called a fucking plan anymore. I mean, it’s clear that whatever Zayd and Omar are doing isn’t really deterring her, but their objective was never to force her to do anything except for maybe go a little bit crazy (good-naturedly). They’re just having fun, doing it for kicks, but I should have known that it wasn’t going to do much for Eiliyah. I mean, what did I expect her to do? Break down crying publicly? Just goes to show how stupid Zayd and Omar really are, even if they’re my “friends.”

            I went along with it at first for fun. You know, just for a laugh or two. It’s probably a shitty thing to do but I knew a girl like Eiliyah wouldn’t fall for any of their pranks or “romantic” messages from some mysterious guy texting her. I think their original plan was to do it a few times until they figured out that I know too much, way too much, about what makes Eiliyah tick. What she likes. The little details, like what her favorite type of donut is. Jesus.

            I’m not denying I signed up for it, but now, the shit that they’re doing, it’s taking it to the next level and I can’t help but think what would happen if she were to figure it out. For the love of God, when, not if. Eiliyah may be annoying as hell but she isn’t really the dumb type. From growing up with her, she’s poisonous under the innocent act. She’ll figure it out soon enough and when she does, she’ll destroy Omar and Zayd. Maybe it’s fucked up that I actually want to see that happen, but they’re both kind of dicks and they deserve it.

            Maybe this would be a lot easier if I had kept my mouth shut when I heard them talking about messing with Eiliyah a year ago. It was on one of those typical days—Omar had invited me and the other guys over to his house.

            Omar has a pool and then a large enough backyard that can serve as a soccer field so we were chilling poolside when somebody mentioned Eiliyah in passing. I hadn’t seen her in a while so I was surprised when a white dude named Jackson mentioned he thought Eiliyah was kinda cute. Omar and Zayd started laughing really hard at that, which pissed me off for two reasons.

            Omar used to be best friends with Eiliyah but humiliated her when they started high school because he was becoming more popular and Eiliyah’s not really the type of person to pursue popularity like Omar is. He used to make fun of Eiliyah for hanging out with me, actually. Once, in bio class freshman year, Eiliyah, her twin brother Harun, and I were working together and he called her out for not being pretty enough and hanging out with losers like me and Harun.

            The second reason is that I’m pretty sure that Zayd had a thing for Eiliyah two years ago but quickly forgot that when Omar (who’s Zayd’s cousin) made it pretty clear that Zayd had to choose between the guys or Eiliyah and her group of friends (some guys named Nathaniel and Drew, and her other friends I guess).

            I don’t know what it was but something about watching them laugh about Eiliyah like that pissed me off. Just the fakeness about it, I guess. Because that was me to them a few years ago but once I hit puberty and actually grew past five foot three and had girls coming after me, they were interested in being my friend. Assholes.

            “You think Eiliyah’s cute?” Zayd gasped for air as he asked Jackson that. Jackson held up his hands defensively and me and some of the chiller guys like Raj exchanged glances. No one said it but that was literally Zayd a year ago so we were wondering why he was acting like ti wasn’t.

            “I don’t know, man. Yeah. I guess. Whatever. I don’t want to go for her or anything. I know her through her friend Janessa. She’s cute, that’s all.” I was relieved to hear that he didn’t like Eiliyah or anything. Man was gonna get his ass rejected from the Ice Queen herself.

            “Seriously, dude, why?” Omar asked, smirking. Asshole made me want to slap the smirk off his face.

            Jackson shrugged. He’d lost interest at that point. “She’s a nice person, I guess. I don’t know, man, it was just a statement. I prefer Janessa over her.” This was the period when Christian and Janessa had broken up but Christian was still pining over her. I was glad that he wasn’t there or else he would have ripped Jackson’s throat out for planning on going for his girl.

            “We’re planning on messing with her.” Omar declared, exchanging a look with Zayd. They’d already talked about it.

            “Aw, dude, why?” Raj had protested. Out of all of them, he’s the chillest and probably the nicest guy. He didn’t see why we would mess with Eiliyah, especially because she doesn’t hang out with anyone even acquainted with our circle. She kind of does her own thing. She always has.

            “I have some beef with her that I want to settle. Let’s call it making it even.” Omar smirked. That stupid ass smirk was slowly becoming one of my most hated sights.

            “What’s the plan?” I think Krish asked that. Or I did. I can’t remember.

            “Gonna text her pretending to be a secret admirer. It’ll—”

            Krish said flatly, “That’s the dumbest shit I ever heard.”

            “Will you let me finish?” Omar’s eyes had sparked with anger and Krish became silent. It was then that I realized that while we were all a group, Omar’s say was the most important. It pissed me off, because what the fuck did Omar think this was? Some kind of sick mind control game where he had to get everyone to do everything his way? Mean Girls, straight male edition? Is he gonna tell us we can only wear Nike on Wednesdays or something?

            “It’s a perfect idea. I’ve known Eiliyah since middle school. She won’t be able to ignore it. We can mess with her so bad, drive her crazy. And who else knows how to make her tick than Hamza?” The minute I heard my name, my stomach tightened. The glass I was drinking from seemed like it was going to break from the pressure of my hand.

            “What? Nah, man, don’t get me involved in this shit.”

            Zayd scowled. “Come on, man, quit being a pussy about it. You know Eiliyah and come on, this is harmless. It’s not that big of a deal.”

            “You don’t like her, do you?” Omar asked flatly.

            Shit. “Dude. No.”

            “Then why aren’t you down?”

            “Because…” Hell, the thing about these assholes is that even if I try to explain, they’re not really going to get it. Just do it, man, it’s not a big deal. Path of least resistance. That’s the fucking motto of my life.

            So I said yeah. Actually, I remember smiling and saying “Hell to the fucking yeah, let’s do it” before high-fiving Omar.

            Fast forward a year and some change, and Eiliyah has let on no signs of even temporary insanity. It’s like she just doesn’t care. I know she’s not stupid enough to not immediately suspect me or Omar but I didn’t see her much last year but even now, nothing. There’s no way she hasn’t figured it out by now, even with all the twists and turns Zayd and Omar are throwing her way.

            I don’t even know what I want from all of this. The more I think about it objectively the dumber it sounds, but my life is really just a bunch of dumbass actions that make no sense to anyone but me, and only half the time at that.

            The sad part is that I know if Eiliyah figures it out and comes at me it’ll be hell to pay. Scratch that, that’s not the sad part. The sad part is that if that happened I’d actually care. And I can’t do that. Because it fucks with the plan.

            Christian is my best friend and all but there’s plenty of shit I don’t talk to him about. The other guys I chill with are pretty mindless so they’re a no-go, unless I wanted to talk to Raj or something. My siblings are a no and my parents are more of a hell no, so when stuff gets really confusing, I talk to Haniyah, my cousin who’s ten years older than me but probably the chillest person I know.

            I’m debating whether or not to call her and what’d I say if I do. What is there to say? This girl I’ve known forever is pissing me off by not giving in to my attempts to piss her off? The thought of being here next year physically makes me want to vomit and break out in hives?

            Right after a silent dinner with my parents talking to each other about business while Hidayah, Hussain, and I just sit and eat wordlessly, I head up to my room just in time to hear my phone vibrating on my bed.

            It’s her, Haniyah. I break out in a genuine smile as I hit the green button. “Haniyah, hey!”

            “Hamza! Hey, salam! How are you?”

            “I’m go—” Just then my door bursts open and Hidayah storms in.

            “You can’t just leave the table after eating and leave me to do all the cleaning up, Hamza,” she seethes.

            “Hold on, Haniyah.” I put my phone down. “Sure I can. This is how.” I push her out of my room while she resists right before I shut the door.

            “I hate you so much, Hamza!” She screams in frustration as she stomps down the stairs.

            “Music to my ears,” I call out, laughing. Picking my phone up again, I resume the conversation. “Why’d you call?” I ask.

            “Hamza, don’t tell anyone yet. Only my parents know. You’re the first other family member besides our grandmother to know but…I’m getting married!” She squeals at the end, but I don’t yell at her about it (even though I hate it when girls do that shit).

            “What?” Seriously? Haniyah’s getting married?

            “Yeah! The guy is great, Hamza. You’ll really like him. I think the wedding will be next summer, so right after your graduation.”

            “Where does he live?”

            “Boston.” I like Boston too, just not as much as I love New York. New York is like the Mila Kunis of my heart and Boston’s more like Penelope Cruz. Still hot but not at the same caliber.

            “Wow, are you excited?”

            “Yes! I’ll bore you with the details some other time. Anyway, what’s up with you?”

            “It’s…okay. You know. Same old. Can’t wait to be done.”

            “First-semester senioritis. I know the feeling.”

            “Yeah.” I want to talk to her about what’s really going on but I just don’t know how.

            “Listen, Hamza, do you want to come visit me some weekend? Any long weekends coming up or anything?” The thing is that Haniyah knows how much I hate living here, just being here around all of these people.

            “There may be, I don’t know. When?”

            “Any time. I’ve been here three months and I haven’t explored the city at all.” She lives in Chicago because she got a job transfer there. “Do you want me to talk to Aunty and Uncle? We can schedule a tour to the University of Chicago and Loyola and UIC if you want. Justify it as college stuff.” I shut my eyes in sheer gratitude that I have someone like Haniyah in my life because without her, I’d be going crazy. At least there’s one person in this world who doesn’t mind what an asshole I am.

            “Haniyah,” my throat locks a little. Shit. “Thank you. Yeah, I’ll ask them and see what they say. If they say no I’ll ask you to talk to them.”

            “Great. Just schedule it for any weekend in October.”

            “Okay.” We talk about it some more and when we hang up, I look over my history homework a bit, debating whether or not I should copy from Christian tomorrow or actually do it myself. There’s ten pages of reading to do before the actual questions. “Screw Hitler,” I mutter before heading downstairs to talk to my parents.

            They’re sitting in the living room sipping tea. “Mom, Dad,” I say as civilly as possible. More like sell-outs but hey, no hard feelings, I grouse mentally, trying to block out my anger before it gets to me.

            “Yes?” My mom asks. This is the first conversation we’ve had in weeks, I think.

            “Haniyah offered to tour some colleges in Chicago with me. The University of Chicago, Loyola, UIC….”

            My dad has a skeptical look on his face, the kind he has before he rips you apart. Oh, shit. “I thought we agreed that you’d be going to the University of Florida so that you can learn the ropes with us starting next year before expanding the business.” His eyes are dead set on me.

            “I know but this is just keeping my options open—U of C is a really great school and—”

            “UF is too. I don’t see a need for you to go out of state. What about school? If you stupidly don’t think of these things how will—”

            “It’d be a weekend. I can head out on Friday after school, be back by Sunday night. If it’s a long weekend, I can be back by Monday night.” My heart is beating so loudly I’m afraid he’ll hear it.

            “Are you interested in UChicago?” My mother asks. I have to admit, she’s more chill than my dad about me going out of state, but not so much.

            “Yeah. It’s a top university.” Like I care. I’d rather be at NYU.

            “We’ll think about it,” she responds. It’s my cue to leave. They’d never give in too easily. Weakness is not something that is to be displayed in this family.

            A few days later, on a Friday afternoon when I’m in my room checking Facebook my mom walks in, scaring me out of my mind. She works late on Fridays especially. What if I had had a girl over? I’d get my ass beat to no end.

            Her mouth is set in a firm line. “Your father and I have thought about it and spoken to Haniyah. She says the eleventh would be the best.” She hands me a Visa card. “Book your flight. Price doesn’t matter, just keep it under $400.”

            With that, she walks out, saving me the trouble of mustering a heartfelt thank you. The three things we don’t show in this house are weaknesses, emotions, and affection. It’s easier, but more screwed up.

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Comments? Thoughts? Do you ship Hamza and Eiliyah?