The Hijabi's Jock

Chapter 2 : The Jock

Suhayla was one of the first groups of students to dash out the classroom when the bell rung for second period.

She scurried away down the halls, heading towards the stairwell hoping that Rayyan wasn't going in the same direction as her. She paused inside the stairwell and moved to the side to take a look at her schedule.

And as fate would have it — Rayyan was frantically searching for her. He pushed through the crowds of incoming students and entered the stairwell, scouring the scene to find his secret fiancé that no one in this entire school needed to know about.

He looked up to see her huddled against the wall near the doors to the 5th floor and jogged his way up to meet her in the corner.

"Hey!" Rayyan called out to her, startling the girl from her focused position. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and moved to stand beside her. His eyes were narrow as he viewed the schedule in her hands and made several du'as (prayers) in his head, begging to his Lord that this wasn't happening right now.

"What're you doing here?" He tried to say these words in a calm tone, but to Suhayla — the words came out sharp and left no room for mistakes.

She looked down and swallowed. The image of Rayyan, her fiancé, kissing that girl in Trigonometry class was on permanent rewind in her thoughts. There were so many questions, so many fears she had about this situation, but she knew her non-confrontational demeanour was going to outweigh everything she wanted to ask him.

She still didn't look at him when she said, "I was looking for my next class. It's on the 5th floor—"

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. His tone was struggling to remain even now. He wasn't mad at her, it wasn't her fault that she had caught him with Mariah and he wanted to believe that she had no idea that he went to school here, but the evidence displayed in math class was all the ammo Suhayla needed to tarnish his name and reveal his secret to his parents which therein would have him on a plane, heading to some monkish island (by his mother's command) to spend the rest of his days repenting for his actions.

He ran a hand through his wavy, black hair, impatiently. Suhayla had still not looked him in the eyes, mostly because she didn't want Rayyan to see the confusion and curiosity in her eyes. The questions were endless and she was sure she'd piss him off if she started asking right away.

Seeing how he stood in front of her, semi-rigid, impatient, trying to control his breathing while his eyes frantically scanned the students that walked by — it wasn't the right time to have this conversation, even if it was in her right to know as his fiancé.

"I meant why are you here. In my school."

Instinctively, she scratched her arm. "I transferred."

He raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight—you decided to transfer from Manhattan's Beaumont High School, probably known as the leading example for schools across New York State, to go to ghetto ass Hillcrest High School in south-side Jamaica, Queens?"

"It wasn't really my decision." She fidgeted where she stood. "Our moms talked ... and your mom suggested I go to Hillcrest—"

"Why?" He pressed with narrowed eyes.

She was biting her lower lip now. "I don't want to talk about it." She practically whispered.

Rayyan scoffed. "Fine. Whatever."

Suhayla looked up to see disbelief and judgment in his eyes. She added on quickly, "I didn't know you went here. No one told me, wallahi."