The Badboy, the Catfish & Me

One

I'm going to be Maxwell High School's next valedictorian. InshaAllah. Mama said to add that word whenever you intended to do something.

But right now, at 6:30 a.m., with the buzzing of my alarm clock piercing the dimly lit room, the last thing I wanted to do was get up and go to school. High school was almost over, and the urge to sleep in just once was tempting. Heavy footsteps walked past my door and down the hall from under the thin covers of the air-conditioned room. Baba was already up.

I hauled myself out of bed, eyelids heavy. Nope, not today. In addition to valedictorian, I wanted the perfect attendance award. I grabbed my prayer hijab from the back of my computer desk chair and threw it over my shoulder.

"Hey, kiddo," Baba said as he saw me pass by the kitchen on the way to the bathroom.

I grunted in response.

When I finished the prayer, I joined my dad in the kitchen. Through the windows above the sink, the after-dawn sunlight made the pink and black granite countertops shine. Baba once said the unusual color was because of the high amount of the mineral feldspar in the rock. He would know—he was an environmental engineer.

"This one mine?" I asked, using my fork to point at the golden-brown omelet plated on the kitchen island. Beside the plate was a pile of mail with the interchanging names of Patrick Stonewell and Yusuf Stonewell. Both referred to my dad.

"Yup." He had another omelet sizzling in the pan.

I settled into the bar stool to eat, ready to devour the fluffy eggs mixed with chili flakes, black pepper, and a pinch of salt. "Nice." My bare elbows ran across the cold counter, and I shivered.

After several moments, Baba said in a low voice, "Your mama had a rough night," while keeping his back to me.

My shoulders slumped. I stopped feeling the cold granite.

After a pause, he added, "Remember, it's—"

"Nobody's fault," I said for him. It was always nobody's fault.

I hunched in my seat and continued eating, absently staring ahead to tell myself it was normal. Normal that Mama's moods flipped harder than derivatives, and you could scrape the tan off my skin and see no other part of her in me.

With the full-length mirror hanging on the walk-in closet's wall, I wrapped a jersey scarf around my head, keeping my widow's peak, neck, and ears covered and letting the fabric rest over my chest. I grabbed my school bag, threw open my math textbook, and sat at the balcony desk to study.

But I didn't study. I rested my forehead against the open textbook, and my mind wandered to Valentino, the guy who sat next to me in homeroom. Did he have a parent with episodes like mine? Was he also an only child? I never asked because I was too scared to. Not supposed to talk to boys and all that.

All I knew about him was that he took soccer seriously and always talked to me in homeroom. Oh, and he loved CrusadEon Online.

I let him have my phone number a week after we met at the beginning of the school year. Yeah, I told him he could only use it for school-related stuff, but how much more of a sign did he need to know I had the biggest crush on him?

Hearing the jingle of my dad's keys from the front door, I swiped a quick layer of Vaseline over my lips, put the textbook away, and followed my dad.

"Is it okay I didn't say bye to Mama?" I asked, putting on my shoes.

Baba opened the door, and I closed my eyes to the warm April breeze.

"Yeah. I don't think she'd hear you, anyway," Baba added in a softer voice, rubbing his chin, which sported a short beard a few shades lighter than the dark curls on his head.

I slipped into a pair of flats, tossing my bag into the backseat with Baba's work briefcase. It was hard to think how gloomy the house was when the rest of the world was so bright.

Ducking to get in, I sank into the car seat. Baba said the travel prayer, and I followed along in my head. He switched on the radio connected to his playlist. My favorite song was playing, written by two Muslim women and sung with just vocals, and I imagined myself at a seaside cottage in a flowing white dress, pretending they were singing about me and Valentino.

I used to believe love was a storm—

We'd tear apart the darkness

And raise up the ground;

I never thought I could withstand it

But you were my thunder

And I was your lightning—

So I let the sky touch the seas

Let the winds howl at the trees;

What I didn't realize

Was that you were drifting away from me...

Now every time I cross the open sea

The sky whispers a desperate plea:

Bring back the ocean,

And bring back the winds;

But you were the sun who broke up our clouds,

The anchor that kept me a-ground

Why can't we love like a storm again?

Why can't we love like a storm again?

I used to believe love was a storm,

I used to believe we could tear apart the darkness

And raise up the ground;

I never thought I could withstand it

But you were my thunder

And I was your lightning—

I used to

I used to

...believe in our love.

Why can't we love like a storm again?

I never thought I could withstand it

Why can't we love like a storm again?

But now I know;

I am the storm.