The Badboy, the Catfish & Me

Two

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. The after-dawn sunlight from the windows above the sink 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, and then ran to my room as soon as I could. I used the full-length mirror hanging on the walk-in closet's wall to wrap a jersey scarf around my head, keeping my widow's peak, neck, and ears covered and letting the fabric fall 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. Did he have a parent with episodes like mine? Was he also an only child? I never asked because I'm 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 that 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. When I exited, I stuffed my headphones into the edges of my hijab and listened to my favorite song. It was 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 as I went to my locker and then to my desk.

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.

Hearing two girls chatting behind me, I pulled off my headphones and turned around. Salah and Ameena were sitting at their desk. I'd met the two at the beginning of this school year, along with Valentino. Like me, they were the only girls in Maxwell High to wear a hijab.

Salah wiggled her fingers in a wave, and Ameena smiled, looking up from sketching at the top page of her precalculus notebook.

"Your boyfriend's so not loyal," Salah whispered, a hand to the side of her face as she glanced in Valentino's direction. Her bright red hijab paired well with Ameena's dusty pink.

He was with the Fan Club again, hair tousled from early morning practice.

"Good thing he's not her boyfriend," Ameena whispered back, not looking up from the tip of her pencil. "Otherwise, we'd have to get away with murder."

Salah snickered, and I found myself smiling. But when Valentino returned to his seat for attendance and greeted my friends, three pretty heads stared at me. My smile fell.

It would never work out.

As Mrs. Asaka called out names, I sank my chin into the palm of my hand and turned my head to the window. I wasn't really looking for much beyond the thick plastic, just a place my thoughts could float to.

Valentino nudged me after attendance and asked me to meet him outside homeroom at the end of the day. To show me CrusadEon.

I forced a smile andwatched him head out with The Fan Club. I just wanted to be valedictorian—andin love.