Stated Love

Chapter 3

I'm a few weeks into school and ever since I set foot into Oakwood High, I was in for a huge culture shock. Let's just put it this way: I stood out pretty easily. 

Black? Check.

Muslim? Check.

Ethnic? Check.

Hijabi? Check.

Great, you've got your first class ticket to not fitting in.

If I had to split the demographics on how diversified  Oakwood High School is, It would be 99.99999999999% Caucasian, remainder whatever. Right as I set foot into class, all eyes were glued to me. I try to ignore it, being honest, it is annoying, but if I leave them alone, I'll be left alone. Thankfully I made two friends; Addie and Sam. They're alright, but not like Muna and Duaa. No one can replace Muna and Duaa. Addie, Sam, and I often hang out for lunch, but I have a handful of classes with them. Addie's a natural beauty. She's got long brown hair, tanned skin, and spotted with freckles. Sam's acing every subject, especially science. She's super smart. Sam's Greek and just like me, in love with her culture. She's got the prettiest hazel eyes, and streaks of blonde highlight in her brown hair. "Hey," Sam nudges me. "You good?" Suddenly I snap back to reality instead of praising my friends. "Yeah, just thinking." I take a bite into my sandwich. Addie nudges me playfully. "About?" I smile. "Nah, nothing. Anyways, the bells going to ring soon, pack up." I shove the rest of my lunch into my mouth and wrap the tin foil into a ball, playing with it in my hands. "What do you girls have next?" She asks. "English," Sam and I turn to stare at each other. "Jinx!" I raise a fist up in victory while she pouts. "What are we in, the fifth grade?" We all laugh and while Sam and I head to English, Addie's off to art. I'm very gifted in English, it's one of my greatest subjects. My teacher, Mr.Kitchen, always motivates us to "Push to our highest potential", as he likes to say. "Good afternoon everyone. Ok, I'm going to do attendance, then we'll discuss today's class plan," Mr.Kitchen likes to say everyone's full name. Rylee Sheppard, Katie McKnight, Brady Walsh, and Josh Baxter. But even though we're in the first month or so of school, he still struggles to say my name. "Alaa, Osmon-uh, Osmows-um, Osaman-sorry, Osman?" Don't get me wrong, I love Osmow's Shawarma. But never, in my fifteen years have I ever, been named after a restaurant. "Osman," This is only about the millionth time I've corrected him. Honestly, it's pretty simple, but Mama said I need to be patient with people who can't pronounce our type of names. I mean, her name is Sohair, and she tells people "It's just 'So' and 'Hair' connected." Mr.Kitchen apologizes and continues reading down the attendance list. Sam flashes me a grin and I roll my eyes. Her last name is Metalinos and she constantly gets that mixed up for "Mental-Issues". Now at this point, people need glasses to read names properly and second, who voluntarily calls their child that? 

It's fifth period, and I want to skip so badly. As a bilingual, I think it's pointless for me to learn another language. Multiple dialects of Arabic, and the English language are enough. Mrs Hernandez, our Spanish teacher is one of those hippies in their fifties that think "the-world-is-your-oyster" and you should just "go-with-the-flow". No thank you, I'll take a cup of reality, please. Baba and Mama end up scolding me on the phone, refusing to sign me out. "Ok, class, settle down! Flip your Volume one Spanish booklets to page sixty six, chapter seven. Today is review on simple terms. We'll be taking baby steps so that we're able to spread our wings and soar into excellent speakers in Espanol," She spreads her "wings" (her arms) out and flaps them to the class. The boys in the corner stifle laughter and claim she has armpit hair sticking out. I feel like reminding them of the jungles they have growing out of their smelly pits and how it's not attractive when they show it off in gym class, especially Aiden Cooper. His girlfriend, Ashley, seems to find it the hottest thing in the world. They're both nut jobs. I've never crossed paths with them, and I hope I never do. They're always the talk of school gossip and known as "Oakwood's Hottest Couple". What do they think this is, Hollywood? "silencio (silence), no talking in my class is permitted, especialmente durante una lección (especially during a lesson)!" She points at Aiden and asks him to read a list of colours from English to Spanish. "Red, rojo. Yellow, amarillo. Blue, azul. Black, negro," He stops there and after grinning to his friends, they burst out cackling. My face feels all tingly and I don't even notice myself frowning. Ashley, who sits in front of me, turns back and grins. "Sorry, I guess they didn't notice the elephant in the room." She whips back to her table and laughs with her friends, as if it's the funniest joke they've heard in ages. I wasn't upset that he said negro, because it's the Spanish word for black. But the fact that they made a joke out of it (and me) is what got me P.O.ed. I guess you have to pick and chose your battles. So I sit back in my seat, and follow along with the lesson.

"Alsalamualaikum, I'm home!" I shout as soon as I enter the house. "Mama! Baba! Walaa, Bashir, you guys home?!" No answer. I jump up giddily as I rip my Hijab off, plop onto my bed and turn on my Macbook. It's a Friday, and I've got the house to myself. So what do I do? I quickly check the time and hop onto a call with Muna and Duaa. "Oh my God, hi!" I wave into the screen as if I haven't seen them in so long. We talk almost everyday; if not on face time, then on call, or text. "Mr Donato is giving us the toughest assignment in the history of science; and it's just the beginning of the year!" Muna complains. "Are you sure he isn't giving you your culminating in advance?" Duaa jokes. We all laugh. "Tell him I say hi, ok?" We continue talking for a bit and then Mama enters the room. "Mama, I told you to knock." I groan. She gives me a daring look, asking me to say that to her again. I flash her a guilty smile. "Um, Mama wants to say hi." I quickly turn the screen towards my mom and her expression shifts. I finally end the call and Mama takes a seat on my bed. "Aloya, I wanted to talk to you about something," I get up and sit properly. "So, I know this move has been hard, especially on you. Bashir and Walaa grew up in New Jersey and were always used to all the moving decisions Baba and I made, but I sense that you aren't," I bite my tongue. "I know it's hard, leaving New York, and your friends, and your community. But things will get better, Inshallah." I almost laugh. "Yeah, ok." She stares at me blankly. "Is something wrong? Is it the school, or the house or what?" I rub her shoulder. "Nothing's wrong, Mama. It's just the change. I'm not used to change, and I'm not as adaptable." She smiles warmly, tracing my cheek with her fingers. "I'm sorry, Baby." My mom kisses my forehead and walks out of the room. Within seconds, she steps back in. "I forgot to tell you, but we have Sudani neighbours living right across our house." I immediately dart up and start to interrogate my mother. "Is it a family? Do they have kids? Are the kids my age? What tribe are they from? Are they friendly?" Finally, My people! Mama shrugs and asks me to bring a tray of basbousa (traditional Arab syrup-soaked semolina cake) over this weekend and I'll have all of my questions answered.