BELONGING - BOOK 1

06. When Sparks Fly

HADIZA

As the bell rang, signaling the start of another grueling physics class, I strolled in, still lost in the world of romance novels I'd devoured with Bernita in the library. Souraiya, my friend, loved those sappy love stories, but I had to focus on sciences - they were getting tougher by the day. Hanifa was supposed to tutor me, but she was always MIA.

As I entered the classroom, a deafening silence greeted me, punctuated by the piercing stares of my classmates. On my table, a crumpled paper screamed: "Fuck Off Bitch!" I scanned the room, my eyes locking onto Husna perched on Mubarak's locker, giggling, while Sophia sat alone, looking pathetic. Hazel whispered to her friends, who shot me daggers. I tore off the paper, ignoring the snickers, and slid into my seat.

Just as I opened my textbook to the chapter on Friction, a rumpled paper hit my head, followed by another, and another. I ignored the distractions, focusing on Newton's laws. Then, two students burst in - Rahul Kaur, the charming Indian-Nigerian boy with curly hair and light brown eyes, and Owen Adekunle, the class troublemaker. Rahul bounced a basketball, showing off his skills, while Owen joined in, creating a ruckus.

The basketball whizzed past, hitting my temple with a loud thud. Everything blurred. "You okay?" someone asked, amidst snickers. I looked up to see Rahul crouched beside me, laughing. "Hey, are you blind? How can you hit her and be laughing?" a male voice rebuked, shoving them away. Yusuf appeared, caressing the bruise on my temple. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Look at me, are you okay?" he asked, his angelic face etched with concern.

Souraiya joined us, and Yusuf held my hands, his warmth seeping into my skin. I couldn't withdraw, still dazed. "What happened?" Souraiya asked, her voice laced with worry. "She got hit by those jerks," Yusuf replied, his eyes flashing with anger. He vanished, returning with an ice cube wrapped in a handkerchief, which he gently passed to me. I massaged my temple, his kindness enveloping me like a warm embrace. "Thanks," I whispered, and he winked, his eyes sparkling. I faced the front, sighing, as Mr. Jeremiah droned on about Force.

As Souraiya and I strolled back to the school after returning our finished books to the library, the warm sun cast a gentle glow on our faces. We each clutched a new novel, eager to dive into the stories. I held mine loosely, while Souraiya hugged hers tightly to her chest, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

We made our way to the bleachers overlooking the football field, where the boys were engaged in a lively match. The sound of laughter, shouts, and thudding footsteps filled the air. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted up, mingling with the sweat and adrenaline.

As we settled into our seats, Souraiya's gaze drifted to the bruise on my temple, now a deep, dark shade. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

"A little," I admitted, touching the tender spot.

"I think they threw it too hard," she said, shaking her head. "The bruise looks bad."

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly, anticipating where this conversation was headed.

To divert her attention, I asked, "Has anyone ever told you you look Somali?"

Souraiya's eyes sparkled. "Oh, everyone! My mom is actually from Somalia."

My jaw dropped. "Really? Where's she now?"

Souraiya's expression turned wistful. "After the divorce, she moved to Canada. She owns a restaurant there."

Just then, Yusuf struck the ball into the goalpost, and we shrieked and cheered like little kids. He glanced our way, flashing a charming smile. I couldn't help but wonder if that smile was intended for Souraiya or me.