My Islamophobic Bully, the Gangster

2. I will Protect you

Jawa

My head spun and my thoughts were all over the place after I heard what Muhammad said. My vulnerability at that moment frighted me. Ms.Miller telling Muhammad to wear a nice shirt only means one thing which is that a couple is downstairs waiting. Mrs.Philips being downstairs meant that our social worker was here too.

Luckily, None of the girls woke up which means that it was my turn to shower. I left Muhammad on the bed and headed to the shower which was only for girls. I showered quickly and got dressed before I took my headscarf that I hid under the sink of the shared bathroom.

It smelled awful but I lost my family at that bombing and this scarf my mother used to wear was the only scarf I ever wore as a Hijab.

The only boy that was allowed on our side of the orphanage was Muhammad since most days we sleep in the same bed because the other kids would harass him and he was afraid of them.

After the death of my parents, Neither my uncle nor my two aunts were willing to take both of us in and they would blame it on religious debates surrounding Islamic law and rules that govern moral relations between foster and biological family members or the fact that they couldn't feed two more mouths since they are already struggling.

That day I thanked Allah(SWT) that my parents were dead and didn't see what I just witnessed after everything that my parents have done for them and how they repay them.

I take one final look at myself as I readjust my hijab in the gilded mirror above the sink in the sleazy bathroom on the second floor after I prayed Dhur as I made my way toward the room that I share, with six other girls.

My heart starts raising when I wasn't able to find Mohammad on the bed.

30 Seconds later

"Jawa," Mrs.Miller screamed, pointing at me as I came down the stairs.

I stood in my place and stared. Shit. What have I done? She begins to come forward and I look for my Muhammad, wanting him to be safe.

I see my 4-year-old brother sitting next to another boy, his hands tight on his grey shirt. "Sorry" he mouths, a tear falling. He begins to get up, probably coming over, but I shake my head.

I frown but turn back to Mrs.Miller.

"Jawa. Did you do this?" She asks, throwing the sheet at me. It was stained yellow.

"Is it my sheet?" I asked.

Mrs.Miller was furious. "Of course it's your sheet! It was from your bed"

I am sixteen years old not a child anymore, How could she even think that. Then I remembered Muhammad sitting on the bed. Oh! That's why he said sorry.

I hung my head "Yes, I did that" I mumbled.

She laughed before smacking me on the head. "You will clean this and then everyone else's bedding" She ordered.

I nodded, making Dua that this would be the only punishment. But I was wrong.

The 13 children, including Muhammad, who lived here had gathered around. I smiled weakly at my brother as I went to make my way to the bedroom, but didn't get far.

A hard, sharp slap hit me across the face, sending me flying sidewards. "Get up" Mrs.Miller ordered.

I was considered a somewhat of a big girl so I could knock her down but that would mean that I will end up in juvie and any kid who goes there never comes back so all I have to do is endure it all.