The Last Lap

Chapter Three

Loud chatter and laughter filled every corner of the house while Sinan Sakic, my mother's favorite singer, played in the background. My brother Semir was upstairs with the rest of the boys playing the newest video game while I sat with some of the girls my age in Selma's room.
    "I can't believe that you were able to make it," Selma gushed, "I thought for sure you wouldn't show because of your meet. My mom told me you do track."
    I was still healing from my ten second disappointment, "Yeah. It's what I've been doing my entire high school career."
    Selma frowned, "Why don't you play soccer like the rest of the Bosnians do? I mean, I play soccer year round for the town and for my school."
    I looked back at the photo of Selma and the rest of the girls on her team posing in the picture frame nearest to her bed. She looked happy, like she belonged. My place during the one season I played was the bench.
    "I just," I looked back at her and faked a smile, "didn't feel like playing anymore."
    "Yeah, I guess that happens sometimes. Track is easier anyways. It's where all the people that want to work out but are also lazy go, right?"
    I whipped my head to look at her in the eyes, with fury, "What?"
    She smiled brightly at me like a child, "I'm kidding. I'm sure it's fun."
    I let it go and sat on her bed next to one of her cousins and neighbors, Lejla, and made sure there was enough space for the other girls to join us. She was my brother's girlfriend but no matter how many times I hung out with her, she seemed a little off. To everyone else, she was perfect. She was pretty, knew how to cook, went to Mosque, taught at the mala medresa when she could, and was a nurse. Jia called her my mother's ideal daughter-in-law. I would call her my mother's role model for me.
    Selma turned on the television and started a movie to entertain us. The other girls scrolled through their phones, clearly obsessed with the latest trending topics online. I looked at myself in my reflection of my phone.
    My blonde hair was washed, dried, and straightened. I put on some makeup but only because my mother told me to look nice. I wore something basic, something comfortable. I was comfortable. I was me.
    The other girls, however, went all out. They were all dressed up like they were ready to go out for a night on the town. Selma wore heavy, lustful makeup that accentuated her plump lips and cat-like eyes. She was in a tight, knee-length dress and wore her hair up. The other girls were wearing similar fashion. I did not feel so comfortable anymore.
    "Selma, I want to go through your closet again. Let's give someone a makeover," Lejla announced. She looked directly at me, "Like Ema."
    "What? I think I look okay." I patted my sweat shirt and jeans.
    "I'm not saying that you don't-"
    "Yes, yes you are."
    "I'm just saying I want you to look cute. You know," She gestured to the group, "Like us."
    I hesitated before letting them have their way with me. Like the saying goes, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't. Rejection was futile.
    "Okay, you guys we need to curl her hair," Lejla smirked evilly, "I'll do her makeup and Selma can choose the clothes. You guys are almost the same size. Gosh, Ema. You're so skinny," Lejla sighed, admiring my athletic physique. "I wish I was as skinny as you."
    "You're still beautiful," I gestured to her fuller figure. She had some extra weight on her but it didn't mean that she wasn't beautiful.
    "Dosta," She stopped me. "I've had enough of the lies, darling. Let's get to work ladies."
    Lejla slathered foundation on my skin, a tone or two too dark, and rubbed it on my face and neck with a sponge. I had never put this much makeup on myself, even for Prom last year. It felt gross. I felt like another clone.
    "Have you guys heard listened to the newest Ceca song?" Lejla asked, as she opened an eyeshadow palette and closed it again. The girls muttered amongst themselves but none of them had an answer. Lejla finally decided on a brown eyeshadow palette.
    "I don't think so," Ajla commented before going on the internet to turn it on
I gazed at my reflection at the mirror. I took a picture to post for my instagram, just to post something new. Hopefully Isaac would comment or like it. I only ever posted two selfies; one at the championships last year and one at last year's prom.
The soft words rolled out from Lejla's plush lips, "Have you guys heard about that girl down the street?" The girls in the room remained silent, sliding to the edge of their seats to hear the latest gossip.
    "Well," She leaned into them, "She started dating this black guy." There was a moment of silence where the only thing that was audible was Lejla's bustling through the makeup drawer.
    I looked at her as her brows furrowed and her lips turned down. I knew what the other girls were going to say almost instantly. Selma had a worried expression on her face.
    "Is he Muslim?" Selma asked her, throwing her clothes back into the closet.
    "Yeah, but he's not Bosnian," Another girl interrupted.
    "So what?" I asked them. "She's happy right?"
    "Ema, bebo, she went against what her parents and community taught her. Now she's paying the price," Lejla responded nonchalantly. "I mean, come on, why would you date someone that can't relate to you whatsoever? It's the little things like taking off your shoes when you enter the house or the food that the make. Interracial marriages can't work," She closed the makeup bag. "That's just how it is. You'll see when you find your own man."
    I got off the bed, standing in front of her. The girl that my parents thought was so perfect seemed to crumble before me. Brutus had just stabbed Caesar. Blood started to rush to my face and my arms nearly swung up to hit her.
    "I don't see anything wrong with her being in love with someone from a different culture or religion. It's her choice, not ours. This is America not Bosna," I spat at her.
    Ajla laughed and me before Lejla retorted with, "That's like you going out and thinking that it's okay to date a četnik or hrvat and thinking it's okay because wow, we live almost four thousand miles away. Don't you remember what they did to our people? Remember the war. At least I have Semir. What will she have?" She started to wipe her hands free and I didn't know whether it was the makeup or the bull she was spilling from her mouth.
    "You think you're so great just because you have someone with the same background as you but you're still trash like the rest of us. Don't think so highly of yourself because, believe it or not, you have your own flaws."
    Semir walked in through the door, gently knocking on the door. It was great timing. I pointed at him in the doorway and said, "Semir, why did you decide to date someone so ignorant?"
    "Semir, why is she being so mean to me?" She got off the bed and ran to his arms. He wrapped himself around her and scowled at me. He mouthed, "What did you do?"
    Lejla sobbed her makeup away on his shoulder and I shoved my way past them. My mom came climbing up the stairs and started to wave her finger at me.
    "Ema, what did you do?"
    "Me? I didn't do anything other than giving Lejla a taste of knowledge. She thinks it's wrong to date someone that isn't Bosnian. That's so stupid." My mom rolled her eyes and told me to get into the car with my dad.
    Selma grabbed for my elbow before I turned down the stairs to walk away, "Ema. Are you alright?"
    I looked at her with fire in my eyes, "Please don't tell me you agree with them."
    "I don't," She put her hands up in defense, "I don't, I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay. I'm sorry that this happened."
    "Yeah, me too. I couldn't imagine being that ignorant," I put my hair behind my ear.
    "So change their minds."
    "How am I supposed to reverse years of hatred taught to them from their families and media? Am I supposed to rebel?"
    "You can't reverse it right away but you can prevent the other kids from becoming like them. You just need think about it. Change doesn't come easy."

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Vocabulary:

Mala Madresa - Mosque School
Dosta - enough
Bebo - Baby
Četnik - Derogatory term for Serb
Hrvat - Croat