Ramadan started on the 1st of May. Our exams were on the 7th. So naturally, I was in a good mood.
I slammed the door of my locker, shoved in the lock.
“Woah take it easy, Dobbz,” Toby said.
We were just done with English. I mean, personally, I was done with English. Literally. Done.
I glared at Toby. “No, I will not calm down, Toby. When I tell you I’m going to fail English, I mean I am going to fail English, okay?” My voice had turned loud, so I shut my eyes and took a breath. When I opened them again, Toby was smiling. I punched him. “What are you smiling at?”
He laughed. “Dobby, you’re being hysterical. You’re a genius, trust me, and you are not going to fail English.”
I didn’t reply.
When we got to the cafeteria, we sat next to Corey and Mason. Toby started eating his sandwich, then stopped midway, staring at me.
“Your English crisis shouldn’t stop you from enjoying food.”
I opened my backpack, looking for some food, but came back emptyhanded. I stared at my bag for a while, trying to understand what was wrong.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered.
“What?”
“I’m fasting and I just used a cuss word. Great.”
Toby blinked. “Why on earth are you fasting?”
“Ramadan, remember?”
“Oh, oh hang on. You mean the Muslim thing?”
I nodded.
“Right.” Toby stared at the sandwich in his hand. I stared at it too, before looking away.
“I’ll just go to the library,” I said.
“But-“
“Toby,” I started laughing. “Seriously, it’s okay. I’ll go to the library.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I zipped my bag and headed for the library.
I sat down on one of the tables and heaved a big sigh. It wasn’t ok, but it was the only way I could slip out without any questioning. My stomach felt empty, but it was the water I missed the most. I closed my eyes, thinking of waterfalls and streaming rivers, cold and fresh on touch. I sighed again, hoping to take in some of the water if I breathed in hard enough. But alas, my throat sweltered like a desert-with the worst breath in the history of bad breaths.
I unzipped my bag, planning on doing some Algebra since Connors had kicked me out of his class. I knew I had to get back on my Math game. My parents were oblivious to this idea, and so far it seemed Connors hadn't told them. I know, I know, I'm a horrible person for not telling them. But what was I supposed to do, go up to them and tell them their son is getting bullied by his teacher? Well, that does sound legitimate, but I couldn't quite picture myself doing it.
Anyways, staring at my math book made my heart drop to the ground. I'd been drifting away from Math really hard right now, like Connors had cast some sort of spell, and it was working its way to my brain. I couldn't bare the sight of Xs anymore. My stomach flipped when I heard the word "differentiation". Besides, my eyes had fallen on the black notebook, which I carried with me regularly now. I guess Math can wait.
I opened the notebook, and read from where I had stopped:
I don’t remember anything of Syria, nothing at all. I left it when I was three. Everything I know of it is from these blurry memories, or mostly the pictures and stories my dad and brother used to tell. My mom died three months before we left Syria. It was what got dad moving. Syria already wasn’t safe enough, with the corrupt presidency and all that. But dad didn’t want to leave at the start; it was his country, his whole life, how could he let it all go? That was alright, until mom’s illness got too hard she could no longer take it.
YOU ARE READING
Holding onto Charcoal
Teen Fiction{COMPLETE} Abdullah Parks is tired of his life-and for a good reason. He's a Muslim, he's American, and he's trying to balance between the two parts inside himself. His horrible Math teacher, drastic grades, and the massive bombings happening in his...
