Who Am I?

Is This Destiny?

The mess hall was unexpectedly orderly, when you walked in you were faced with 5 impossibly long rows of adjoined tables and everyone had a seat but because not everyone was in the hall yet, few groups loitered around.

The floors were linoleum white, contrasting sharply with the old wooden tables. The white linen tablecloths matched the floor and the lights were encased in hanging lampshades inside black geometric frames.

It looked classy, everyone in their navy blue uniforms and talking amongst themselves like a real Oxford-esque, Hogwarts style boarding school.

It was blaringly obvious that they were all broken up into cliques, and now that this scene was in front of me and not on a trashy American TV show it seemed worse somehow. Of course, the smart popular kids got to sit in front of the mess hall, the best of the best deserved the creme de la creme of sitting space.

I had enough prior high-school knowledge to figure out that the well known people sat in the middle, and the end tables we reserved for the outcasts but I noticed something else. The two were further divided by the overly black-and-white categories of cop and criminal.
Even in their cliques.

I moved to the front and collected my lunch tray, finally deciding on sitting on an unoccupiated seat in the far left, close to the doors if I needed a quick escape route.

I slid into my self-appointed seat rather quickly for someone who was sitting alone. I was firm. I wouldn't take sides under any circumstances. Everyone was staring at me pitifully. I did this to myself, I ostracized myself. My eyes meet Joey's sympathetic eyes from across the hall and I dully look back at her, not showing even one once of regret or any expression on my face.

The day passes just like that, in a blur of faces and expressions. The mixture of pity, contempt, sympathy and hopeful warm smiles exhaust me and when I finally drag myself to my dorm room and plop onto the bed, sighing deeply. I didn't even mind that there was nothing on it.

Finally.

I allow my eyes to drift closed and my phone goes off. Blaring that annoying ringtone pre-installed on the phone. I scowl as I answer and quickly refresh my memory. I ordered a bunch of stuff to decorate the dorm room. "I'll be at security in 10 minutes. On my way."

I mumble into the phone, running to the front gate. Somehow glad that I'm still in my uniform. I notice a bunch of black cars waiting at the gate but I don't pay them any attention.
Looking back, I should've paid more attention to my surroundings.
"Hi, I'm Jinan el-Akabi in C109. There's a package for me?"

The security guard, Mr Ahmed, was overjoyed at seeing another Arab in 'this posh rich school' and we bonded immediately over language. He insisted that I speak Arabic with him. Mr Ahmed was so overwhelmed at seeing me, the sparkle in his eyes showed his delight as if I was a present from Allah himself.

So it was hard. Leaving, I mean. Ahmed basically held me hostage as I tried to leave. I had to promise him three visits before he waved me off, ordering the security patrol to help me get the boxes to my room.

"Thank you for your help," I wave as the tired guards drop my stuff and leave with groans. It made me feel bad, but not as much as not being helped and left to deal with all this myself.

It wasn't that much stuff. I eye the stack of eight boxes up against the wall.

It wasn't that much stuff at all considering I didn't bring anything with me.

I chew the inside of my cheek. I grew up in poverty and I know for a fact that I had a tendency to hoard things. Mementos. Precious things. Gifts. I never threw anything away if it looked pretty and I could do something with it.

Daddy used to tell me I was just like Mommy--I could make anyplace a home with a little effort. The women in my family called it nesting.

I called it a nasty habit.

I opened the boxes one by one, grateful that I was rich in this lifetime at least. But growing up with so many people always around me was like having built-in friends so I didn't really know how to make new friends.

Jinan didn't have any friends besides her dad and his partner's family, so her memories were useless. Hussein's partner died a long time ago, back when Jinan was a little kid so that experience didn't count for much.

Kid friendships were way easier than teen friendships.

The room door swings open and Joey blinks at me, pausing in midair with unpacking bedding. "Oh wow, I'm going to have to get used to this," she murmurs to herself, blinking as if in shock as she softly closes the door.

"Sorry for the noise, forgot that your my new roommate for a second." Joey grimaces, sauntering to her side of the spacious room. Back in the Cape, it would've been described as a large bachelor's apartment. But here they just called it a room.

Rich people.

"It's okay, I'm just decorating. Bought some stuff online for it." I grin weakly, continuing with what I was doing and Joey sits on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, Jinan," Joey swings her legs up in the air as she watches me curiously. "Yeah?"
"Why'd you sit alone at the caf today?" The nosiness in her voice was obvious and I inwardly drooled my eyes.

"I'm not a social person."
She plops onto her back, her ash blonde hair creating a halo of fascination and curiosity around her head, "Being in a group protects you and also makes life easier. You could've sat with both Vi and Cece, or with Giselle and her group--I heard you we invited. It's not like you didn't have anyone to sit with." She fidgeted with her fingers, her expression saying that I could've sat with her as well.

"To be honest Jinan, what you did today was stupid and you looked pitiful sitting all alone," she narrowed her eyes as she sat up to stare uncomfortably at me.

I avoid her accusing stare, nonchalantly unpacking my box of stationary as I set up my desk. "Gee, please don't hold back," I drawl, "you might just hurt my feelings."

"I'm serious," she scowls. I raise a brow. I have never been one to do something I don't want to do. I have no plans to start now. "I am too. I don't need protection from anyone, I'm perfectly capable of fucking up my own life all by myself. And I'm not scared of a bunch of teenagers."

Joey's entire face says I should be scared. But what can the mafia or the cops do to me at this point? I have nothing I want to protect with my life. I mean, if it wasn't for that spell Hussein would've abandoned me at this sorry excuse of a school, and I have no family. I was born poor so I'm not even scared of poverty.

I don't have any friends or family (Hussein barely counts). My 'home' was blown to bits. I have no attachment to this life, and I need to survive only to go back to my actual life. This isn't really me so I don't care what happens.

Sounds even more pathetic when I put it like that.

"You know that's not what I mean," she pauses--standing up, "You and I are scholarship students. These kids are born with a silver spoon in their mouths."

"I know what to do and what not to do, mom," I tease, "If no one bothers me, I won't bother them."

Joey looks at me for a long time before letting out a long sigh, "Fine. Have it your way, don't come crying to me when Eris targets you."

I grin softly, red hair falling into my face. "Thanks for looking out for me though, I appreciate the thought."
I try to glance into her eyes and Joey presses her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

"... get some sleep. The whole school's going to be here tomorrow. You'll need all the strength you can get for that one." She murmurs, eyes drifting shut.

Tomorrow'll be a long day.

***