Blue-Haired Muslim

Chapter 17: Blue

     "You have Mr. Wembley for physics?" Sam asked while unlocking his bike.

     "Yeah, third period," Daehan nodded. 

     "Awesome. You'll be in my class. It was awesome seeing you and I hate to cut it short, but I got to be somewhere at 3. See you in class tomorrow?" Sam suggested and patted Daehan's backpack.

      "No problem. just wanted to say hi. We're having a football game on Sunday at the mosque. You should stop by," Daehan suggested. 

      "Sounds cool. Details tomorrow, cool?" Sam asked before straddling the bike and putting on his helmet. 

     "Yeah, sounds good. Later," Daehan nodded before heading towards the buses. 

     After talking to Daehan, Sam headed towards Nancy's. There was little-to-no traffic along the way which allowed Sam to arrive with a good ten minutes to spare. He locked his bike against the small bike rack for the strip mall and jogged over to the small, yet homely salon. Sam was about to open the door to the establishment when a tall and muscular man with intricate face tattoos stopped him. 

     "You gotta read first, bro," the man growled before tapping on a piece of paper that had been taped to the door. 

     Sam wasn't sure what was the most astounding element of the tall and broad man in front of him. Was it his Australian-ish accent? His muscular stature? His face tattoos? His gravely voice? He had a menacing demeanor that Sam found terrifying. He could probably snap my neck without blinking. 

     "You alright, bro?" The man asked, his tone softening a bit. 

     "Y-yeah, um, yes. I had an appointment with Nancy at three," Sam blurted out quickly. 

      "Yeah, but you're early, bro. Sign says that they got a private event inside. Ya gotta wait," the man reiterated while tapping on the piece of parchment. 

     Sam quickly glanced at the paper, finally reading the small typed words on the page. Closed for private party. Re-opening at three. Oh. I almost barged into a party. I can't even imagine the awkward silence that would have ensued. 

     "Oh. Thanks for stopping me," Sam nodded quickly. 

      "You look like you're about to piss your pants. Slow your roll, bro. I wasn't going to hurt you, but I sure as hell wasn't letting you walk in there either," the man laughed before patting Sam on the back.

     "I-I," Sam stuttered and paused to collect his thoughts.  He did think that the man could easily squish him, but now the idea of that happening seemed ludicrous. He mustered up his courage and admitted that he was a bit terrified of the man's appearance. "Your tone had me scrambling, sir. I'm a scrawny teen and you're Hulk Hogan." 

     "I'm Maori, son," the man said simply as if that was all the explanation in the world. 

     "Like, the Haka guys? That doesn't put my mind at ease, sir," Sam admitted. He had seen the traditional war cry of the native New Zealanders on Youtube. That made the Maori even more formidable in his mind. 

     The man roared with laughter and patted his chest in what seemed to be like the beginning of the Haka war cry. Before the man could properly begin the chant, the door to the salon opened and a group of women walked out while chatting amongst themselves. Many of the women were wearing hijabs and one hijabi woman in particular paused as she looked at the Maori man.

     "Jace? What are you doing?" The woman asked with her arms across her chest, 

     "Lily, hey honey. Just showing this young man what a real Haka is like. Did you have a good time?" Jace asked once he straightened up and smiled fondly at the woman.