Breaking Point

1

Chapter One

Four months earlier

I woke up to a silent house and it took me a few minutes to adjust to the bright light that streamed out of the window. It took me several more minutes to remember that this overwhelming silence was becoming quite a routine. I yawned and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, my muscles groaning as I got up and peeled the blanket off of me. I sat on the bed, staring at my hands, remembering when I'd wake up to the smell of fried eggs, the sound of the tap running and my mother yelling at me to get up.

I wondered if things would ever go back to the way they used to be.

I pushed away the thought and got up, shuffling to the bathroom to get ready for another long, useless day at school. It wasn't that I didn't like learning. I didn't like the stuck up students, the snobby teachers and the repetitive curriculum. Sure, I had a few friends and they made things a lot more easier. But at the end of the day "school" was just a cover up title for an institution that forced kids to sit down for eight hours a day to learn a white washed curriculum from a teacher who would rather eat nails then answer questions without humiliating the students.

So, even though school undoubtedly sucked and I could probably complain about it forever, I would still ace my exams, finish my homework and obey the rules and regulations of an oppressive system just like the good little boy I'm supposed to be.

With this in mind, I grudgingly forced myself through the morning.

For breakfast I grabbed a couple of waffles and threw them in the toaster. I was preparing a pot of coffee -- which was the only thing in the whole damn world that could get me through the day -- when my sister, Salma, walked up to the kitchen table, sat down and pulled out her phone. She played with the ends of her hijab and looked up.

"Gimme coffee." She mumbled, and yawned.

"What's the magic word?"

"Now." She grunted, her eyes back on her phone.

"Damn. Who peed in your Cheerios?."

"Mr. Rally and his brilliant idea of assigning us a lab report due on a Monday."

"Gross."

I felt for her. Mondays were rough to begin with.

I poured two cups of coffee, stacked a tower of waffles on a plate and brought it over to the kitchen table. Salma reached over for a cup, eyes still glued onto her phone, while I glanced over my math homework, making sure I'd answered everything correctly. We sat there in silence, until Salma looked up.

"When does mom come home today?" She asked.

"Ten."

My mom worked two jobs and came home late everyday. We only ever saw her on weekend evenings, because she'd go straight to bed after work. Sometimes, she'd leave notes on the fridge, containing lists of chores and groceries that needed to be bought.

Salma nodded. Outside, a car honked.

"Friends are here." She announced, getting up.

"Salaam."

After she left, I closed my math assignment and cleaned up, keeping my eye on the time. I walked to school everyday and had discovered that it took exactly twelve minutes to get to the drab, grey building, which helped me determine an appropriate time to leave the house. I threw on my bag, tied up my shoes and was on my way.

As I lazily strolled down the street, kicking at leaves that had been plastered to the ground by the early morning dew, I let my mind drift off.

At school, it was safe to say that I was known as the curly haired kid with the crazy good grades. I had been a straight A student since grade school, and still earned nearly perfect scores on all my exams. Last year, I'd been given the Top Student of the Year award, much to everyone's surprise. It was the first time it had been awarded to a freshman.