Various One-Shots from 'Confessions of a Muslim Girl'

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            I haven’t seen her in five months. I don’t even know if winter break counts—we didn’t even get to be in the same room for more than three seconds. I caught a glance at her, but she and I were never at the same place at the same time. That was beyond frustrating, but just like with Noha, there’s some invisible force preventing me from ever seeing Maysa, especially this past year.

            It sucks because I miss her like hell. Just being able to hang out—with other people around, it doesn’t matter—and have a conversation, just that simple stuff. I miss that. I never appreciated how much I saw of her in high school or even my first year of college because I was always coming back home every chance I got. Now with her seven hours away, running on PennState’s school schedule, we never see each other anymore. I think the last time I talked to her was last August—it’s May now.

            Allah, if it’s best for me to see her, may I see her when I get home, inshallah. The prayer kind of calms me down a bit, kind of makes it easier. It doesn’t meas—“Yo, Adam, your turn to order.” Somehow, we’ve reached Subway and both Holland and Grant have ordered. The guy working behind the counter—he’s in my bio class—waits for me to tell him what bread I want. “Italian,” I mumble before distractedly rattling off my usual order.

            After we pay and sit down at a table by the window, Holland’s doing most of the talking. I think Grant has a thing for her, which is why he’s content talking about whatever she wants to talk about.

            “Any summer plans, guys?” Holland asks before biting into her BLT. A piece of bacon falls out and I can’t help but wonder why that looks appetizing on any level.

            Grant answers first. “Just heading home to Alabama. Going to help my dad out at the shop, that’s about it.” Grant’s dad, a mechanic, owns a garage in Grant’s hometown in Alabama. Grant spends summers helping him out. “What about you, Miss New York?” He gives her that kind of intense look guys give when they’re flirting, but I don’t know if she catches it. Holland’s kind of like a slippery ice cube. She’s there, all available and engaging, but she can be kind of evasive too, and cold enough to burn if you trifle with her for too long.

            “Visiting some old friends. Maybe we’ll go to Cali for a few weeks. Don’t really know yet. What about you, Adam?”

            “Studying abroad. The program in Italy that I was telling you about.”

            “Oh yeah!” Grant knows what I’m talking about. He was there when I found out I got in. “Rome, right? Late May to July or something.”

            “Yeah. A month and a half program, just studying at a university there.”

            “Italian girls are hot,” Holland comments. “Don’t get too distracted.” She tops it off with lifting her eyebrows.

            “Trust me, I won’t.” The comment comes out kind of flat.

            “Yup, Adam doesn’t date, remember?” Grant, being my roommate, knows I don’t date and all the other things associated with being Muslim. I think he thinks I’m crazy but he’s chill enough not to say anything.

            “Wait, is that a real thing?” Holland snorts as she takes a sip of her drink. “I thought it was part of the good-guy act.”

            “Yes. It is, indeed, a real thing.” I keep the sarcasm at bay. I don’t want to come across as a jerk, even though she can piss me off sometimes.