I'm going to be Maxwell High School's next valedictorian. InshaAllah. Mama said to add that word whenever you intended to do something.
But right now, at 6:30 a.m., with the buzzing of my alarm clock piercing the dimly lit room, the last thing I wanted to do was get up and go to school. High school was almost over, and the urge to sleep in just once was tempting. Heavy footsteps walked past my door and down the hall. Baba was already up.
I hauled myself out of bed, eyelids heavy. Nope. In addition to valedictorian, I wanted the perfect attendance award. I grabbed my prayer hijab from the back of my computer desk chair and threw it over my shoulder.
"Hey, kiddo," Baba said as he saw me pass by the kitchen on the way to the bathroom.
I grunted in response.
When I finished the prayer, I joined my dad in the kitchen. From the windows above the sink, the after-dawn sunlight brightened the pink and black granite countertop. Baba once said the unusual color was because of the high amount of the mineral feldspar in the rock. He would know—he was an environmental engineer.
"This one mine?" I asked, using my fork to point at the golden-brown omelet plated on the kitchen island. Beside the plate was a pile of mail with the interchanging names of Patrick Stonewell and Yusuf Stonewell. Both referred to my dad.
"Yup." He had another omelet sizzling in the pan.
I settled into the bar stool to eat, ready to devour the fluffy eggs mixed with chili flakes, black pepper, and a pinch of salt. "Nice." My bare elbows ran across the cold counter, and I shivered.
After several moments, Baba said in a low voice, "Your mama had a rough night," while keeping his back to me.
My shoulders slumped.
After a pause, he added, "Remember, it's—"
"Nobody's fault," I said for him. It was always nobody's fault.
I hunched in my seat and continued eating, absently staring ahead to tell myself it was normal. Normal that Mama's moods flipped harder than derivatives, and you could scrape the tan off my skin and see no other part of her on me.
After washing my plate, I returned to my room. Drawing open the curtains, the morning light illuminated the lavender and cream-colored walls, my queen-sized bed, walk-in closet, and two bookshelves. The light also touched my two desks, one by my bed for my computer and the second by the attached balcony where I studied.
I wasn't totally upset with the way my parents raised me—but it was like this house had all the bare bones of a family. There was no stuffing or decoration. I learned the major and minuscule practices of Islam, performing the five daily prayers, fasting during the holy month of Ramadan, giving to charity, wearing garments that hid the body's curves, and reciting phrases before eating or leaving the house—but that was it. Everything else my mom could've passed down to me was muted. I didn't even have an infamous auntie to complain about.
I had Aunt Naomi, but I'd never complain about her.
I chose from an array of loose-fitting clothes to wear for school, unlike the t-shirts and leggings I wore at home. With the full-length mirror on the wall, I wrapped a jersey scarf around my head, keeping my widow's peak, neck, and ears covered, and the fabric rested over my chest. I grabbed my school bag, threw open a textbook, and sat at the balcony desk.
For a while, I didn't do anything. I wondered what a normal morning looked like for Valentino. Did he have a parent with episodes like mine? Was he also an only child? I never asked him because I was too scared to. All I knew about him was that he took soccer seriously and never missed a chance to talk to me in homeroom. Oh, and he loved CrusadEon Online.
I rested my forehead against the open textbook. Didn't Valentino catch the hint? I let him have my phone number a week after we met at the beginning of the school year. Yeah, I told him he could only use it for school-related stuff, but still! How much more of a sign did he need to know I had the biggest crush on him?
Hearing the jingle of my dad's keys from the front door, I swiped a quick layer of Vaseline over my lips, put the textbook away, and followed my dad.
"Is it okay I didn't say bye to Mama?" I asked.
"Yeah. I don't think she'd hear you, anyway," Baba added in a softer voice, rubbing his chin that sported a short beard a few shades lighter than the dark curls on his head.
I slipped into a pair of flats, tossing my bag into the backseat with Baba's work briefcase. The warm April air made me hesitate to get into the car. It was hard to think how gloomy the house was when the rest of the world was so bright.
Ducking to get in, I sank into the car seat and closed my eyes. Baba said the travel prayer, and I followed along in my head. He switched on the radio connected to his playlist. My favorite song was playing, written by two Muslim women and sung with just vocals, and I imagined myself at a seaside cottage in a flowing white dress, pretending I had a lover to sing it to.
I used to believe love was a storm—
We'd tear apart the darkness
And raise up the ground;
I never thought I could withstand it
But you were my thunder
And I was your lightning—
So I let the sky touch the seas
Let the winds howl at the trees;
What I didn't realize
Was that you were drifting away from me...
Now every time I cross the open sea
The sky whispers a desperate plea:
Bring back the ocean,
And bring back the winds;
But you were the sun who broke up our clouds,
The anchor that kept me a-ground
Why can't we love like a storm again?
Why can't we love like a storm again?
I used to believe love was a storm,
I used to believe we could tear apart the darkness
And raise up the ground;
I never thought I could withstand it
But you were my thunder
And I was your lightning—
I used to
I used to
...believe in our love.
Why can't we love like a storm again?
I never thought I could withstand it
Why can't we love like a storm again?
But now I know;
I am the storm.
"Hey, Inaya!"
The lyrics dispersed at the sound of Valentino's voice calling my name. I looked over my locker door and smiled. Behind him, our classmates were trickling through the peeling wooden door and into homeroom before the school day started.
"Still haven't gotten it?" he asked, stopping to stand at my side. A wave of his fresh-smelling cologne enveloped me, and I noted his dark blond hair was damp from a morning shower to beat the early summer heat.
"No," I said with a sigh and then looked away, too conscious of how good he looked.
I also didn't want to tell him I didn't have the world-renowned multiplayer game that everyone and their cousin were talking about because of my mom. She banned it once word had gotten out that users had to upload a photo and a ten-second headshot video of themselves to create their in-game characters. Maybe I could claim her strictness as proof of having a Bengali parent? Someone might believe me.
"That sucks. They just released a second arc, too," Valentino moved to open his locker two doors from mine. "I think they also released a new update that allows us to create these sick, customized outfits. It's awesome!"
I noticed a light in his eyes whenever he talked about CrusadEon Online. I wondered if he ever had the same glint in his eyes when he talked like that about a girl he liked.
"You know what? You want me to show you after class?"
I stopped what I was doing to meet Valentino's gaze. His smile reached his eyes, the kind of smile that was contagious because it was genuine. He leaned a little closer to me, but his open locker door separated us.
"I know you'd like the game if you tried it. I just know it. Your parents are way too strict."
I looked away and shuffled my notebooks to make space for my art class supplies. Okay, scratch the strict parent thing. I don't like how that sounds at all.
"They prioritize studying and all that, y'know?" I said. I didn't want Valentino to feel sorry for me, even if it bothered me sometimes. "I am trying to be number one in the school."
"Yeah? I can definitely see you up there," Valentino said.
Butterfly in stomach? No. Butterfly in ribcage? Yes. I hoped the heat I was feeling in my face wasn't visible to him.
"Reminds me, did you do the homework?" I asked.
With a furrowing of eyebrows, it was Valentino's turn to look away. "Um, for which class?"
"Math. Textbook page one hundred eighty-nine. Answer questions—"
"Inaya! There was this huge tournament last night, and basically, half of the world was competing. So, I completely forgot!" He glanced over his shoulder at where our homeroom teacher's desk was and fished for a notebook to flip open. "You've got it, though?"
"This isn't your first offense," I reminded him, pretending to give him a hard time.
"I promise you I forgot—I would've done it if it hadn't been for the tournament," he added.
I shook my head but handed him the homework anyway. His face lit up, and I couldn't stop the butterfly in my chest from escaping. Our fingers did not brush like they would've if this were a movie, but I took it as a win. Aiming for valedictorian has its perks.
As Valentino walked away, the rush of excitement I felt being near him faded. I watched three girls from the other side of the classroom—Clara, Jamie, and Elsa—approach him. I dubbed the three Valentino's Fan Club, and I had to stop myself from wrinkling my nose at the sight of them. The three shepherded him to their desks and immediately struck up a conversation.
The butterflies were gone, and I walked up to our homeroom teacher. Right now, the most important thing was distracting our teacher from catching Valentino copying my homework.
"Morning, Mrs. Asaka," I said, drawing the petite woman's gaze away from her grade book. My mind fumbled for something to busy her with. "Is becoming a scientist worth the hard work it takes?"
"Well," Mrs. Asaka said, leaning away from her work. "That depends on the kind of science you choose to study, Inaya. I know you do well in biology, but college-level biology will be different."
"What do you mean?" I went on, relieved that my teacher's attention was entirely on me now. I also felt a twinge of guilt, knowing I was taking advantage of Mrs. Asaka's favoritism for me, her straight-A student, again.
"For starters, you won't just be studying biology in college, even if that's what you plan on getting a degree in. You'd be taking chemistry and other science classes alongside it to get a well-rounded understanding of the concepts."
I made a face. "I don't like chemistry."
"You'll need to take that into account, then. If you don't," she added, "reconsider your priorities."
"All right. Thanks, Mrs. Asaka. I'll keep that in mind when I apply to colleges."
Out of the corner of my eye, I observed that Valentino was done copying my homework. Mrs. Asaka must've thought I was looking at the clock on the wall because she picked up her red pen, her eyebrows raised.
"Is homeroom over? You should go to your desk. I'll be taking attendance soon."
I nodded and did as I was told, sitting on my stool on the left-hand side of the desk I shared with Valentino. Some days, I'd sit on the right-hand side, but I'd gotten into the habit of looking out of the window with Valentino next to me like I was in some high school TV drama. A girl could dream, even a nerd like me.
Seeing my notebook underneath his, I slid it out to place it in my bag, ignoring that Valentino had moved on to sit with his fan club on the other side of the classroom. Dream shattered. Yeah, I'd forgotten about that. I didn't always get to have Valentino when the Fan Club was in full force.
Hearing two girls chatting behind me, I turned around. Salah and Ameena were sitting at the desk. I'd met the two at the beginning of this school year along with Valentino. Like me, they were the only girls in the entire student body at Maxwell High to wear a hijab.
Salah wiggled her fingers in greeting, and Ameena smiled, looking up from sketching at the top page of her precalculus notebook.
"Your boyfriend's so not loyal," Salah whispered, a hand to the side of her face as she glanced in Valentino's direction. Her bright red hijab paired well with Ameena's dusty pink.
"Good thing he's not her boyfriend," Ameena whispered back, not looking up from the tip of her pencil. "Otherwise, we'd have to get away with murder."
Salah snickered, and I found myself smiling. I liked the idea of Valentino being in love with me. He seemed like the type who'd carry my bags while I filled my scrapbooks with pictures from all around the world.
But when Valentino returned to his seat for attendance and greeted the three, my smile fell. It would never work out.
As Mrs. Asaka called out names, I sank my chin into the palm of my hand and turned my head to the window. I wasn't really looking for much beyond the thick plastic, just a place my thoughts could float to. After attendance, Valentino nudged me and asked me to meet him outside homeroom at the end of the day.
I just wanted to be a girl in love.