Mariam Kazmi
Her blue eyes were laughing, mocking me.
I was still staring blankly at the teacher. My cheeks heated as several other heads turned towards me, identical expressions of amusement on their faces.
“Amira, did you hear what I asked? Would you like to come up and try this problem on the board?” Mrs. London’s stern jaw hardened as she pointed a long finger toward the whiteboard behind her. I knew she wanted me to do something, but I just did not know what.
A moment of silence passed. No one spoke. Then, the girl with the blue eyes began giggling, her voice a haunting bell in my ears. I watched as she tucked her straight brown hair behind her double pierced ears and covered her mouth as she whispered to her friends. They all began laughing along with her, their whispers becoming louder as their excitement grew.
Mrs. London cleared her throat. “Well, as Amira has not given me an answer, we will just have to move on to Ms. Brooke here, who seems anxious to perform some math for us.” Mrs. London lowered her gaze to the group of girls who had now stopped their whispers and chuckles. Their smiles had turned into frowns, and Brooke looked up at Mrs. London with a nervous pout. I relaxed as the teacher’s attention diverted away from me..
“I never volun-”.
“By interrupting class with your talking, Brooke, you have indeed volunteered. Now do not make any more excuses and go finish the problem up on the board.” Mrs. London handed a red marker to Brooke and promptly walked back towards the front of the room.
“Did you see the look on her face when London asked her to go up to the board? She didn’t understand a thing!” a girl with blonde hair shrieked, bending her head back as she cackled. She was a part of Brooke’s group. All the girls in Mrs. London’s class were part of Brooke’s group. All of them except me.
I walked out of the classroom alone, and as I did, I caught Brooke’s searing glare. The other girls followed her gaze. They all looked vengeful, and I was afraid of what they would do next. Fearfully, I walked away, the mocking laughter following me down the long school hallway.
The space on either side of me was empty. I was surrounded by vacant chairs. I nibbled on the greasy pizza slice in front of me and forced myself to swallow it. As I leaned down to take another bite, the red sauce caught on to the frayed edge of my white hijab. I looked down at the stain with disgust and then proceeded to cover it with my puffy pink coat.
“What are you trying to hide there, Amira?” I paused and looked up, my heart beating faster as I recognized the all too familiar voice. It was Brooke.
“No ting,” I attempted as I tried to focus on the food.
“Take that jacket out of the way and let me see. I can help you, you know.” Before I could stop her, Brooke reached forward and tugged at the neck of my coat, revealing the blotchy red stain. “Hah! It’s just a stain. But here, I can help you out.” Suddenly, Brooke walked around to my side of the table and grabbed my hijab.
“S-stoopy,” I cried as I realized what Brooke was doing.
“What was that? I’m sorry, Amira, but I just can’t understand you. Now, I’m just going to help you out by taking this scarf to the bathroom so we can clean out the stain.” Brook tore the hijab off in one swift motion, and I was left, exposed. I gasped, my cheeks immediately turning red. I bit my lip to stop the incoming tears.
In front of me, Brooke’s friends were laughing loudly, a wicked glint of glee in their eyes. Brooke smiled at them, holding my white hijab as some sort of trophy. “Gyve bick,” I said quietly. I stood up from the blue plastic cafeteria chair and held out my hand, palms upright. But Brooke did not look at me. I grabbed for the hijab.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Brooke threatened, shaking her finger. An angry shadow crossed her face, and, for a second, she looked ugly. But the moment passed quickly, and Brooke’s beautiful mask was on once again. “You have to say please.”
I stuttered, trying to form English words. I did not understand what Brooke was saying. All I knew was that she had my hijab, and I wanted it back. “Gyve,” I repeated, trying to snatch the hijab again. But Brooke was too fast. She immediately pulled the scarf away from my reach and ran towards her friends, laughing with the enjoyment of taunting me.
“Bye, now! I’m sure you’ll feel much better without this scarf making you feel so uncomfortable all the time.” Brooke wiggled her red-tipped fingers, and the girls simultaneously turned around so that I was left staring at the skinny legs beneath their short skirts.
My face was burning. My hair was a static mess around my pink coat. I had not noticed that the abandoned pizza had toppled down to the floor. Some of the sauce and pieces of stringy cheese had splattered across my fuzzy brown boots. This time, I could not stop the tears.
I sat back down, the area around my table empty and quiet once again. My shoulders trembled with the burden of tears, and I used my elbows to cover both my face and exposed hair. This feeling of uselessness, however, was not new to me. I experienced it every day but could do nothing about it. I could not defend myself. All I could do was cry.
As students walked by me, they glanced at my shaking figure and whispered. Some looked sympathetic while others were grinning. But all of them, I knew, were talking about me. I was the girl who could not understand English. I was the girl with the hijab. I was the girl who had no friends.