Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 35 -- The Pseudo-Like Police Interrogation

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL THE CHRISTIANS OUT THERE! See, I got so excited, I used all caps. Don't get too fat off of Christmas cookies, and have a wonderful, relaxing holiday. I hope you get what you've been wishing for, and may your day be filled with happiness, family, friends, good food, awesome presents, and the spirit of Christmas :)

"Friendship isn’t defined by telling each other everything; it’s defined as caring for that person enough to know that some things aren’t meant to be said at a particular point in time." -- Noha Ali, Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 35

The Pseudo-Like Police Interrogation

☻ Noha Ali ☻

            “We’re going to the Maliks’ house for dinner tonight.” Mom states as she walks into the family room. I’m sitting there doing homework while Dawud is doing a puzzle at the coffee table. Adam is texting someone on his phone, his face grim. Rubina is on the laptop.

            We all look up at that. “What?” I ask, startled. Did Maysa’s parents finally…? Mom shifts her gaze to me and I look down uncomfortably. The tension is evident. Dad has been quiet and gentle with the issue, but Mom has made her disappointment towards me and Adam pretty obvious.

            I just don’t have the guts to straight up confess everything. “Um, what did she say exactly?” Adam asks, frowning down at his phone before looking up.

            “She said that Zakariya really wants to open up to all of us about what’s going on. Liyana was too nice to say this, but I do know you two are involved. I feel as if tonight is the perfect opportunity for both of you to take responsibility for what you have—and haven’t—done.” With that, Mom leaves the room.

            The burn is obvious. Ouch. Disappointing and making my mom upset is two things I don’t enjoy. As I sit there blankly staring at my paper, the reality sets in. Oh my God. Tonight. We’re confessing everything. What if, what if what happened that one night comes up?

            Springing up, I hurry upstairs to my room. I scan the shelf where I keep all my scrapbooks. Elementary school, part one and two. High school, parts one through four. Middle school part one. Middle school part two. That’s it. That’s the one.

            I sit down at my desk as I hold the scrapbook. Uttering ‘bismillah’, which basically means you’re going to begin something in the name of God, I flip through the pages rapidly. What I’m looking for isn’t there. Where is it? God, where is it?

            I squeeze my eyes until my eyebrows hurt because I’m concentrating so hard. I try to think back in full detail as to what happened.

            “Can you walk to the park next to the school?” He asks calmly.

            “Um…w-what?”

            “The park, Noha.” His voice is the epitome of patient. “I can ride my bike to the park in twenty minutes, if I take the shortcut.”

            I deflate. “O-oh, Zak. You don’t have to do that. Besides…it’s getting late and you know…what are you going to tell your parents? And it’s um, not like…Islamically appropriate, right?”

            I can hear the sound of the garage open from his side of the line. “Ma! Can I go to the library?” He calls out. His mom seems to say yes.