One

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Inaya Muhammad. Maxwell High School's next valedictorian. Insha'Allah. Mama always said to add that when you intended to do something.

But right now, at 5:30 a.m., with the buzzing of her alarm clock piercing the dimly lit room, the last thing Inaya wanted to do was get up and start her day. From under the thin covers and air-conditioned room, she heard heavy footsteps walking down the hall. Baba was already up.

Inaya hauled herself out of bed, eyelids heavy. She grabbed her prayer hijab from the back of her computer desk chair and threw it over her shoulder. Mama and Baba stopped waking her up for the predawn prayer after she turned sixteen, expecting she would find it in herself to do it without being told to.

Before she trudged to the bathroom though, she grabbed her polaroid camera and snapped a pic of her alarm clock. With a whir, a picture was produced. Inaya went to one of her bookshelves, fumbling in the dark room to pick out the scrapbook she reserved for her senior year of high school. She opened it to the latest page and placed the picture on it with the caption: fought the urge to sleep in. Two months left until graduation.

"Hey, kiddo," Baba said as he saw her pass by the kitchen. Inaya grunted in response.

When she finished the prayer, Inaya joined her dad in the kitchen. It had wide windows at the sink, a kitchen island, and everything topped with pink and black granite. Baba said the unusual color was because of the high amount of the mineral feldspar present in the rock. He would know since he was an environmental engineer.

"This one mine?" Inaya asked, using a fork to point at the golden-brown omelet mixed with chili flakes, black pepper, and a pinch of salt plated on the kitchen island. Beside it was a pile of mail, with interchanging names of Patrick Stonewell and Yusuf Stonewell, both of which referred to her dad.

"Yup." He had another sizzling in the pan.

"Nice," Inaya settled into the bar stool to eat.

After several quiet moments, Baba said in a low voice, "Your mama had a rough time last night."

"Crying? Or silence?" Inaya whispered, not looking up.

"Both."

Inaya hunched in her seat and continued eating. Today would be another one of those days she would stop by a halal deli for a sandwich after school and wait for Baba to come home from work with takeout for lunch. Maybe bring home a can of Canada Dry to make her mama not feel bad that she hadn't cooked for the family.

By 6:30 a.m., Inaya had washed her plate and returned to her room to get dressed for school. The curtains were drawn and the morning light illuminated the lavender and cream-colored walls that housed her queen-sized bed, walk-in closet, and two bookshelves. It also had two desks, one by her bed for her computer, and another one by the attached balcony where she studied.

Inaya used the full-length mirror on the wall to wrap a jersey scarf around her head, keeping her widow's peak hidden and her chest covered. Hearing the jingle of her dad's keys from the open door, she swiped a quick layer of Vaseline over her lips and grabbed her school bag. She eventually threw it into the backseat with Baba's work briefcase and hopped into the shotgun seat beside her dad.

"It's okay I didn't say bye to Mama?" she asked.

"Yeah. I don't think she'd hear you, anyway," he added in a softer voice as he pulled out of their driveway.

Inaya sank into the seat and closed her eyes. Baba said the travel prayer and she followed along in her head. He then switched on the radio and the two started their Monday.

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