The Badboy, the Catfish & Me

Twenty-Six

On Monday, the mood of the entire school was electric. We had finished our exams for the semester, and now all that was left were tomorrow's final graduation rehearsals, prom Wednesday night, and the graduation ceremony the following Monday. College acceptance letters would be rolling in, too.

At homeroom, at the end of the day, the classroom was packed for once. Being the last homeroom of the year, it was mandatory for students to attend. I was emptying the last of my locker when Salah and Ameena walked in.

"Hey!" I greeted them.

But Salah only exclaimed, "Ugh, I hate being the oldest!" She stopped in front of me to text someone aggressively.

Ameena and I shared a look.

"What do you have to do this time?" Ameena raised an eyebrow at our friend in a floral orange hijab.

"I have to pick up Sumaiya and Ayan from school today because my mom wants to go shopping, and then I have to make them lunch and then pick up Addan from soccer practice."

I shoved my hands into my dress pockets, thoughtful at the mention of younger siblings. "I think I'd like having a sibling," I said.

Salah's look of anguish disappeared, and her eyes brightened with possibility.

"You can take them! I've got plenty for you to choose from, too. A six-year-old, an eight-year-old and an eleven-year-old!"

Ameena and I laughed.

When the amusement faded, I added, "Y'know, I actually had a younger sibling."

"Had?" Salah echoed. It was her turn to exchange a worried glance with Ameena.

"Yeah. My dad told me recently about it." I bit her bottom lip, unsure of how much to tell them. "I don't remember ever meeting her. I was three when she...died."

Ameena frowned. "It's sad to lose a baby. I wouldn't want to remember."

"Me either," Salah said.

"Neither," I corrected.

"Huh?"

"The proper phrase is 'me neither.' I was correcting your grammar," I said.

"Okay, Ms. Serious, we know you're also Ms. Salutatorian," Salah huffed.

"So, you guys...this might sound weird," Ameena interrupted. Her voice had dropped to almost a whisper. "But you know how kids are made, right?"

"Unfortunately," Salah rolled her eyes.

I asked that question when I was ten, climbing up a hill in the Grand Canyon on our guided tour. When I'd asked Baba about it, he made a weird noise—a mix between an "oh no" and an "ask your mama," but it came out as "oh mama"—before promptly tripping over his feet. He nearly fell off the edge of the 50-foot-high trail if the tour guide hadn't caught him. Later that night, Mama had a talk with me while Baba was cooking dinner.

"Yeah," I answered sheepishly.

Ameena scrunched up her nose. "Well, I think I'm going to be an older sister."

I lost my initial embarrassment. Ameena's asking of the question was just an awkward segue.

"Think? You can't tell if your mom's got a big belly or what?" Salah raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I said, think because she's only been acting strangely. She's not eating certain things, gets overly emotional, going to the doctors a lot."

I thought for a moment. Mama acted like that sometimes because of her past.

"It could be anything," I said. "Maybe she's acting up because you'll leave when you're married?"