FLAMES

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 18:OUTCAST

HADEEZAH’S POV

“Heads up,” I said and I could feel the beads of sweat forming on my head.

Instead, the ball went bouncing on the floor, and I picked it up again.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked rhetorically because she refused to take the ball from me.

Instead, she just smirked, showing that she did it on purpose.

“I wonder how you got on the team. At that again first place, are you sure you didn't threaten Coach with your dad being ISIS or something?” she said.

“You and I both know that I got in the team fair and square. Why would you always think the worst about me? I try to be a good basketball player,” I said, and I found my breath caught in my throat.

“Try better next time, cause you suck at basketball,” Maya told me.

“We are supposed to be a team; you shouldn't act like this,” I said, and I felt the anger flow through me.

“I wouldn't like to be in the same team with some Nigerian towel head,” she said.

“Yeah, she's right pipsqueak, get that into your head,” Dahlia said.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” I said, and I was on the verge of tears.

“Time out,” Coach said.

“You all should stop acting like kids; we have a game coming up for goodness sake,” Coach said.

“We do not want that freaking time bomb on our team,” Violet said.

And more than half of the team agreed with her.

“I'm the Coach, and I determine who stays on the team,” he said.

I looked at Coach breathing heavily. I had unshed tears in my eyes.

“I don't think I'm needed here,” I said and I dropped the ball, leaving the court.

“Yeah b****, run back to your poverty-stricken country,” Dahlia said, and some laughed with her.

I was about to take my bag when I took one look at all of them.

“At least you all live on the money you strip from Africa,” I said.

I walked towards the bleachers.

I carried my bag, and I left.

Everything just started coming to me.

Is being different not supposed to make one stand out? Is it not supposed to show that I was made for greater things? Being different as always been a negativity for me ever since I was a kid. I just hate the fact that I'm different; I wish I was normal. If my eyepatch doesn't get in the way, then it's my hijab or my color.

Tears trickled down my cheeks as all the thoughts came to me.

On my way, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.

“No.4, wait,” Coach said.

He has a habit of calling us by the number on our jersey since we've given them.

“Yes, Coach,” I said, and I turned back, quickly cleaning my tears with the back of my hand.

“You don't need to take what they said to heart. Just so you know, you deserve to be on the team as much as any other girl on that team,” he said.

“I know, Coach, I know,” I said and stopped to catch my breath.

“But it hurts more than you can imagine. Being the only hijabi on the team, I feel like an outcast with everybody thinking I have a bomb under my hijab,” I said.