Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 23 -- The Player Gets Told...Muslim-Girl Style

Salam! Hope all of you are in the best of health and faith. Enjoy and please let me know what you think!

"Screw men. Cheesecake is the only thing I need in my life." -- Noha Ali

Chapter 23

The Player Gets Told...Muslim-Girl Style

☻ Noha Ali ☻

The fat guy in front of us with about ten members of his family is holding up the line, to the point I can’t take it anyway. “Farahhh! I want French fries!” I whine.

Farah pats my head. “I’ll get them for you, Noh. What size do you want, you big ol’ fatty?” She pinches my cheek, at the detestable baby fat that I have.

I glare at her and pout. “I’m not fat, Farah.”

“Of course you’re not.” She says. I smile, until I see her not-so-discreetly exchange looks with Maysa, Sahanara, and Naomi.

“I saw that.” I say scathingly.

Maysa looks away, trying hard to not to burst out laughing. “Maysa.” I glare at her.

She widens her big eyes (that I totally wish I had). “What, Noha? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re trying hard not to laugh. You look the same as the time I freaked out over riding that roller coaster. You, along with like…fifty other people were all trying not to laugh.”

She chuckles at the memory. “I’m sorry, but if anybody wasn’t laughing at your little meltdown, then they have no sense of humor. Real talk, bro.”

Sahanara pipes up, “Noha, I definitely have to agree with Maysa on that one. I mean, you got into the fetal position. Even Naomi doesn’t flip out that much.”

“Wait a minute…what is that supposed to mean?” Naomi’s face is defensive.

“Can you ladies please just order?” The pimply teenager behind the counter glares at us. The guy and his barrage of family members finally decided not to get Cokes or Sprites, settling for Fanta instead. Ya Allah.

“Calm down, man.” Naomi whispers underneath her breath.

“I’ll have a chicken salad.” Sahanara says. And so we all place our orders, while enduring the overall grumpiness of the guy behind the counter.

My face lights up like the little vanity mirror thing I got for my sixth birthday. “Ooh! Can I have a big slice of chocolate cheesecake?” I can’t help but bounce a little in joy at the thought of cheesecake.

“We don’t have chocolate cheesecake. Ran out an hour ago.” The dude’s voice is so bored, like he doesn’t care that they’re out. How can you NOT care about cheesecake? It’s cheesecake! That’s like saying…well that’s like saying all the Channing Tatum look-alikes in the world are taken. It’s heartless to say that monotonously!

“What other kinds do you have?”

The jerk isn’t even looking at me. His bored gaze is directed behind me, at the empty sitting area. “We have strawberry cheesecake.”

I look at Maysa for help. “Excuse me, but do you have any other kinds? She’s allergic to strawberries.” Hell yeah! My best friend has my back at all times. I smile at the thought of it.

“We have plain cheesecake.”

I sigh. I’m about to give in because I know that it’s not good to be that picky. There are people who don’t even have enough food to survive everyday and here I am, complaining because I don’t have the luxury of choosing between flavors of cheesecake! “I guess I’ll–”