face the strange // f.w.

💘 chapter one 💘

My phone began buzzing for the third time in ten minutes. As usual, I groaned, rushing over to my bed and unlocking my phone.

"What?" I said, this close to snapping. Zaynab, my cousin, only snorted over the line.

"Just be out in ten. It'll be a long drive to New York, you know."

"I'd be out earlier if you gave me the time to get ready," I grumbled under my breath. Judging from Zaynab's laugh, I could tell she still heard it.

"See you soon, nerd," she said, before hanging from. I sighed, frustrated, rummaging through the racks of clothing in my closet. As much as I wanted to climb back into bed and sleep like everyone else was probably doing, I had an opportunity that I probably wouldn't get for a long time. 

Getting contacted was simple enough. Some indie clothing label apparently saw some pictures of mine on Instagram, and DMed me to say that they were looking for a model for their new line. Since I didn't really have any experience modeling (if forcing Zaynab to take pictures of me for Instagram didn't count), I wondered if this was a scam, or even a catfish looking to kidnap me or something. After stalking their Instagram and site, and finding that they had actual clothing, I messaged back saying I was interested. 

The only problem? New York was a far drive from New Jersey, and the shoot started at about 10 in the morning. That meant I had to get up at seven, when the only source of light were the beginning rays of sun from my window, and message Zaynab to drive me. Thank God she agreed, because I either would've missed out on a decent opportunity or just walked.

I could hear Zaynab honk the horn of the steering wheel in her car, and I groaned. Thank God my Mom left the house for work by six, because if I had to explain to her the exact reason I was leaving for New York with Zaynab for the day, I'd have to plan my funeral beforehand.

It wasn't like she didn't know about my Youtube channel: she just never bothered to look into it. Thus, I never had to explain the other opportunities that came from Youtube, and I hoped to keep it that way for a long time.

Getting into my jeans, I zipped them up as I grabbed a recently-thrifted navy blue Nike sweatshirt. Slipping it on, I glanced at the camera in my phone: my hair was a mess, obviously, because I barely brushed it when getting ready. Though the company had messaged me that there would be hair and makeup artists provided, I could only pray that the people they hired knew how to handle Arabic hair decently, also known as Curls from Hell Itself. 

Pulling my hair back in a scrunchie I stole from Zaynab, I stepped into my white Nikes, not even lacing them. Shoving my phone and its charger in the back pockets, I glanced outside my bedroom window. Zaynab's car was still out, so I left my bedroom.

Scrambling out of my room, I ran down the stairs and out the door, making sure to lock the doors behind me with a spare key from the kitchen table. I splashed my sneakers in the leftover rain puddle from last night, and the ankles of my jeans were soaked. Grinning as the puddle continued to ripple even after I left it behind, I ran up to Zaynab's car and climbed in. She glanced up at me with a smirk, and I closed the car door behind me.

"Ready for three hours with your favorite human?" Zaynab said, and I rolled my eyes. Her dark curls were pulled up into a ponytail, revealing the undercut she got without telling her parents. She also had her septum piercing in, which she usually displayed when certain family members weren't around, also known as everyone in the Abdullah clan but me.

"Kill me now," I deadpanned, before starting to laugh. "Hell yeah. We're going on my Spotify, though."

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