Daya

37| Smelly Hair

God most of known Ziyah looked at me and kissed someone else because I saw him in each of my passing periods which didn't happen before Friday. He pretended like he didn't see me, and I did the same even though I clearly saw him.
Ziyah not looking at me like he used to hurt, but I'm not hiding in some hoodie looking my worst like most girls post breakup. Because i'm not going through a breakup and I'm not going to be sad or look sad over a boy. For a moment I did feel insecure, rejected, and like I wasted my time, but I try and forget those feelings and the image of Ziyah and the beautiful girl.

I push the thought to the back of my head, and continue to watch my short film. With the footage I took from both Thursday and Friday the film is pretty much completed along with my narrations that I did last night with the door locked and a blanket over my head as I recorded into voice memos. I have to get this film done and submitted  before finals when school will be the only thing that matters.

I finish editing my film when the lunch bell rings and my stomach gets all tight again. Ziyah and I were able to avoid each other, but now we have to be in the same room for 50 minutes. Sure we're not sitting right next to each other and there are 30 other students in the class, but he's the only person besides Harper who I actually was friends with. Instead of taking my sweet time I quickly weave through people in the hallways and get to French when the classroom is empty and Madame is finishing her salad.

"Bonjour Daya," she says.

"Bonjour Madame," I say and take my seat. She doesn't put the warm up on the projector and continues eating her mostly lettuce salad and I stare at the board. I don't let my eyes wander to the door, but my teeth begin to chatter when I hear more footsteps.

Madame puts the warm up on when passing period ends and I bury my head in my binder and I try not to take too many looks at the board. When Ziyah comes in my teeth chatter more and no matter how many buttons I button on my denim jacket they don't stop.

I feel Unna's eyes on me and I look up and she's shaking her head. "What's wrong with you it's not that cold honey."

"Sorry," I mutter and go back to having my nose an inch from my paper. She goes back to conversing with the girl across from her.

The whole period goes as slow as possible and I take small glances at Ziyah, but quickly turn my head. Along with Ziyah not turning my way having no one to talk to or exchange vocabulary with makes me keep my head down lower to the point my neck hurts. Ziyah shouldn't be able to make me feel this way, or rather I shouldn't let him, but I can't manage to plaster a smile on my face.

Making my day worse Unna stops me when I'm trying to escape to my locker to get my tennis clothes.

"Daya can I ask you something?" She says right outside of the classroom. I already know the question it is when are you getting your braids done. It's approaching 2 months since I've gotten mine in, and since mine aren't as small as hers you can see the growth. If it weren't for our school's hat policy I would've been able to cover the frizz, but no only Marina High School hats are allowed.

"I'm getting them done next week Unna."

"That's not what I was going to ask," she smacks her pink lips and continues. "When is the last time you washed those braids cause girl those things are ripe." Oh please be kidding, please be some sick joke. Why is it always the end of 5th period she chooses to bring me down.

My mouth goes dry and I can't make out any words, "Umm I washed them two days ago," I say.

"Girl don't lie Fernando and I couldn't focus with the smell of those braids."

I want to tell her maybe she's smelling her upper lip, but I don't have it in me. What I do have are tears that my whole occipital lobe are trying to hold back. It's like she knows insecurities like these are all that go through my head when sitting in class.