Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 33 -- Butt-Dialing Is a Miracle

Enjoy! READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END.

"Somehow I get the feeling that we’re all looking at the moon tonight—Adam, Maysa, and I, thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow when we have to confess everything." -- Noha

Chapter 33

Butt-Dialing Is a Miracle

☻ Noha Ali ☻

            It’s butt-dialing that made me run to get Adam and tell him what happened. After I modeled my second outfit, I just sort of flopped down in a chair and told myself that I will never, ever model again. My phone was laying there. I slid it open and checked the screen. One missed call. One new voicemail.

            I see who the missed call is from, and my heart forgets that it’s supposed to be pumping blood because it just stops. Zakariya. The missed call is from Zak. There’s a voicemail too, but I never check my voicemail.

            Hitting the green dial button, I called my voicemail. “You have. Ten. New. Voicemails.” The automated voice went painfully slow.

            “Oh God, come on!” I hissed.

            I sat through nine, painfully long messages before I get to the most recent one. There was a lot of static and muffled sounds, like the phone was in Zakariya’s pocket or something. The only clear sound I can make it was something crashing. Then a girl was screaming. “What the hell…I can’t believe…you can’t just—”

            It’s unquestionably Zakariya’s voice that replied. “It has to be done!” He shouted. Then there were more muffled sounds. I got the idea that the phone must be in his pocket so when he’s talking, he’s not moving, which is why I could hear him clearly. But whenever he moved, I couldn’t pick up the other half of the conversation.

            The feminine voice said something back but I couldn’t make it out too clearly. But it sounded like she was trying to get Zakariya not to do it. Do what? Oh. OH. She couldn’t mean—

            “I’m doing…show…I’m telling…done…I’m so done.” Zak’s voice. After that, it was just a lot of static and muffling. I numbly press the end button. Oh God. Ya Allah. It hit me the longer I think about it.

            One second I’m numb. The next, I spring up. I slip off the heels I have on and grab some flats. I race out the side exits leading to the audience. Without drawing too much attention to myself, I hunt down Adam. He’s sitting in the third row with all the other boys. My belief that something is up is solidified when I see that the seat next to Rayyan is empty. Grabbing Adam, I wordlessly drag him backstage.

            “What the heck?” He asks, annoyed.

            “I think Zakariya’s in trouble.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I got a voicemail from Zakariya and I think he’s in trouble. He butt-dialed me I think.”

            Adam looks at me incredulously, trying to tell if I’m just messing with him. “Show me the voicemail.”

            “Adam, we don’t have time! This is a serious matter! He was talking to some girl about being done with something and something about a show and he sounded so pissed off and oh my God Adam!” As I talk, more things fall into place. “You don’t think he’s going to tell Aiden he’s done, is he? And do you think he was talking to Maysa? But wait, I would recognize her voice anywhere. Adam what do you think—”