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M. “Shit,” I thought to myself. “Hopefully my dad is asleep.”“Why?” Ryan asked.“You know my dad Ryan. He’s never liked you first of all and its way past my curfew.”“Curfew!” exclaimed Ryan. “You’re 18 years old now Meg, and you’re in college now. What’s with the curfew?”“Ryan, you’ve known me long enough to know my dad. ‘My house, my rules’ he always told my older sister when she complained about the rules that still applied when she got home.“Rules,” I thought to myself before telling Ryan “You’d better drop me off on the corner at the end of the street. If dad sees you, it might get ugly.”“You sure Meg? I’m not afraid of your dad. I can take care of myself.”“Ryan, just drop me at the corner. Why do you want to provoke him? You know how angry my dad can get. The last thing either of us needs right now is to have the Sheriff come out here.I could tell Ryan was worried.“Don’t worry Ryan; I’ll be alright. He’ll scream and yell at me for a while, and that will be it.”“When. What's more, she had two mothers. Things changed for the better in secondary school. Sabiyya had only been in the country for a matter of months, but when she encountered Azariah, she and her friends welcomed the pariah with open arms. Azariah made frequent visits to the local fitness centre and had carved a robust form for herself.Sabiyya's family had been busy too. Nasreen, one of her younger sisters, was finishing an educational course that ran for the first few weeks of June. Asmaa - Nasreen's fraternal twin and technically the youngest sister - would be coming home from Sweden within a week. Sabiyya's mother, Masroora, spent the day at work as a medical transcriptionist.With an exasperated sigh, Sabiyya rose from her bed and examined her shelf. Perhaps it held something to inspire her.There were family photos, softball trophies from her childhood, and a couple of antiques from Syria. She picked up an old tea kettle; a thin layer of dust sat atop it. She ought to dust her room.
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