Strange

The one thing that will follow you wherever you might wander- Your Identity.

Strange 

I didn’t focus on her perfectly rounded cherry lips, surreal glossy white teeth that shined whenever a student spoke up, or the worn clipboard that she balanced on her shaved smooth knee. Instead, I trained my eyes on the clock, the one constant friend I had in this white-walled space they considered a classroom. It was brutally bare and dull, the slightest splash of color only came from the students with the eccentric hair, teased and tousled every which way. The multiple piercings that adorned their pasty and doll-like faces, colored-contacts peering out from underneath the false eyelashes, and layers of mascara.  I envied their boldness. That was not to say, I didn’t receive attention from the people around me. I could hear their whispers. 

“ Is she Moslem?” I winced through my gritted teeth and concentrated on the rhythmic swing of the second hand of the metal clock, thirty more minutes. “ My dad says their barbarians.” “ Terrorists.” A red-head corrected from the front row,  swinging her toned legs over the arm rests of the chair, ignoring the disgruntled cry of surprise from the unsuspecting girl to the left of her. “ Isn’t that right?” Her hazel eyes trained on me and my concentration on the wall clock was severed. Snap, The brightly colored pink gum in her mouth sounded off loudly, as she tugged down her already too short denim jeans. “ Arab girl.” She called out to me, the gum rolling off her perfectly straightened teeth, her voice a contrast to her sweet appearance. I wasn’t Arab. She didn’t care. 

“ Arab,” She fished a pen out of her leather designer bag before jabbing my shoulder lightly, “ Girl.” A low rumble of laughs came from the back of the room and I knew my cheeks were already starting to heat up. Her low cut top exposed more then I wanted to see and I turned my face to left hoping she’d get the message. She didn’t- it enraged her. “ I’m talking to you!” She snapped, driving the head of the pen into my shoulder and I felt the cheap material of the shirt give a little tear. “ My name is-” “ Look, Your name is Arab Girl okay?” She interrupted waving the pen around in my face, her voice several octaves low, every word enunciated slowly- It hurt. “ Okay.” I breathed softly, my eyes welling with unshed tears when the snickers grew loudly. At that moment, I hoped one of them would speak up, and tell her she was wrong. 

Maybe one of the cuter boys would speak up and defend me, maybe one of the perfectly manicured girls that watched from the sidelines silently, fiddling with their already beautifully shaped nails would admit that this was wrong. It was the same- They stayed quiet. I knew why they laughed. If they didn’t, they would be strange, they would become an outcast. They would become me. It was a ladder  and to get to the next rung, you had to pull and step on someone, to advance further. “ Let’s try this again. Arab Girl.” She spat out and I nodded my head slightly. They laughed. I did the only thing I could. I pretend that my long and wild hair was spilling over my shoulders, my perfect complexion was bared for the world to see, and I too had designer clothes to  show. Minutes passed and I no longer was a hot topic, hateful and snarky comments were still sent my way, but the embarrassment was lessened now.

“ A-A-A.” The lipstick woman from before was speaking,  interrupting their happy chatter and I cringed once more. She was trying to pronounce my name. My mind whirled with opportunities to escape this fate and I fired out the one that seemed most acceptable. “ You can call me Ashley ma’am.” The girls to the side of me snorted but they said nothing. “ Ashley, dear.” Her eyes glazed over with pity but I knew she wouldn’t speak out to them, “ It’s your turn.”  It had always been my turn, from the day I stepped foot in the public school systems, out of the comfort of my religious private schools

I stood up slowly chanting as many Qur’anic verses as my mind could belt out, ignoring the burning stares, that left holes in my back. My faded long-sleeve shirt hung limply from my body and my loose jeans failed to flatter me in anyway, the tails of my scarf was disarrayed, and only gave more attention to my holed sneakers that squeaked out painfully in protest. Run! They mock you! Turn back!  I caught the eyes of a too attentive boy, that watched from the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. Even though his  ash brown hair fell over his eyes, I could feel the weight of his eyes settling on my shirt.  Swallowing back the doubt that rose inside of me, I flashed a small smile at him. He didn’t smile back, not that I wasn’t surprised. Gathering whatever dignity I had left, I pushed on the double doors to the room the woman pointed to.  I departed, along with any sense of self-confidence and pride I had left. I would loose my face to gain another. Never again. 

-------------------------------------

“ Ashley Khan?” She fixated her innocent brown eyes on my petite figure and I knew. She was hoping I’d be a role model for the other students, if I respected her, her  life would be much easier. I looked away.  I didn’t have to see her face to know that I had disappointed her. Tossing my straight, bleached hair over my shoulder, I shot her a sickeningly sweet smile before replying coyly, “ Yes?” She sighed and dropped into her seat, before continuing roll call. “ Hey Baby.” Someone cooed behind me and I felt a pair of arms snake around my waist. Angling my head slightly to the right, I was met by a pair of darkened eyes that looked at me hungrily. “ Connor.” I greeted coolly, giggling when he dipped his head lower, to graze my neck tauntingly with his soft lips. 

“ A-A-A,” My blood chilled and I stiffened in my boyfriend’s embrace, “ Anaya Holmes?” Simultaneously the class’s eyes swiveled to the front of the door, where she stood proudly, ignoring our blatant gazes. Her bright red scarf swirled around her neck and down her shoulders, artistically covering her chest, a perfect contrast to the long shirt that draped down her figure. “ Who does she think she is?” A voice snarled in my ear. I ignored it. It was like a mirror had been shoved in my face. I saw myself reflected in her pale skin, her dark green eyes, and her stony expression. The day I told my mother I was going to the library to the house and not to the drug-store to buy some hair-dye. The times my mother passed me and planted a kiss on my forehead, proud of my studious perseverance, not noticing the teen magazines I had tucked under my body. Leaving class five minutes early to wrap my hijaab around my head once more and wipe any traces of the makeup I heavily layered on during school. No matter where I tried to hide, she would always find me. The true self I had hidden away under thousands of lies. Even now, I was always Strange. 

 Summer D. 

Also Knows As: Aisha_U

Author's Note

What gives society the right to define what is normal and what isn’t? What gives society the right to define what is beautiful and what isn’t? Life is what we make it out to be, not what others want it to be. Rule your life with just and wise behavior. Balance the extremes and glamours of the life with the serene and steady. Only then, will you find what you have been looking for all along. I haven’t always had the best school life but this isn’t the reason why I decided to do home-schooling. For the beautiful people out there, who dare to be different, and acknowledge their strangeness to the flow of it all. Sometimes, you’ve got to go looking yourself. Everything is not what it seems.

[ Under no circumstance is this to offend anyone, so please do not take it that way.]

**Note**: First Draft * chants loudly * I will be adding A LOT more detail and fixing a lot of choppy transitions. I just threw this out here because I * Hate * having just one thing. Anyway, go easy on my timid soul. Nah, just kidding. Constructive criticism appreciated- Gives me some more to do when I'm fixing it up.

- Kinda just threw this in YA section. Eh, go fig. -

( I also taught you some words.

Moslem - Correct: Muslim
Koran - Correct: Qur'an
Hijaab - What Muslim women cover their hair with. )

I thought it would be interesting to write from this perspective. It's not amazing... I know. It was just spontaneous. I deserve a cookie~

** Will Add Picture When Edited Again **

Reviews

[Miss Evans]

That, was amazing. Seriously, Bellita, I don't know where you get the idea of hating that. I almost cried, and I don't cry from reading writing that isn't my own.

I think that the content was perfectly arranged, it was clear and it was real. I could identify with being the outsider, maybe not for the same reasons, but I know the feeling. Being strange isn't the best feeling, is it?

There were quite a few grammatical errors, but since this is a draft, and I'm not even focused on those, I won't point them out.

You do deserve a Titanic-load of cookies! I really liked it. And yeah, it could use some work, but the imperfections are what make things perfect, ya know?

My Harshest Review: Stop being your worst critic.

**Draws 100's on Piers', Sharon, and Howie's score-signs*

[Ami N.]

I just realized - I read this piece of yours ages ago and didn't leave a review. I think this is like the best piece you've written. Reminds me of myself sometime ago...before I discovered that I could never be 'perfect' enough for everyone else, so I went back to becoming me :)
I really really love this piece and I hope you continue this story :)
(Ps. I agree 100% with Teralyn's review. You deserve a titanic load of cookies :P)

[Miss Evans]

I just started reading this and I think it's awesome. I'll finish it and give a proper review soon~