The bus screeched to a stop with a hiss that went unnoticed by the unruly children riding in their seats. Waves of laughter echoed through the vehicle along with the muted sounds of videos playing on phones.
Fatma slipped her arm through her backpack's strap while stepping into the aisle. She carefully made her way through the chaos, moving around splayed legs and bags until she reached the driver.
"Thank you," she told the driver with a smile, as she had every day. It was a substitute today, an older woman she didn't recognize but the other woman smiled and nodded back at her.
Holding onto the thin metal railing, the young girl stepped onto the street and then up to the sidewalk. The bus' door closed behind her before it pulled away onto the empty street. As she walked down the block, she adjusted her hijab around the straps of her backpack. Her scarf was black today to match her black trousers and the slate gray blouse she wore.
Habit forced the girl to glance up at the yellow house adjacent to her own. Her father, a baker with his own modest shop, often gave food to the elderly in the neighborhood and he took her with him whenever he could. Ms. Maiben was their neighbor and she was old enough to have trouble getting around by herself. The woman was her father's special project; he made extra time to care for her grounds as well as bring her food.
The old woman's curtains covered her windows, as they usually did - even during the day. She was odd. Quiet, seemingly resentful of the attention but unwilling to turn away the extra help.
As she took the first step to her front door, it opened and her father stood in the doorway.
"Fatma!" he said, bending to gently kiss her forehead. His dark beard tickled her exposed forehead.
"Papa, why are you home?" she asked in confusion. Her father worked late, despite having several employees who could run the business without him.
"Bah," he told her, taking her hand gently to lead her inside. "I haven't been home to greet you in a while and a I thought to myself, I am the shepherd to my own little flock and-"
"You forgot your laptop again, didn't you?" she chided him as she removed her shoes.
"I forgot my laptop again," he agreed. "I brought dinner for you. And Nora? Is she visiting with you today? I have extra for her if she wants it."
"She'll be here soon," Fatma said. "If you fatten me up so much, I'll never find a husband, papa."
"La samah Allah!" he told her as he followed her through the living room and into the kitchen. "How was school today?"
"It was fine," she sighed. It was
not
fine. She'd not done well on her calculus exam. She'd told herself she would study for it but had lost herself in the short story she was writing for English composition.
"And your - math, wasn't it?" He asked, standing respectfully at her bedroom door. "You had a test today? Or is that tomorrow?"
"Today," she answered, laying her backpack against her bed.
"Ahh, not so good?" he asked in sympathy.
"I'll find out Friday. I should've studied more."
"You're a smart girl," he told her. "Perhaps you'll be surprised."
The doorbell rang, interrupting both of them.
"That will be our Nora. I'll let her in."
Fatma watched her father go before digging through her backpack to find her composition book. She set it aside on her nightstand.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Amin," her childhood friend said.
"Nora, good to see you!" came the reply. "And it's just 'Faizan', please. You're like family."
"Forgot your laptop?"
"Yes, yes! I forgot my laptop. Go. On with you. Fatma is waiting in her room. I'll set out food for the both of you."
"I have no idea how your father runs a business," Nora said as she stepped into her friend's bedroom. She turned her head to settle a few strands of loose black hair behind her as she threw herself down onto the other girl's bed.
As always, Fatma felt envious of her friend. Nora wore blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the word "Badlands" emblazoned along the top and skeletal hand covered in roses in the middle. Her hair was uncovered and loose.
"I'm sure he's waiting for you to finish school so you can help him," Nora continued. "I'm jealous, to be honest. You can stay here, take some classes at community college and inherit his business. I'll have to go to college and find a rich boyfriend."
"Oh, stop," Fatma said, rolling her eyes at the conversation. It'd been repeated in some form or another over the past two years. "You know I'm applying for colleges out of state."
"Your father would d- waste away without you," Nora said. "He'd never stop you but he'd be so sad. What's wrong with community college, anyway? You have a good job waiting for you."
"I've lived here my whole life!"
"Okay, I don't care about your job. I just want you to stay because I want to see you and Duncan married."
"That will
never
happen," Fatma said, blushing as she toyed with her hijab. "Papa wouldn't-"
"I think your father would steal the moon for you," Nora interrupted. "And have you seen the way Duncan looks after you?"
"No," she lied.
"You're blind," her friend said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He's been after you since our Freshman year. Do you know Elina asked him out to prom. Again! And he said no. Elina, Fatma. He's going to ask you out. He's stubborn. And handsome.
I
should ask him out."
"You wouldn't!" Fatma said, suddenly upset.
"Why not?" the other girl said, her expression serious. "If you won't, why should I let him get away? You're so stupid sometimes, seriously. I was talking- just talking! - with Matt. Last month Duncan was applying Stanford, UCLA and, well, somewhere else in California. Until he heard you talking about east coast colleges. Guess where he's applying to now?"
Fatma sighed. The boy was handsome with his dark skin and brilliant smile. But, it was more than that. He was always kind. He wouldn't graduate at the top of his class and was mediocre, if not enthusiastic, in sports. But, he volunteered at the soup kitchen on the weekends and was a Big Brother as well. And tall. With the smoothest voice. And his dimples every time he smiled.
"Hello?" Nora asked, waving her hand in front of Fatma's face. "Anyone there?"
"I don't know where he's applying," she answered.
"Uh-huh."
"Girls?" Faizan called out from the kitchen.
"Yes, papa?" Fatma asked, grateful for the distraction. She pushed herself out of her bed to go to her father.
"I need to go back to work," he said, scratching at his beard with his lips turned up at the corner. He looked concerned. "Ms. Maiben hasn't answered her door the past few days. I'm worried about her. Would you take the time to check on her, please? If she's home, I have a dish covered in the fridge that you can take to her."
"Now?" Fatma asked, turning to look at the woman's house through their windows.
"Yes, please," her father answered. He kissed her forehead again. "I'll be back late tonight. Your food has your name on it. Just warm it up. Study well."
She watched him go while clutching her right arm with her left.
"I'm not-" Nora called from the bedroom.
"You're coming with me!" Fatma interrupted, ignoring the groaning of her friend. "Let's just do it now. I don't want to go there when it's dark."
"You owe me for this," her friend said as she stomped loudly on the hardwood flooring.
They stepped into their trainers, bending to tie their shoelaces.
"Do you have any more kanafeh?" Nora asked as she knotted the strings. "I'll take some of that as payment."
"Yes, you cow," Fatma said, poking her friend's side. The other girl batted away her hand. It was a joke as Nora was embarrassingly perfect. She was still growing into her figure but her narrow waist curved into firm hips and she'd already had to buy a new, larger bra this school year. "Let's just go."
Tapping her back pocket to make sure her old phone was there, she grabbed a set of house keys from a dish by the door, closing and locking it behind the both of them.
"She's just
so
old, you know?" Nora said as she followed her friend to the house next door. "My grandmother was horrible to my mom but turned into the sweetest old lady. That's just natural. Ms. Maiben - she's mean."
"No she's not. She's just not used to people being nice to her."
"Mean," the girl reaffirmed.
They both stopped in front of the woman's door. It'd been red at some point but the paint had almost all chipped away. Shaking her head, Fatma adjusted her hijab before knocking.
Although she didn't knock hard, the door opened on surprisingly quiet hinges.
The two girls shared a look but Fatma's hand reached to push the door open.
"Don't," Nora said, grabbing her friend's wrist.
"She could be hurt," she said, pushing through to step over the threshold.
The house was as dark as she remembered with a strong scent of myrrh permeating everything.
"Ms. Maiben?" Fatma called out. "D- Dorothy?"
"I've never been inside," Nora said, looking around the living room. An old paisley couch faced a fireplace and a stained mantelpiece. A single, faceted vial was centered on the shelf. Light flickered within the vial, drawing the young girl's attention. "What is
