Bestest. Ramadan. Ever. by Medeia Sharif

Author:Medeia Sharif
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, teen fiction, fiction, teen, teenager, drama, coming-of-age novel, flux, ramadan, muslim, islam
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2011-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

“He’s going to be my boyfriend,” Lisa says.

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“Because of our chemistry. We’re like oil and water.”

“Oil and water don’t mix,” I say.

“Okay, then we’re like oil and oil or water and water,” she says.

I sigh. No wonder Lisa always needs help with science homework. She still doesn’t know that mushrooms are fungi (she insists they’re vegetables) and that brown isn’t in the color spectrum. She has so much to learn, but I don’t have the patience to teach her things.

“Has Peter asked you out?” I ask.

“No, but in time he will.”

“He acts friendly toward the both of us.”

“But he’s into me. We really connected during Parent Night.”

Yes, and she had a piece of basil stuck in her teeth half the night from eating pizza, but I didn’t tell her. She was seated far from me. Anyway, I wanted her to fail at our group date. I ache for Peter, but I’m not sure if he likes me in any other way than as a friend. This is what unrequited love is. This is what Ms. Odige talks about when she makes us read those boring poems in Middle English, which is English, but old and incomprehensible. I want to cry every minute of every day that I can’t have Peter.

We sit in front of the school before the first bell rings. It’s another day. Yesterday morning started out horribly with my theft and sitting in Mr. Lopez’s office, but today is a new day, hopefully a better day. Mornings are like almost-clean slates. I say almost-clean because the residue of yesterdays is sometimes stuck on them. Like if I had an argument with a friend or my parents, I’d wake up the next day feeling crummy. Today I still feel weird about stealing Peter’s bookbag. With time, I hope all that entirely washes over. Maybe by this afternoon Peter will think absolutely nothing of it, even though he assured me yesterday that he didn’t think I was capable of stealing. I watch Lisa make another Bic tattoo on her wrist: L and P. Lisa and Peter.

“Your P looks like an upside down 6,” I tell her truthfully.

Lisa adds more ink to the artwork, but botches the job even more. She then puts some Fierce Pout on her lips, even though I told her the stuff is poison. She’s now Jolie-like enough to enter school, with her fake tattoo and temporarily full lips. The morning is uneventful, unlike yesterday’s debacle with Peter’s bookbag. Mornings are like that: you can start the day off all wrong or all right. The meeting with Mr. Lopez is starting to fade away. He walks by me and doesn’t even look at me because he’s eyeing one of the football players who threw a milk carton at a bench, missing his goal of the garbage can.

In English class, Ms. Odige tells us to write in our journals about our thoughts on Parent Night since all of us were there. Ms. Odige tolerates all ink colors in journals, so I take out my pink pen and write my entry.

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