Mishail bit her lower lip. My ears grew hot. What if it was too late? There was already something older, less innocent, about Mishail. In the last two weeks, she’d gone from girl to woman, held herself up straighter, knew when people were looking at her, and turned to give them a camera-ready smile.
Mishail raised her hand to go to the bathroom. I was about to follow her, but Daria caught my wrist. I was too surprised not to stay back and hear what she had to say.
“I know you think I stole your best friend,” Daria said when Mishail was gone. I drew my hand back, stung that she had seen through me so easily.
“Mishail’s not a purse to be stolen,” I said. “She chooses her friends.”
“Of course, sorry,” Daria said. Her tone was so gentle that I relaxed a little. “Look, at the end of the day, we both love her and want what’s best for her. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded reluctantly.
“It’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m really worried about her. Something has her completely distracted from the debate.”
I held my breath and practiced making my face as neutral as possible.
“Look, if you can’t tell me what it is, do you at least know how to help her?” Daria asked, looking flustered. “That’s all I want. I know you and I are very different, but you know her best. If she’s in trouble, you’re the only one who can help her, not me.”
I smiled, feeling for the first time that I didn’t have to hate Daria with every cell in my body.
“What can I do?”
“She won’t tell me,” Daria said, “but I think I know what it is. I think it’s my cousin, Ahmed. I think he and Mishail are—you know.”
I frowned, wondering if this was a trap, if Daria was trying to find out the truth by getting me to admit to Mishail’s secret.
“I don’t mind if they are,” Daria said quickly. “I’m not one to judge. You know I’ve had experience, so I don’t think it’s zina. It’s just that the debate is really important. To both of us. It’s our future, and I don’t want Mishail to throw it away. That’s what matters to me.”
“Is Mishy missing practice sessions?”
“No, but she has some special plans for this weekend that she wouldn’t tell me about.”
I felt a prick of hurt as I realized that Mishail had not mentioned a word about it to me, either. “I think the plan is to—” And Daria leaned in to whisper just one word: 120. As in, what we’d read on page 120 of that book.
My blood froze. A few moments passed, so slowly and thickly I wondered if the oil in our beakers had permeated the atmosphere. I felt that a breath out of place would ignite the very air.
“Some girls can do this kind of thing and it doesn’t touch them,” Daria said. “One guy yesterday, one guy today, and then ace a test tomorrow. But doing that can turn even the strongest girls into a puddle. And Mishail…”
She trailed off. I nodded, feeling very sluggish. Mishail entered the classroom, and Daria flew back to her own experiment.
“Hey, Mishy,” I asked after what felt like an eternity had passed. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
Mishail frowned in surprise.
“Why?”
“Never mind,” I said, hurt by her refusal to tell me.
“I’m going to a friend’s house,” she said slowly. Her eyes were fixed on mine, and I couldn’t tell if she was hoping I would understand or hoping I wouldn’t. “Her parents are away for the weekend.”
“Does this friend have a name?”
Mishail rolled her eyes, running her finger through the open flame of the Bunsen burner absently.
“Stop chatting back there and work on your lab report!” the chemistry teacher said, startling us.
“I’ll be back,” I said, muttering something about the bathroom but just needing to get out of the classroom and breathe. My face was on fire. What the hell was Ahmed thinking, getting so deeply involved with the minister’s daughter? And were he and Mishail really—I couldn’t even finish the thought.
The bell rang, and I was about to go back inside when Daria slipped out to find me. She grabbed my arm and led me to a bathroom stall.
“So?” she asked. “Did you find out anything?”
I nodded, and then hastily shook my head. “Only guesses.”
“But she and Ahmed are serious, right?” Daria asked. Her voice had a panicked edge. I didn’t trust myself to speak. “You know we have to do something before it’s too late.”
“We should talk to Maryam Madam,” I said.
“Are you insane? We’ll all be expelled!”
“No, she’ll find a quiet way to stop it. She won’t let scandal fall on the minister’s name. She’s always made sure we don’t go too far.”
Daria drew back, considering what I’d said. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration. Finally, her face brightened.
“You’re right,” she said, squeezing my hands. “You’re absolutely right. You know what’s best for Mishail. Are you going to the headmistress’s office now?”
“I probably should, shouldn’t I?”
“You’re a really good friend,” she said. “I know you don’t like me very much, and this debate thing—”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” I said, and meant it. No stupid debate or scholarship could possibly compare to protecting Mishail. This Ahmed thing had gone too far. If I had felt so miserable after having known Ahmed for a few hours, Mishail wouldn’t survive it if he broke her heart. And he would. He would go to jail, or the minister would kill him, or he’d go off to university. That was what men did, went off to follow their personal jihads and assumed that the virgins they got in paradise would make up for all the women’s hearts they’d broken down here.
I left the bathroom stall and walked straight to the headmistress’s office. I hesitated before knocking on the door. What I was about to do terrified me. I didn’t think I could even get the words out.
Thoughts get polluted, I remembered with a shudder. Oh, Mishy.
“Come in.”
The headmistress had on square, rimless glasses that made her eyes look bigger than they were. Across from her desk, Naseema Madam sat, straight-backed, hands in her lap as if she were being punished.
“Could I speak with you alone?”
Maryam Madam sighed.
“Leena, darling, anything you have to tell me you should feel free to tell Naseema as well. We make all decisions together. She’s as much headmistress as I am.”
I frowned, catching sight of Naseema Madam’s surprised smile. I still didn’t like her very much, but I now saw what Maryam Madam was doing, putting out a little milk every chance she got to win over a cat that had never known kindness.
“Leena, does this concern Daria and Mishail?” My expression must have spoken for me, because Maryam Madam removed her glasses and said, “Close the door.”
“You might think we don’t see, but we do,” Naseema Madam said. “We know our girls. We see the cliques and the shillahs, and we know who’s headed for trouble.”
“I think we have some idea of what’s on your mind,” Maryam Madam said. “Take a seat.”
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I said, stalling for time to think. It was one thing to tell Maryam Madam, who might punish us but would protect us from the muttaween. I wasn’t so sure about Naseema Madam, who was about as expressive as a used chalkboard.
“Leena, one girl spent the night in a boy’s room at KAUST and there were nationwide riots. I know you’re trying to keep Mishail from trouble, but I need you to think about everyone else. About the whole school.”
“There was a party two weekends ago. At Daria’s house.”
Maryam Madam drew herself up. Naseema Madam said nothing, but her dark eyes fixed on me angrily. I could tell she was embarrassed that one of her own had broken a rule.
“Thank you, Leena,” Maryam Madam said. “I know it’s fashionable to have parties, but if the muttaween were to raid it, there’s no te
lling—”
“Daria lives in the ARAMCO campus. No muttaween.”
The headmistress frowned. I felt a burst of affection for her. If there was ever any doubt that the headmistress was on our side, that she would let the little battles go, this was it. Her frown practically said, If you’re not going to get caught, why is this a problem?
“Leena, was this a mixed party?” Naseema Madam asked.
I nodded hesitantly.
Naseema Madam leaned forward, eyes suddenly blazing. She asked, “Leena, do you know what slander is?”
“It is to say something about a person that they would not like. To cast suspicion.”
“And what is the punishment if what you say is not proved?”
I swallowed. “Death.”
Even if I hadn’t actually known the answer, it was a pretty fair guess for any crime. How often had Mishail and I breezed through law tests simply checking off the harshest penalty on every multiple choice? Death, death, death, following us around through our daily activities like a bratty little sister.
“So if you were at Daria’s party, then why are you bothered that there were boys there? You were part of the sin, were you not?”
I glared at Naseema Madam. Here I was trying to help and she was interrogating me before I could get a sentence together, trying to make this my fault as well, not just Daria’s.
“I’m not here about the party. I’m here because I’m worried about what might happen next. To Mishail. Daria can take care of herself.”
Maryam Madam sat up straight in her chair.
“Has Mishail been acting sinfully?” Naseema Madam asked. I scowled.
“She’s giving us time to prevent the sin,” Maryam Madam said. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to do this?”
“Why are you doing this, Leena? Is it because of the internship? You think if Mishail’s reputation is ruined, you’ll be the replacement?”
“What? No!”
“It’s not like that,” Maryam Madam said in my defense. “Leena would protect Mishail with her life.”
“Then what?” Naseema Madam asked. “Why are you here?”
This was it. I had to either say something or walk away. I closed my eyes and tried to think of any other way out. I knew Mishail wouldn’t listen to me or see sense. If anything, she’d probably go even further if I tried to stop her. She would think I was acting out of jealousy, trying to keep her from having Ahmed because he didn’t want me.
I said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know for sure, but I believe Mishail is involved with a boy. I think it’s serious.”
The door burst open. I had been so focused on the two headmistresses, and so nervous about what I was saying, that I hadn’t realized someone had been listening in. I turned in horror to see Mishail flying at me, her face wild with rage. Behind her, Daria had a triumphant smile on her face.
“Wiskha!” Mishail hissed, grabbing my hair and smashing my head into the wall.
She couldn’t have said anything worse. It meant dirty, deviant, corrupt. The word stung me to my soul.
“What’s going on?” Naseema Madam asked, standing up to get away from Mishail.
“I hate you!” Mishail screamed. “I hate you! How could you do this to me? How could you tell them? I trusted you. I’ll kill you. After everything we’ve done? You’re nothing to me, you hear? Nothing!”
Mishail spat on my face. I tensed against it but said nothing. I couldn’t feel my legs. Was this really happening? Was this really my Mishail saying these horrible things?
“Mishail,” the headmistress said. She reached forward and grabbed Mishail by the waist, struggling to pull her off me. I sat dazedly on the floor. My face burned where Mishail had scratched me.
“To tell her about the party was one thing, but you told her about Ahmed? Daria always warned me you’d betray me for the stupid internship, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Mishail, be quiet,” Maryam Madam said, but Mishail shook her head, struggling against her grasp.
“I was trying to protect you,” I said, but Mishail wasn’t listening. My head was still spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Daria had planned this. She had played us against each other, and I had just betrayed my best friend’s deepest secret. A surge of fear and pain pulsed through me, almost doubling me over.
Daria had wanted to separate me and Mishail, but why? She was outside the door, out of the headmistresses’ view, but before she disappeared, for a moment I saw the gleeful hatred on her face when she looked at Mishail.
Realization finally struck. This hadn’t been about the debate at all. This wasn’t even about me. This was about Ahmed choosing Mishail. So Daria was willing to destroy Mishail’s future over Ahmed. I didn’t understand it at all.
“Who’s Ahmed?” Naseema Madam asked.
Maryam Madam pinched her temples, as she always did when she was tired.
“Mishail, are you involved with a boy?” she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety.
Mishail burst into tears, screaming unintelligible curses at me. But there must have been something about her expression that the older women knew how to read, because Naseema Madam slumped against the wall. The headmistress’s hands shook, and she held the desk for support as she sat down.
“Fi aman Allah,” Maryam Madam said, her face pale and gray. May God protect us.
Naseema Madam said, “We have to do something. Call Mishail’s parents, maybe—”
“No!” Mishail screamed. “Don’t tell them. I’ll do anything. My father will kill me. Please, don’t tell them!”
I wondered what was happening to me. I could hear everything the others said, but the words sounded as if they were coming from far away, and I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was there and yet not, in a world where Mishail had never said the words that had cut me loose from life as I knew it, a world where I watched the life drain out of Daria’s eyes with something that felt like joy. I forced myself to pay attention.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Naseema Madam said to Maryam Madam. “Maybe we should just give up. It’s not worth it. If anything goes wrong, they’ll shut down the school. And that’s the best-case. Remember what happened to Zorah?”
There were many Zorahs in the world, but there was ever only one in our minds. A fifteen-year-old from Buraydah who had celebrated Valentine’s Day by sending a love letter to a boy and was stoned to death in punishment. I shuddered. I could hardly bear to look at Mishail right now, but even she trembled at that name.
“But if we can save even one…,” Maryam Madam said, her eyes like steel. She didn’t finish her sentence. Her voice sounded shredded, as if she was about to cry.
Naseema Madam looked at her for a long time and then nodded. She said, “Girls, go back to class. We’ll let you know when we’ve made a decision.”
12
WIRAN
The decisions were made in minutes and put into place so quickly that by the weekend, Aisha was talking about debate prep as if she’d been doing it for weeks. She had replaced Mishail, who was deemed to be too much of a risk, and who had at any rate been suspended for two weeks. Aisha’s father was a doctor at King Fahd Hospital, so nobody could claim that Aisha was anything other than a good girl, who would be a good influence on Daria.
I heard through the grapevine that someone had suggested very delicately to Mrs. Quraysh that some mother-daughter time might be appropriate. Mishail wasn’t answering my calls, and I wasn’t talking to Daria, and the headmistresses told me with matching sad faces that they wished my unfortunate situation were different.
“You understand, don’t you?” Maryam Madam asked. “I promise we’ll find something that’s right for you. Trust me, just a little longer.”
“I don’t care about the internship,” I said angrily. “I don’t care about anything anymore. I don’t even care if Mishail’s father does kill her. I’m going to tell him what she and Daria were doing, just so they get what they deser
ve.”
Naseema Madam flinched. I hated her for choosing Aisha over me for the debate. Aisha could barely string together the five fundamental pillars of Islam, and she was going to get a chance to work with our country’s leaders?
“You don’t mean that,” the headmistress said. “Leena, I know what’s happened to you, what’s still happening; I know it’s unfair. But what I’ve always been proud of is the way you try to save others from being treated unfairly, instead of trying to punish those who treat you unfairly. That’s what I’ve come to expect from you. You won’t disappoint me, will you?”
I blinked away tears. I hated Maryam Madam for not getting angry, for trying to calm me down when what I really wanted was for her to give me an excuse to join the tufshan, to accept that I had no future and would burn the world down. What was the use of trying to be a good girl here? Of preserving what was left of a reputation that looked like the underwear of a street urchin from Naseem while my father was in prison and didn’t care what happened to me? I was never going to be a lawyer. I wasn’t even going to get into university. So, that weekend, I agreed to join Ahmed after all. Why not?
At the party, Ahmed had told me to sleep next to my phone, and he’d finally called at around two on Wednesday morning. Mishail was right about one thing. His voice was a drug. Even knowing that he didn’t see me that way didn’t help. I’d said something in my half-asleep state that he thought was funny, and his laughter made me shiver. His parents were out of town over the weekend, my mother was busy catering some multiday wedding, and Mishail was being forcibly sent to the hammam for her mother-daughter spa intervention. We were free.
Ahmed picked me up in a white Toyota Camry. It was old and beaten-up, and curses were rubbed into the dust on the windows, so I knew the car couldn’t possibly be his.
“My license plate can be traced,” Ahmed said, sensing my unasked question. “This is safer.”
Driving by Starlight Page 9
