Endings Aren't the Same - Chapter One

Instructions

Most realistic-fiction stories with a kid going through character development and their parents get mad at them end with a happy hugging scene where both the kid and the parents apologize. Mine won't end like that, I'm sure. When you're raised in a Desi family where your dad comes from a strict culture and your mom is also Desi but was raised in a white American neighborhood, you shouldn't expect the parents genuinely admitting their mistakes. Well, nothing against /my/ parents, of course. They aren't bad at all. Just...not how I am. I act like a white person. I shouldn't be acting like a white person. I'm emotionally intelligent. /Way/ too emotionally intelligent. And that's a curse. I hate carrying other people's guilt without knowing it. My little sister Hasna is so lucky. She's the carefree, I-don't-give-a-cr@p type of person. I wish I could be like her. I wish I wasn't so jealous of her all the time. My older sister, Hadiya, is very stressed all the time but she isn't an empath. And she's mostly stressed because she's in tenth grade and has to worry about academics and stuff. She's always appreciated. Why am I so selfish? Why am I comparing myself to my sisters? I shouldn't be. I need to fix that. * * * "Yumn? Yumn, wake up. It's time for school." "Arghhhh, go awayyyyy," I grumble, pushing my waker away. It's Hasna, obviously. "But—" "Just go!" I hear Hasna walk out of the room. I was sleeping with my grandmother last night. She's praying...some sort of secret extra prayer I am not aware of? It's too late to pray Fajr. And why am I not eager to get up today? Usually my morning-feelings are neutral. I flop at the edge of the bed and try to recollect myself. MCAP is this week, and it's math. I'm not excited for /that/, definitely, but it's not today... Oh. I remember. /Kate/. My...rather bully-ish classmate. And Layla. My best friend and she's hard to hang out with at the same time. I'm Muslim. I have certain morals and values set for myself. I am straight. I have she/her pronouns. And yet...my best friend is a therian-lesbian-she/they...? I don't /mind/ that Layla is who she is. Layla is her own person. I just do not support LGBT or therians. I can make friends with them, but I won't become one. And, fine, okay, I'll admit it: it's a bit awkward. Layla is writing a super-mature story that she shared with me and Kate. It's about high-schoolers who...well, you know. Do /that/. /This/ is why I shouldn't've gone to Al-Rahmah for majority of my life. I need to make friends with different people, even if they do things that's forbidden for me. Kate is a therian, too, and honestly I'm so jumbled. Kate and Layla aren't friends anymore because of how...0ppressive...Kate is and I'm just standing here watching. I'm /curious/ to know about the therian world, don't get me wrong. But what if being curious leads to me feeling a connection? I don't want to...end up getting a feeling like one. I'm not supposed to feel that. And yet... "Yumn!" my mom shouts from the kitchen. "Get up, quickly! It's 7:30 AM!" "What the—" I literally jump out and off the double bed and frantically tap Ami G (my grandmother's) phone. 7:23. Mama was just trying to scare me. Ah, whatever. It's about time I got up, anyway. I stretch and head upstairs to find some clothes. Ever since I joined the OLP — Online Learning Program — I don't bother trying to find my clothes beforehand anymore. Plus, it's easy. My signature look is any modest T-shirt of mine, baggy pants, and a jean-jacket on top. I look like a millennial, minus the bellbottoms. After getting my clothes out, I shuffle to the bathroom and wash my face. I never brush my teeth before breakfast, I always do it after. Who brushes their teeth before breakfast? Not Yumn Ismail. After getting ready, I check the time and I yelp when I realize it's 7:43. I guess I /do/ procrastinate a bit while getting ready... I slide down the stair-rails and nearly trip over my baby brother Yunus. He seems to be reprimanding me for being almost-tardy for class, waving a wooden cooking spoon at me and babbling, "Dadadababachuuu!" I smile at him. "Hi, buddy," I say, before walking around him and seizing my Chromebook from the breakfast nook. Today, thankfully, is an A Day, meaning I get to have my funny Spanish teacher Senor Rosado for the morning, and not boring Ms. Watts. I frantically fumble as I open my Chromebook and log into class. "Hola, Senor Rosado!" I say, knowing he won't respond because he's cooking up the morning's music. Spanish is nice, and the only thing wrong with it is that Kate is in it. Spanish is the only class I have with her in it. Not to mention, she's in broadcast club, too. And then, horrifyingly, I see it in the chat. ᴋᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴇɴsᴏɴ: ʏᴜᴍɴ ʙᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴛ ʀǫ? Uh oh. It's been a long time since Kate's asked that. What do I do?