“Nothing.” I stare at the flyer on the back of the stall. It says Glow Nights Party All Night with DJ Mousefire, Girls Dance Free, General Admission $15. “Okay, bye.”
I hang up and stare at the flyer some more before leaning my head on the stall wall.
Why is this becoming unbearable? My ability just to talk to Nuah?
I scroll through all our messages after he went away to college, and it’s a long scroll that actually starts when I got this new phone for Eid-ul-Adha last year. Before that, the stream of messages in my old phone was ironclad proof of the slow-burn buildup of Me and Nuah, the Love Story.
Wait.
I slow my scrolling.
There are a lot of messages in the beginning. Silly things like What is a nerfherder? I figured you would know this geeky thing I encountered (from me) and Yo English nerd, if you (if I) say that that’s someone’s “shtick” does it mean something negative or can it be positive too? (from him) to Before I pass out from eating so much, Eid Mubarak! (me) and I posted my #BlackOutEid pic and you didn’t say a word. Pout on (him).
And then it peters out.
The petering out started in March. No, maybe even a bit before.
I guess I didn’t notice because we hung out so much at Christmas break. And I thought we were both busy with school—because I was. Getting all my things in before graduating.
We still liked each other’s posts and he still watched my Snapchat and IG stories, like I did his. And we shared laughs.
And, last month, we did that whole e-mail thread about Muhammad’s roast performance. We even practiced on FaceTime a couple of times to get the delivery right.
But yeah, we didn’t talk about anything except the roast on those calls.
Because Nuah was always busy and had to leave right away when I’d try to bring up other topics.
Which I chalked up to being a freshman—but which my gut had whispered doubts about all along.
I sigh and lean against the stall again. Glow Nights Party All Night with DJ Mousefire, Girls Dance Free, General Admission $15
Was that easier? To show up at a club and be purposeful and find a guy, and you both wanted each other and wham—there he was, your guy?
Ugh. I would be the person hiding in the corner in a club, hoping no one looked at me.
I couldn’t make eye contact—especially in that way—or small talk.
Basically, you need to be some kind of It girl to make things happen that way. Which is unfair and based on looks and some kind of elusive thing that you need to be able to project.
We mousey girls tend to fade until a Nuah finds us.
And my Nuah did… but what happened?
I close my eyes and let the thudding voice deep inside grow. The one that made itself known faintly this morning.
As it speaks with confident clarity, Janna, it looks like Nuah doesn’t like you anymore, and a hot tear falls, the bathroom door opens, and the unmistakable footsteps of Khadija sound.
I wipe my eyes and stand up straight.
“Janna? You in here?”
“Yeah, just coming out.”
“Wait for me. This baby makes me pee the minute I drink something.”
I pretend chuckle.
“Wait, okay? Remember I had to tell you something?”
I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to hear the “deep dish” Khadija has.
On the girl.
She starts talking even though she told me to wait. “So Nuah met this girl at Caltech, in his program, actually. She’s Muslim too. Her name’s Sumayyah. And remember he wasn’t sure she liked him back? He just found out, like yesterday, that she does. Isn’t that wild?”
I close my eyes again.
DJ Mousefire.
It’s so stupid, but, when I open my eyes and look at the club flyer again while trying not to cry, it makes the utmost sense to me.
It is perfect, in fact.
Like a sign. A haram nightclub sign, yes, but still a freaking good sign.
I’m going to be DJ Mousefire. A mousey girl on fire.
I’m not going do anything I don’t want to do.
I don’t want to continue to stand here listening to Khadija.
I unlock the stall, head to the sink, wash my hands and face, dry them with a paper towel, and walk out of the bathroom.
* * *
I slide back into the booth and finish my pizza slice that’s greasy as hell but also the right kind of fatty for deadening my emotions. I drink my Coke, slurping down to the icy bottom.
And laugh whenever one of the three guys makes a stupid joke. Even Layth is joking now.
And he’s beating everyone in sarcasm levels. To the point that if Muhammad were here, he’d be standing up cheering.
I make it a huge point to never once look Nuah’s way. Even when I’m laughing at his one-liners.
When Khadija returns, I get up and ask if she’s finished eating, because Auntie Maysa’s coming to do my sari and I need to get back.
Once she nods, everyone rises and pitches in for the pizza, and we’re out of here.
The cracks and digs and funny stories continue in the car, and I never once look in the rearview.
DJ Mousefire gets everyone to Mystic Lake in twenty minutes. Because being on fire means keeping her sights on the road right in front of her.
She needs to get this henna party done and this wedding done, and then she’s going to collapse at home in Eastspring.
* * *
When we get to the Orchard to drop Khadija and Layth and pick up Sarah, she’s standing in front of the hotel with her arm around someone.
After we park and Nuah and Haytham go inside to use the bathroom, Sarah rushes over to the driver’s door and opens it. She’s got her hijab on big and loose, sort of helmetish, and I know it’s because she’s trying to preserve the hair she just got done.
“Here she is in person! Janna!” she says to the girl still on her arm. “Janna, this is a friend of mine from school, Zayneb.”
Zayneb bends down and peers at me, big smile on a face encased in a trim blue hijab tucked into a white buttoned shirt over jeans. “Janna! I’m such a huge fan! Assalamu alaikum!”
I smile back, because she’s got that kind of contagious smile, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. Fan? “Walaikum musalam. Great to meet you, but I’m drawing a blank as to why you’re a fan?”
“Aren’t you a Niqabi Ninja? Like you edit the videos and fill in sometimes for Ruki?”
Oh. She’s talking about my work for Sausun, for her YouTube channel, the Niqabi Ninjas.
“Sarah caught me bingeing nostalgically one weekend and I was like, I live for these videos, and then she drops the news that she’s getting married to the brother of a ninja and I was like, YOU ARE GOING TO INVITE ME TO THAT WEDDING!” Zayneb laughs. “So I’m here for you! And, yeah, a bit for my girl Sarah.”
I get out of the car, feeling this glow ignite inside, drying teeny bits of the dampening that happened earlier.
Zayneb leans over but then pauses. “Hug? Handshake? Or none of the above?”
I’m impressed. She actually asks.
I put out my hand, and she takes it and shakes it lightly and then puts her hand on her heart. “Mentally checking off my bucket list. Met Janna, a favorite YouTuber.”
This girl. She’s one of those rare people who you can actually soak sunshine from. Like I can tell everything she said just now was the truth and not some attempt to sweet-talk me. “Aw, thanks. But maybe you’ll be happier to know that an actual Niqabi Ninja is coming to the nikah tomorrow. Sausun will be here.”