It goes like this until the PE teacher blows her whistle.
“Okay, everyone. That’s enough for today. You got about fifteen minutes until lunchtime, so hit the showers.”
I walk up to Nicole, who’s talking to Alexis and laughing, not one hint of her annoyance from the game on her expression. I toss the ball forcefully at her as soon as she looks up, and she catches it at the last second with a small grunt.
“Got it out of your system?” I snap, and leave before she says anything else.
Everyone breaks out into little groups, chatting with one another, hurrying toward the locker room.
Audrey catches up with me, brow furrowed. “Was it just me or was Nicole…”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She lets out a low whistle. “She’s got issues; that’s for sure.”
The sound of the water running muffles the conversations, and I grab my bag, a towel, and find an empty shower stall near the end. Iplace my bag out by the door and strip inside the stall before washing my hair and body. I crank the water on the colder setting, relishing the way it cools my overheated skin. I take a bit more time with my long hair. When I’m done, I grab the towel, dry myself, and pull my hair into a tight bun.
Opening the door, I crouch and rummage through my bag, looking for my school uniform. My heart begins pounding restlessly when I realize the only thing in my bag is my gym clothes. My school uniform is gone, and so is the cardboard box that has my sketchbook in it.
I wrap the towel around me, running and nearly tripping to the lockers, praying I somehow forgot them there. But there’s nothing.
My chest hurts.
“Hi, did you—did you see my uniform here? And a cardboard box?” I ask one of the girls, who’s slipping into her skirt.
She shakes her head and goes back to pulling her sweater on.
My vision spins, and I think I might throw up from the way my stomach is clenching.
The locker room is slowly emptying while I search everywhere. People either stare at me with pity or like I’ve grown a second head, but they all leave.
I collapse onto the bench, trying to breathe through it all, but my chest hurts and seizes.
Soon enough, I’m the only one left, the echoes of everyone outside fading away.
There’s nothing for me to wear but my dirty gym uniform.
I bite back my tears, grinding my jaw, which feels too heavy, and go back to the shower stall.
My skin crawls when I put my joggers and both shirts on. It’s as if I didn’t take a shower at all. But none of that matters when I remember I can’t find my sketchbook either.
“Nicole,” I whisper. My fear eclipses any anger I have as I see my future fading away through a telescope.
I swallow hard, breathing through my mouth, and look for my hijab.
But it isn’t here.
My mouth goes dry.
No. No. No.
I can’t find it.
They took it too. She took my hijab.
A sob bubbles in my chest, acidic and painful.
I sit on the bench, my empty bag beside my feet, the humidity from the shower dewing on my skin and my dirty gym clothes sticking to me.
