Love from a to Z

Like maybe he’ll ask me to do something else with him tomorrow?
But he just stood there.
When I glanced up to say salaam, he had a weird expression on his face.
Like it was closed. Even his mouth wasn’t turned up in that slight smile
he wears.
Instead it was just a straight line that moved a tiny bit to say salaam.
And then he got back in the car.
Maybe he’ll text me later.
Yes.
This Is What You Missed, Bulletin III by Kavi Srinivasan, filed as FYI for Zayneb Malik:
Sitting?
Now I am. Was lying down before.
Lie down.
What’s up?
Wait, is this about Ayaan? ISTHISABOUTAYAAN
I got off the bed. 
I’m standing now.
Ayaan got removed as vice president from student council. From student council, completely.
Fencer provided information that “resulted in Ayaan’s removal from student leadership, as her
actions contravene school guidelines on responsible social media use.”
No.
She’s supposed to provide a written explanation of her “online activities running a campaign
against a teacher and encouraging hatred toward him.”
No.
Kavi.
Fencer “provided ample evidence about her incessant monitoring of him.”
I hate him so much.
I got this information from Trevor. He screenshot it for me, the e-mail that student council
members got. Ayaan is super mad at us.
I’m done.
We’re all done.
I did this. If Fencer hadn’t caught me, Ayaan wouldn’t be in trouble.
It’s not that simple.
My big temper. I have to talk to Ayaan.
I don’t think she’s ready. This is traumatic for her. You know how long she’s been gunning for
student council. She’s not going to want to talk now.
Okay. We’ll have to respect that. But we have to help her. Well, I have to.
We will. Just wait a bit. What’s happening in Doha?
I sent her a photo of Ariel.
Pretty. But a dog? You?
Right?
You’ve changed.
Right. Or am on the way to it. Zayneb, more mellow.
I don’t know if I like this.
My parents will. Ayaan will.
Fencer will too.

---

Topic changed.
• • •
Ayaan’s Instagram, usually active, had come to a standstill. It looked like
she’d stopped posting last Thursday, the day I got suspended.
I sent her a DM, I’m so sorry, and then immediately regretted it.
So I followed it up with a sad crying emoji.
And then, disgusted at my behavior, I tossed my phone under the bed.
But what about when Adam texted?
I dove under the bed, retrieved the phone, and turned my volume on to
make sure it would ping audibly when a message came in.
When his message came in.
I returned the phone to its temporary home under the bed again and lay
on the floor, on the cold marble floor, staring at the ceiling.
It was a pretty fancy ceiling, moldings crisscrossing in twirls and
flourishes.
It reminded me of Ayaan’s dress, the one she wore last Eid.
My hand, with a will of its own, reached for my phone and opened
Instagram and sent Ayaan a heart. Four hearts. Ending with a broken heart.
Agghh.
I threw the phone so far under the bed, it came out and hit the baseboard
on the other side.
Ayaan was super important to me. She was older, but, because she’d
spent a year abroad in Somalia with her grandparents at the end of middle
school, she ended up in the same year in high school as me.
When we’d met as freshmen, she’d acted like a big sister immediately.
Even though she’d been trying to figure school out too.
I showed up in the foyer on the first day of ninth grade, clutching my
schedule, eyes scanning for Kavi instinctively, even though I knew she was
in India on a family trip, her flight delayed.
“Are you Mansoor’s sister? Mansoor Malik?”
I turned to a girl shorter than me with curly hair clipped back, an
inquisitive look in her wide eyes. She wore a roomy sweatshirt over light
blue, super-faded jeans.
“Yeah?”
“Mansoor’s a friend of Abdirahim, my brother. That makes us friends.”
She smiled. “I’m Ayaan. Let’s check if we have any classes together?”

---

And, just like that, she’d stuck by my side. Even though, as the years
went on, she got involved in tons of stuff at school, running-the-school
stuff, and I got involved mostly in the yearbook committee and newspaper
club, because I liked making CAPITAL LETTER captions and titles for
things and Kavi was also there making graphics and designing pages. Ayaan
went on to become a rightful school star.
My phone pinged.
Adam?
I crawled under the bed, only to realize how stupid that was when Auntie
Nandy opened the door to see my legs, wearing pajama shorts, sticking out
in view, the other half of me hidden, but still too far from my phone.
“I promise I knocked,” she said. “What is happening?”
“My phone.”
She went over to the other side of the bed and passed it to me underneath
it.
It wasn’t a message from Adam.
It was one of the Emmas—Emma Domingo—asking if I wanted to meet
the three Emmas at the mall, the BEST MALL IN DOHA, she wrote,
tomorrow. Apparently, there was a Fenty makeup shop pop-up happening,
and only Fenty had stuff suitable for Emma Domingo’s brown skin, her
being part Filipino and part black.
It might be good for your skin too?
she offered kindly. I imagined her texting this
with some sort of peel on her face, cucumber slices on her eyes.
Which I’ve always wanted to try, actually.
“Is it okay if I go to Villaggio Mall tomorrow with some of the girls I met
at the party at Adam’s house?” I asked, emerging from underneath the bed.
“Actually, that would be perfect. I’ve got some appointments I want to
get done before your mom comes on Sunday. I’ll try to fit them in
tomorrow.”
I sent a yes to Emma Domingo. And then checked if there was anything
from Adam.
Just leave me alone. I’m not mad at you. I just want to be left alone, k?
Ayaan. She’d finally answered me.
I went back under the bed.
“Dinner is on its way.” Auntie Nandy sat on the bed. “Then what do you
want to do tonight? We can drive down to the water if you want?”
“I’m kind of tired from visiting the shelter,” I lied.

---

“Oh yeah, how was that?” She peered at me. “Is there a reason you’ve
got your head down there?”
“It’s cool down here,” I lied again, staring at 
Just leave me alone.
“The shelter
was sad. But good.”
“Aren’t you scared of dogs?”
“I’m working on getting over it.” Boy, I was on a lying spree.
I clicked out of my DMs and saw one of the Emmas’ posts. Emma
Phillips, in a white T-shirt and shorts, doing yoga on a white rock, exactly
like the rocks scattered in Adam’s backyard. She must live in his
neighborhood.
She looked like a cool pretzel, one arm twisted over a leg twisted on
another leg.
I pressed like.
Yoga was peaceful.
I rolled out from under the bed. “There’s a gym here, right?”
“An entire fitness center, including your favorite, a swimming pool. A
pretty big one too,” Auntie Nandy said.
“Are there yoga classes?”
“Each morning at six a.m. I go sometimes. Wanna come?” Her face lit
up. “That could be a great idea. Call it an early night tonight, then hang out
at yoga before I go to work tomorrow?”
I nodded, scrolling through posts and stories, liking everything without
examining anything.
I was depressed.