“Yes! Score!Score!” I muttered gleefully as I pulled out another ingrown hair from my calf. Tweezers pffft, my nails were on fire. Who needed a razor either,or laser treatment?
My room door banged open.
“ I heard you cackling.” My sister stood glaring at me. Just glaring,then she turned her icy and nuclearish gaze to my room,I could feel my crumpled duvet and scattered clothes wither under her disdainful gaze.
“What’s cooking good looking?” I said ,trying to put her into a better mood. But she was determined to not allow that to happen.
“You know what? You really wouldn’t know whats cooking,because once again,its Me thats cooking. Even though I’m on holiday here.” She snorted. Literally.
“Ouch. Burn. Early in the morning Nabeela? Come on. Give me a break.” I pulled my fluffy pink diamente pillow over my face in case her death stare was contagious or harmful.
“You know what Salma Shagufta Muhammad…”
“No! Don’t call me that!.”
“You almost deserve that name.” She cruelly tossed at me. “Look at your room! It looks like a 13 year of boy lives here! Not a ..hmmofpy hsgjhgj”
I plastered my hand across her mouth. “No don’t say it!”
“get your filthy paw off me,did you even brush your teeth man? Why shouldn’t I say it? What are you afraid of? Grow up Salma.It’s high time!”
I jumped wobbily onto my dressing table. “There you go! Grown up!”
Nabeelah did a spectacular eyeroll and left my room. Just as I was about to pull out my stash of ninaks from my draw,she popped her head back in. “Did you read your fajr?”
“Dude,of course.” I’d let go of a lot of things but never my salaah. Who did she think she was,she knew that was one thing Mamma drummed into us.
“Who saw you?”
“I’m twenty… twentysomething years old man! What’s wrong with you! Do I need someone to watch me read??”
“Exactly. But you live like this. And you have your court case t the end of this week.” And once again I walked into her trap. “Grow up” her voice echoed.
I threw the pillow at the door.
I could grow up. How hard could it be? Right?