High school. Change. The two words were almost synonymous. I was starting high school today, along with my 'sister from another mister', Maryam. We were looking forward to the challenge, we had heard that high school is much harder than primary school, but I was nervous. Not about the work, I was nervous about the changes. I wondered what kind of changes I would go through.
"Khadijah! Time to go!"
"Coming, Mum!" I put my thoughts and worries aside, grabbed my bag and walked out of my room to the front door, where my mum attacked me with hugs, kisses and questions.
"Are you ready? Do you have everything? Are you scared? Nervous?"
"I'm fine, Mum!" I laugh, hugging her back. I smiled at the insane amount of love she lavished me with. I didn't know where she got all that love and patience from, but I loved every minute of it.
"Okay, okay." My mum laughed too. "Go, before you're late." She turned me toward the door with a gentle push. I checked my headscarf in the mirror hung near the door, then walked out, waving to my mum.
"Assalamu alaikum." I said, giving my mum the Islamic greeting of peace.
"Walaikum salaam." She replied, returning my wave with a smile on her face before closing the door. I met up with Maryam outside her house and we walked to school together.
When we got to school, the first thing we did was check what class we would be in. We found our names and saw we were both in the same class, 7A.
"Sweet as a nut, mate!" We said in sync, giving each other a high five. We walked off, chatting about what subjects we thought would be our favourites, and looking for our first class.
"I think I'll like English the best." Maryam told me. "I'm good at spelling and I like reading, so yeah."
"Nah, I reckon Science will be the best." I replied. "Learn how to mix chemicals and stuff." Maryam laughed at that.
"I don't think they'll let year seven students play with dangerous chemicals." She said. "But I think you do get cut up rats and frogs though."
"Oh, that'll be awesome! I wonder what the inside of a frog looks like. Maybe there'll be flies in the stomach."
"I highly doubt they'll let us check." Maryam laughed.
"I could ask anyway, maybe they will."
"I wonder what we'll be doing in Humanities." Maryam said. "Sounds kinda boring."
"We'll just have to find out." I replied. "I think this is our class."
"Looks like it." Maryam agreed. "Want to wait here?"
"Let's walk around, get to know where the classes are so we're not too lost."
"True that, where are the lockers though?" She asked.
"I have just about as much an idea as you do, my friend." I replied. We kept walking and talking until the bell rang and we went to our first class, English. We worked through our classes until the end of the day, and talked while walking home together.
"That wasn't so bad." Maryam said.
"Yeah, from what people say, you'd think it'd be like trying to do a mathematician's work!"
"What are we going to do for sport, though? The classes are all mixed."
"I'll ask my mum. Maybe our parents have already talked to the school. We'll probably sit out."
"True that. I heard about this show on TV from some girls in our class, Home and Away or something. It sounded kinda interesting."
"I don't think we should waste our time watching TV, we need to study to keep up with the school work."
"We don't have any homework, or much to study. I might watch it, just to see what everyone's on about." I still thought she shouldn't watch it, but decided to let the matter drop, I didn't want to make my best friend mad with me, or start a fight over such a small thing. The weeks slowly melted by, and I started to notice a change in my friend. Maryam became more interested in TV shows, and started bringing magazines to school to read. She talked continuously about show characters and who's doing what in the famous world. I also noticed that she started to make racist remarks, and didn't like talking about religion much any more. These changes came slowly, and most people didn't notice them, but I did, and they worried me.
Maryam continued to spiral downward with the media; she even started to copy my homework. Half-way through the term, we had a math test, and when the results came back, Maryam only got forty percent. I decided to ask her what was going on with her school work.
"Hey, Maryam, what's happening? You only got forty percent in your math test!"
"Oh, I was up late on the net, doing stuff."
"What? Didn't you study at all?"
"Nah, I couldn't be bothered. I was too busy on Facebook."
“Maryam! You have to study! You don’t want to fail, don’t you?”
"Yeah, I'll study later." She seemed totally unconcerned. "Hey, Laura!" She shouted, suddenly switching her attention to another girl. "I'll see you later." Maryam walked over to the girl, waving to her. "Did you see Home and Away last night? Oh my God, I can't believe that..." I stopped listening and walked to class. I don't know what was going on with Maryam, but it looked like she wasn't going to tell me much. The next few weeks continued in the same manner, with Maryam and me speaking less and less. One Monday, I came to school, but Maryam wasn't there. I immediately knew she must be sick, so I made a note to see her after school. I told my mum where I would be and left my bag at home to walk to Maryam's house. When I got there, I found Maryam sitting in front of her telly with piles of magazines around her. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, staring at my friend, amazed that the religious girl I knew had turned into this. I asked her what was going on, but got nothing more than ramblings about how she wanted to loose weight and dye her hair to look like some celebrity. I was stunned at how drastically the media had changed her and went home nearly in tears. I talked to my mum and we tried to think of any way to make my friend realise this is not any way to live her life, but we couldn't come up with anything.
When Maryam next came to school, she had dark bags under her eyes and her face was pale.
"You look like you haven't slept in a week!" I said to her. I was still worried about her, even though I hadn't seen her in ages.
"Just about." Maryam laughed. "I've been keeping myself updated with One Direction's tweets."
"What?" I asked. "One direction? Tweets? What are you on about, Maryam?"
"Twitter is a social networking website and the posts are called tweets." Maryam rolled her eyes.
"What about this one direction?"
"One Direction is the latest and coolest band." Another eye roll.
My jaw dropped. "You're listening to music now?"
"So?" I didn't know what to tell her. I couldn't say anything, so I just shook my head and walked away. As I walked past her, I smelt cigarettes. My mouth dropped again. It seemed to be hanging on loose hinges lately.
"Are you smoking?" I asked, completely shocked.
"Yeah. So? All the cool people smoke." Came the reply. My jaw didn't just hit the floor. It created a whole new Grand Cannon.
"B-but that's harram!" I stuttered, numb from shock.
"So? Why does that matter? Rihanna smokes." I had noticed that she wasn't wearing her headscarf anymore, but I hadn't realised that her lack of religious piety was this bad. I felt so sad and heartbroken. My friend, who had been such a good Muslim, who had been a modal student, had been changed into someone who ditched school, stayed up all night watching TV and surfing the web and who didn't care at all about religion. After school I went home and cried for hours for my friend.
The next day, as I was walking past Maryam's house on my way to school, Maryam's mum came out and called me over. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red and puffy.
"Assalamu alaikum, aunty." I greeted her, using 'aunty' as a term of respect. "Are you OK? What's wrong?"
"Maryam died this morning. She was hit by a drunk river last night." I was shocked.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.
"Yes, thank you," she replied. "Come inside." She opened the door and waited until I had entered before coming in herself. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?" She asked.
"No, I'm fine thanks." I replied. There was a short, awkward pause. "So... What happened?" I start tentatively.
"Last night, Maryam wanted to go to a concert, I think she said it was by some boy called Justin Bieber. I told her that she couldn't go, told her it was harram. She started screaming and shouting at me. She told me I don't understand what her life is like. She told me she hated me. You wouldn't know how that feels, Khadijah, to have your only child tell you they hate you, but I'm telling you, it hurts like nothing else can. It breaks your heart." I could see silent tears running down her face, but I could tell she didn't want to be comforted right then, she needed to finish her story. "After she said that, she stormed off to her room and slammed the door. I knew I should've gone in, but I didn't. She snuck out through her window. When she was crossing the road, maybe she didn't look where she was going because she was mad at me, the drunk driver, he- he-" she couldn't talk any more because she was crying too hard. I rushed up to hug her.
"It's alright, aunty Nusaybah, it's not your fault." I said in a lame attempt to comfort her. "It's not your fault." After consoling her, I went back home to tell my mum, taking the day off school. I later realised that there are ads against drink driving and speeding, and I hoped for the first time that the media can change people.