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Quandry of a Muslim Schoolgirl

By Ramla Hashi

MELBOURNE - I was young, naive and I still feared the wrath of my mother. I had two things working against me that year:

Firstly I had come straight from an Islamic school after knowing nothing else. Secondly, I was starting High School -- not any high school but Northcote High! And, just when I was finally getting used to the utter and complete lack of Islamic teaching in school, is when it happened.
That’s when I was asked out on a date for the first time in my life.
It was in the locker area; I had just put my stuff away for recess and grabbed the assortment of fruity stuff my mother had put in my bag while I wasn’t looking.  I was trying to convince my friends that I had not willingly put fruit in my bag and it had in fact been my mother when, all of a sudden they stopped their teasing and stared directly behind me.
I turned around, thinking that it was without a doubt my mother out to finish off the rest of my battered pride but,  in actual fact,  one of the boys from my class was standing there.  I quickly changed my facial expression from one of complete apology to one of indifference and disgust.
Before I was able to tell him to get lost because we were having a private conversation, he looked around and blurted, “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”
Shock and embarrassment made me speechless. Behind me I could hear the snorts and giggles of my friends. In front of me was the boy who had asked me out, the look on his face was one of disbelief and something else that said if I was to say “No”, it would be the end of his reputation and his high school career.
Feeling the pressure from him - and with the unshakeable feeling that my mother was always right behind me - I blurted, “Yes please....I mean OK… Sure”.
You could see relief takeover dread on the boy’s face. A second later the bell went, signalling the end of recess. He grabbed my hand, shyly kissed it and told me he would see me in class and, hopefully, at lunchtime.
We had double P.E, I could barely concentrate on walking and the crazy blond teacher wanted me to run after a ball and kick it between two stupid posts. Not bloody likely. I was too busy worrying about what I had done.  All I could think about was that, by the time lunchtime came round, basically  I would be dead!
My sisters would, without a doubt, find out then, after weeks of it hanging over my head, they would tell my cousins. I would be heckled mercilessly until I would eventually crack and tell them to go ahead and tell my Mum.  They would then tell her without hesitation and that’s when the shit really would hit the fan. That’s when life would no longer be worth living!
Come lunchtime, I was a nervous wreck. I had convinced myself that I might as well start looking for a homeless shelter - actually I went beyond that and would have settled for a cardboard box.
Following the lead of my friends we ended up in the locker area again and  I stuffed my sports gear in a locker and grabbed my lunch. I turned around and there was the boy,  all cocky and full of himself, the root of all my problems.
Before I could tell him that I had changed my mind and didn’t want to go out with him, he put his arm around my shoulder and led me away. Suddenly, he leaned in, I assumed, to kiss me. Something clicked in my head. I grabbed his hand, pushed him away from me and slapped him. I told him to leave me alone, never touch me again and never speak to me again! The poor boy didn’t know what hit him.
I couldn’t totally avoid seeing him for the rest of the year but I never spoke to him again and, now that I think about it, I don’t think he was about to kiss me.
I think it was the idea of being homeless that got to me and I cracked.