Safiah's Smile

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

–
Chapter 1 –

“No one can tell me the integral of this
simple equation?” Mr. Foreman

glanced at the multivariable formula
scratched on the chalkboard and stared at his students expectantly.
“Who would think,” he fell to his chair and sighed, “that you all
would be taking the Advanced Placement exam in just a few months?
This is an outrage.”

4x + 5
, Malia quickly scribbled in her
notebook, placed her pencil lightly

on her desk, and counted the pleats in her
plaid skirt.

“Malia, why don’t you tell us the answer?” he
asked almost desperately.

Her eyes shot up and her arm mechanically
swiped the bangs from her

face. “Oh, well…” she glanced at her empty
spiral notebook and the drawings embroidering its edges. She could
sense Mr. Forman’s impatience and feared her pulsating heart would
betray her. “Mr. Foreman, I really don’t know the answer. I’m
sorry.” Her cheeks turning light shade of pink, she shrugged
apologetically.

“I see, Ms. Sanders. I’m very disappointed
in you.” Mr. Foreman turned to the chalkboard and jotted next
week’s homework assignment.

As the bell rang, Malia breathed a sigh of
relief and scurried towards the aroma of moldy cheese and burnt
potatoes. The cafeteria menu consisted of a hamburger, super-sized
fries, and a diet Pepsi. Malia grimaced, reached for her set of car
keys, and trekked towards the double glass doors at the front of
the school. A set of about twenty stone steps led to the sidewalk
and parking lot that framed her eighty year old, nearly antiquated
high school. She noticed that her fellow seniors had already
adopted the front-row VIP area of the school’s parking lot. Most of
her classmates had already spray-painted
Senior Class of
2001
on the windshields of their cars in vibrant greens, pinks,
and yellows, though graduation remained an eerie ten months
away.

A crew of construction workers arrived at
dawn each morning in the fall and spring seasons to try to preserve
and renovate the precious bricks of the historic school. She heard
their engines blazing now as she walked to her car. A new sign
bearing the school’s name in gold radiated blindingly in the eyes
of every innocent driver who happened to cruise by.

Over four-hundred classrooms – that was what
the principal had boasted to every interested parent and on every
school advertisement and pamphlet, Malia recalled the various
admissions programs she had attended in agony. James Madison High
promised success, almost perfection, or a seemingly unbreakable
bubble, of which nothing from the distant outside world could
penetrate.

Malia wrapped her messenger bag across her
shoulders and turned towards her 1996 Toyota Corolla with two
friends who obediently followed from two feet behind. Awkwardly
sensing her reign over them, she momentarily envisioned a
ruby-encrusted crown on her head and a golden scepter in her palm
as her two compliant servants meekly followed.

“Ms. Sanders!” she was thrown from her
daydreams.

“Oh, Mr. Matthews. I was just heading out
for lunch… is something wrong?” her brows furrowed in concern.

“Malia, have you really forgotten? We have a
meeting scheduled for today. In fact, it began five minutes
ago.”

She felt a fresh layer of sweat plaster her
forehead. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in two minutes!” she
flew past Mr. Matthews, nearly knocking him to the ground, and left
her two companions behind, who, without her commanding presence,
wandered aimlessly around campus for the remainder of the lunch
hour.

How could I have forgotten my meeting
with Mr. Matthews?
she pondered, though she recalled her mother
sticking a hot pink post-it note reminding her of the occasion onto
the refrigerator that very morning.

“Ms. Sanders,” Mr. Matthews entered his
office, “I apologize for being tardy. You see, I was having some
trouble locating a student of mine.” Malia smiled and revealed a
set of dimples on her lightly flushed cheeks.

“Now, I think it’s time that we begin to
discuss your future. Malia, you only have a few more months here at
James Madison, and you really need to start considering your
options after high school.” Malia stared as a loose piece of Mr.
Matthew’s red curly hair drooped onto his forehead. “Malia? Malia,
did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, yes, I did, Mr. Matthews.”

“Well, what do you say? What do you want to
do with your life? How do you see yourself five years from now?” he
stared desperately into her emerald eyes, looking for some glimmer
of hope that for once his position as guidance councilor would lead
to some sort of gratification. He hopelessly imagined that she
would shout in exuberance, “Oh, Mr. Matthews, I realize now what I
want to do with my life. Somehow, I have found my purpose!” But Mr.
Matthews could only dream.

“Five years from now? Well, you see, that is
a very, very long time from now. I don’t even know what I’m doing
tonight, Mr. Matthews, so how do you expect me to know what I want
to do in five years?” she exclaimed. She bit her lip.

“But, Malia, what have you been working so
hard for in high school? All of your excellent grades and scores,
what is the purpose of them? You must have been working for
something?” Malia suddenly felt a stroke of shock shimmer up her
spine.
What had she been working for? Her 4.3 GPA, her 2300 SAT
score, her participation in far too many student activities. What
had been the goal when she had hired a chemistry tutor last year to
get the A she had so longed for?
Well
, she thought,
that had been the goal. To get an A. But why?

She felt tears well up in her eyes. Ever
since Beth and her family moved away last year, Malia began
searching wildly for a new identity. She painfully recalled their
plans to share a memorable senior year and college experience. Now
those plans seemed rather dim. “Mr. Matthews, I’m sorry, but I have
to go.” She grabbed her bag and ran from his office.

“Was it something I said?” he called after
her, perplexed.

She slowed her pace and lightly wiped her
eyes before crowds of curious underclassmen – girls in Marc Jacobs
heels and Louis Vuitton wallets matching her own. Probably a
coincidence, she thought. She felt something soft fall onto her
head and wipe her bangs onto her lashes. “What the….”

Danny appeared from behind, “Now we’re all
ready for the game tonight.” He glanced appreciatedly at the
backwards baseball cap he casually planted onto her head. “You
excited to watch prince charming kick a ball across a wet, muddy
field?”

She glanced up at him. His face appeared
blotchy, almost blurred through her tears.

“Hey,” he suddenly softened. “What’s the
matter?”

“I just, I’m just… I don’t know, I’m
confused, alright.” She crunched the Red Sox hat with her fist and
shoved it into Danny’s hand. He placed it back on his head with a
smirk.

“Not a Red Sox fan, are we?”

“Oh, no I love the Red Sox. It’s you I’m not
such a fan of,” she laughed, wiping her cheeks. “Where’s my
brother, anyway?”

“What, I can’t walk around campus without
your brother?”

Malia stared.

“He’s talking to a teacher. We’re gonna go
scavenge for some edible food downtown. You know, as opposed to the
cardboard this school expects us to eat. Join us?”

“That’s okay,” she began to walk away while
flattening her hair from the hat’s damage.

“What, not a fan of burgers and fries?” he
called after her.

“Oh, no, I love burgers and fries. It’s you
and my brother that aren’t so tempting.” she smiled.

“At least come to the football game tonight.
It’s the first game of the season, and you haven’t been to a
school-sponsored event in awhile,” he urged.

She eyed him curiously. “I didn’t think
anyone noticed,” she whispered. With that, she withdrew towards her
locker to retrieve her splash goggles for chemistry lab.

Before rounding the corner, Malia turned and
rolled her eyes as a flock of sophomore girls with beach blonde
highlights and Burberry scarves swarmed Danny Sawyer, who for
seventeen years had been her brother’s best friend.

James Madison High School boasted the
largest football team in the entire state of Indiana. The principal
thought it best to give every student an equal opportunity, rather
than to cut freshman and sophomores after only two days of
try-outs. Corey Simon nonetheless held the position of star
quarterback since freshman year. Malia saw signs and posters
telling Corey Simon and the James Madison Jaguars to defeat the
Truman High Tigers in slabs of red and yellow paint – traditional
James Madison High colors.

She saw rows of freshman girls in pigtails
and mock cheerleader uniforms and even boys with red and yellow
lines of paint under their eyes screaming his name, and she felt a
sudden pang of disbelief and confusion in her classmates’ obsession
with the sport. She seated herself in a vacant seat on the
bleachers and cringed at the unexpected coldness the metal emanated
onto her bare legs. She sported a black tee shirt, a pair of faded
denim jeans, and a red baseball cap with the slogan
James
Madison Jaguars
printed on its front – a gift from her father,
a sports enthusiast.

“Hey, Malia, is that you?” Chelsea, a fellow
senior, approached. “I’ve never seen you at a football game before!
What gives?” She flashed Malia a friendly grin.

“Oh, you know, I’ve always been a football
fan in secret, Chelsea. I just didn’t want anyone else to
know.”

“Well, don’t look now, but Danny Sawyer is
staring at you.” Malia rolled her eyes and buried her face in the
palm of her hand.

“He’s probably just wondering where my
brother is.” She unveiled her face and glanced at Danny who was
accompanied by her brother, of course.
Why is he never with a
girl?
she thought.
Always with my brother. Like
glue.

She heard sudden cheers from the sidelines,
as the cheerleading squad pounced in their poses and bounced their
pompoms. She saw number 18 kick the ball, number 5 pass the ball,
and number 12 run with the ball until number 24 tackled him and the
cycle was repeated. Endlessly. Almost minutes later, she felt
Chelsea shaking her arm and telling her the game had ended and that
the Jaguars had lost.

“Some football fan you are,” Chelsea popped
down from the bleachers. Malia watched the fans exit the stadium
with glum faces.

Corey was chatting with his fellow athletes
on the field, she saw, seemingly unmoved by his team’s defeat.
Suddenly, just as Corey began staring at her, she realized that she
had been staring at him. She quickly switched her gaze to the
dimming sun.
What’s Danny doing down there?
she thought,
laughing as Danny attempted uselessly to console the team. “Hey
look, you guys,” Corey exclaimed, still staring at her. “It’s that
hermit girl. Haven’t seen her around for awhile.”

Danny’s cheerful expression turned acidic.
“Hey, man. Watch it,” he commanded bitterly.

Corey was a good three inches taller than
Danny, which deeply amused Malia as she watched him attempt to
defend her. But when Corey gave Danny a threatening shove, she was
no longer entertained. “Why don’t you go back to your Mathletes
buddies, Sawyer. There’s a reason you didn’t make the football
team,” Corey scowled.
Oh no
, Malia thought. With that, Danny
thrust Corey Simon five feet backwards. The star quarterback
toppled to the floor.

“You did not want to do that,” Corey
growled, as Malia sprinted to the field.

Danny smiled. “Actually, I’ve wanted to do
that for awhile now.” As Danny’s fist extended towards Corey, Malia
grabbed his arm.

“Danny, no! Please. He’s not worth it.”
Malia’s baseball cap fell to the floor and brown splotches of mud
quickly infested it. She felt rain droplets embellish her hair like
small, cold crystals as she reached for Danny’s arm to prevent him
from fracturing the face of the beloved James Madison sports star.
She felt Danny’s arm automatically soften. In the corner of her eye
she saw Corey’s clammy shape sprint towards the exit.