Bad Boy Addict

❁ 01. RARE ❁

VOCABULARY:
aabe-  father
aboowe - brother

❁ ❁ ❁

"Where are you going?" Khalid asks, setting his coffee mug down and settling a stern expression on me. Today is my first day of my Junior year, but first year at a university. I spent the last two years at a local community college, gaining credit for a degree in sociology. After applying to countless schools in the Midwest, I got accepted to University of Central Chicago, more commonly known as UCC.

     Glancing down at my outfit, I examine my distressed high waisted daisy dukes, white crop top, blue knee-length socks with white stripes, and my ratty converse. Setting a hand on my waist, I say sharply. "I'm going to school. Where else would I be going at nine in the morning? Be realistic, Khalid."

     "You're not going to class."

     I roll my eyes, walking to the refrigerator. "Yes, I am. May I remind you that you're not my aabe." (father) 

     You're not even my brother.

     The living arrangement in my home is a little confusing, so let me explain. I have two biological siblings: Ayaan and Sana. Sana doesn't live with us. My cousins Leyla and Khalid do. Despite Leyla and Khalid being cousins, I call them my siblings—quite possibly more than I call my own sister, Sana, my sibling.

     But that's for explaining later.

     Leyla and Khalid have lived with my family for as long as I can remember. When I was an infant, my mother agreed to take care of them and brought them to the United States for a better future. It was a favor my mother offered after her brother—Khalid and Leyla's father—died as a casualty in a ruthless civil war in our homeland, Somalia.

     This is vital to know now, for cultural significance. Modesty is a key part of both in our faith and culture, but the forced notion was lost on me. I don't listen to it and my family never says much of it.

     "Hey guys." Ayaan strolls into the kitchen and grabbed a cup off the dish rack. He's in his running gear, jogging in place. He crouches forward and starts to do stretches. Our dog, Cooper, skids to a stop, pacing at his feet. He's a pit-bull and border collie mix.

     "Good morning, bro." I grin. I'm happy to see Ayaan because that means I'll be saved from Khalid's constant pestering attitude.

     "Good morning. How fresh is this coffee?"

     "I made it half an hour ago," I reply. "It's good."

     "Look at what she's wearing." Khalid orders, motioning at my denim shorts. "Tell her to go change, Ayaan. She's dressing like a—"

     "Don't finish that unless you're willing to face the consequences," I snarl, gripping the door of the fridge. "Give it a break, Khalid. I'm not changing. No amount of ridicule from you will change my mind."

     "Can you believe how she talks to me?" He shoots up to his feet. "I'm your older brother. I have every right to want to protect your honor."

     "My honor," I echo, howling a laugh. "This isn't the twenties. I don't need you to protect my honor."

     "It's her choice, Khalid." Ayaan says, giving a shrug and pouring himself a full cup of coffee. He doesn't add any cream, only a spoonful of honey. While stirring his drink, he adds on, "Jinnah is nineteen, almost twenty. She can make decisions on her own."

     "Thank you, aboowe," I beam. I fetched a bottled water and the pre-packed lunch I made for myself last night. "By the way, I'm not going to be home until seven. I'll take the train home. Okay?"