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Bismillahi Rahmani raheem ... بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَنِ الرَّحِيم

All good things started with Bismillah.

The universe was one of them.

It was only fitting to start the last year of high school in the name of Allah, because if there was one thing I wanted to accomplish this year other than graduating, it was earning the pleasure of Allah. I knew that whatever happened this year, I would be able to get through it In Sha Allah, and as long as I strove to please Allah, he would reward me in this life and the next. As long as I stuck to the path – the path to graduation, and the path to heaven – I would be fine.

However, may I point out that it wouldn't be easy? This path wasn't paved and polished for me – oh, no. It was cobbled and wonky, cracked and spiky. There would be stumbles, there would be falls; all due to rocks, sticks, dead birds (okay maybe not dead birds, but perhaps other miscellaneous objects you'd find on a path) and...Damian Brewer.

***

"Mims! Mimi! Mar-mar, Mary, Maria, Maaaaaz –"

"Yaz, how many times do I have to tell you? Keep your voice down," I scolded, though I was slightly amused by my jumpy friend. She was maybe a bit too jumpy for the first day of year 12, but that was Yaz for you.

"Sorry, Mariam, I'm just so excited to see you!" Yaz flung her arms around me, suffocating me with her perfume more than her grip. That girl wore enough perfume to knock out a skunk.

"You saw me three days ago at study camp," I reminded her as we merged with the rest of the high school students.

"Yeah, but three days is a long time to be apart from your bestie," Yaz pouted, hooking her arm with mine. I smiled, despite how cheesy that sounded.

"Aw, well, if it gives you any comfort, I missed you too," I replied as we entered the senior locker area. Seeing the same old people I'd gone to school with for the past five years was both comforting and annoying, but at least it would be the last year I'd have to endure them all.

"Can you believe this is our last year?" As usual, Yaz and I were on the same wavelength. "I'm really going to miss all these people."

"Even the annoying ones?"

Yaz shrugged. "Sure. They were the ones that we'll always remember when we look back. The troublemakers, the jokers, the bad boys -"

"I'd rather not remember them," I said distastefully.

"But you will," Yaz winked.

"Unfortunately," I muttered.

"And everyone will always remember you as the kind-hearted hijabi queen with a little sass in her pocket," Yaz prodded my nose with a cheeky smile.

"I could live with that," I nodded in approval. I was, after all, the only hijabi in our senior year, however there were a few others in the younger year levels, including my sister, so naturally, I had a responsibility as the oldest.

"How about me? What will I be remembered for?" Yaz inquired.

"Hm, let's see,"I scrutinized my friend while stroking my chin thoughtfully. "People will always remember you as the reckless, Lebanese beauty with a fabulous taste in fashion."

"Why thank you, darling," she said with a flick of her hair. "But one thing that will change is the reckless part. I want to be more focused this year."

I gaped at her in mock shock. "You do?"

Yaz rolled her eyes at me, examining her nails. "Yes, Mims. I actually want to do well. This year will be different, you'll see."

"Say In Sha Allah," I told her.

"In Sha Allah. But I'm serious, Mims. I'm going to be more focused. I'm aiming for somewhere above 70 for my ATAR score."

We reached our lockers, which we'd acquired last week at study camp. I had a nice roomy locker all to myself with two shelves and plenty of space. I just wished it had a sink in it too, and maybe a microwave. Now that'd be nice...

"70?" I echoed, shoving my bag into my locker. Yaz's locker was right beside mine, which was perfect for locker conversations.

"My father said if I don't get more than 70 then...then I have to marry!" Yaz wailed, fanning her face, a thing she did when she became emotional. As usual, she had way too much mascara on so that when she blinked, I swear I felt a gust of wind.

"Marry? You mean, like, soon?" I chuckled. Yaz's parents were always talking about marriage, ever since Yaz was seven years old. Yes, you heard me correctly. They were that keen on it, since she was their only daughter. Her brother Yusuf wasn't planning on getting married any time soon, even though he was like, twenty six years old, but he was too busy with his job as a computer engineer. Even though he was the successful one of Yaz's family, he still lived with her parents. It was sad, really.

"If I don't pass this year, I won't even have a chance to go to uni! Instead, I will be married off to some randomn Lebo and forced to feed him every day," Yaz whined. "How shitty is that?"

"Language, Yaz," I warned as a teacher walked past. I never liked swearing, just hearing it made my ears feel dirty, but unfortunately high school was full of people who swore constantly, thinking it was cool to do so. After all, we were high school students, not sailors.

"Well, In Sha Allah, you will do fine, Yaz," I assured her, adjusting my hijab, which had begun to slip a little down my forehead. It was expected to be a little warm today, since February was always known for being pretty hot. For the past five years I had gotten used to wearing the hijab in all kinds of temperatures, but in all that time it was still quite difficult to bear during the summer.

"You are so hopeful, Mariam," Yaz commented as we headed into the building, which was cooler than outside. "I wish I was more like you."

"Is that one of your new years' resolutions?" I questioned as we climbed the stairs.

"Hm, maybe," Yaz hummed. She soon left my side to walk with Aidan, a guy she'd had her eye on since the end of last year. Yaz was known for flirting with guys, and they flirted back because she was gorgeous. Yaz was always outgoing and fun, whereas I was the type of friend that would help with homework and give advice, even if my advice wasn't heeded. Yeah, Yaz was Muslim, but her parents never really taught her the principles of her religion, so I couldn't blame her for not knowing any better. I just hoped one day, In Sha Allah, she would turn to Islam wholeheartedly, and I'd be right by her side when she did so.

First period went by so quickly, perhaps because I was eager to get to my next class - physics. You may be thinking - how could someone be excited for physics? Well, I guess I was just nerdy like that. Physics had always fascinated me, and I'd always wondered about how things worked. It was a surprisingly popular subject in our year level, with two full classes. I just hoped I had the same people from last year's class. We had a lot of fun last year.

I entered physics with a bright smile. Mr Newton looked frazzled as usual with his spiky grey hair and thick black rimmed glasses. He returned the smile.

"Someone's happy to be back," he commented.

"If I'm not happy, then who is?" I answered, walking past his desk and scanning the room for a seat.

"Mariam! Come sit with us!" Denise called, waving her hand like a mad woman. She looked just as eager as me, perhaps because she too was an alleged geek. Her ginger hair was combed straight and hung just at her shoulders.

"You got a haircut?" I was a little surprised, since Denise was known for having long hair, perhaps not as long as Yaz's, but still very long.

"I wanted to try something new," she shrugged as I set down my books. Boy, they were heavy.

I looked around at my table and greeted all my physics friends. We were the top students, and I was glad we could work together this year too.

Mr Newton clapped his hands, echoing in the classrooms flat walls and gaining the attention of us senior physics nerds.

"Okay, class, welcome back! You're year 12 now, it's your last year, so let's make it a good one! I see a lot of you are from Ms Jamieson's class from last year, but that's fine, we'll get to know each other, it'll be cool, though speaking of cool – this air con is not working," Mr Newton held up his hand to the air-conditioner, which, if I wasn't mistaken, was blasting in hot air. Seriously, this school...

The door suddenly burst open, letting in another blast of temperate air. I was busy paying attention to Mr Newton fiddling with the air con remote to notice who had strolled in, so I saw Mr Newton's reaction before I could form my own.

"Nice of you to join us, Damian," Mr Newton had his eyebrows raised as his eyeballs panned across the room. I still had my back turned at this point, because I knew that from the way Mr Newton's eyes travelled...oh, no.

I sent a quick prayer up to Allah, pleading to him, Please don't make him sit here. Anywhere but here. When it came to Damian Brewer, I felt like my faith was being put to the ultimate test - and it was times like these that I held onto my faith like a shield in battle.

"Hey, it's the Virgin Mary." I still refused to look at him. Out of all seats, he chose to sit here.

Ya rab, please give me strength to endure this Physics class, and not get distracted by –

"Damian," I muttered, slowly turning my head to him. He was in the middle of running a hand through his floppy oak brown quiff streaked with gold. In all honesty, he was exceptional to look at, because straight eyebrows, eyes like the depths of a lake and chiseled cheekbones were women's weakness. Astaghfurullah, lower your gaze, girl! I mentally scolded myself. See what I meant by my faith being put to the test?

"Still living up to your name?" he smirked, flashing a dimple. I really hated when he did that.

"Still living up to yours?" I retorted as Mr Newton finally got the air conditioner working. It was funny how a physics teacher struggled to control the temperature of a classroom. Ironic, if you will.

"If you mean Sexy Beast, then yes, I am," Damian leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin and shooting me a smug smile.

Damian may be good looking, but all bad things in this world were on the outside. Which was why my name for him – Damian the Demon – was very appropriate. The Shaytaan had cunning ways of deceiving someone, but I wasn't easily deceived. Good thing I wasn't attracted to egotistical atheists.

"No, I meant Jerkface," I replied casually, catching only a glimpse of his shocked expression before tuning into Mr Newton's introductory slide on none other than the Big Bang Theory. Oh, this should be good.