Read Online Does My Head Look Big in This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah - Free Book Online

grass!”
    She stomps away back to her house.
    “What a grumpy old fart!” I yell, slamming our front door and storming into the kitchen, where my mum is preparing breakfast.
    “What’s wrong?” she asks.
    “That old grouch is psychotic. I was walking up the driveway and she comes up to the fence and starts yelling at me.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Why are parents always so quick to assume it’s their children who must have done something wrong?”
    “Easy. Because I’m your mum and I can assume anything I want to.”
    “Nice,” I mutter. “Her latest big fat whinge is that when our newspapers get delivered in the week, they sometimes get thrown on to her lawn. The injustice of it must burn her. Boy, do I wish I had her problems. Newspapers touching her precious grass.”
    “Don’t say that, ya Amal. You have no idea what her problems are.”
    “Yeah, I do. She’s an anal, cranky, miserable woman who wants to take out her bad mood on everybody else.”
    “Really? Only person I hear that sounds like she’s got a bad case of PMS is you.”
    I flounce out of the room, stomping my feet as hard as I can as I walk up the stairs.

7
    M onday morning. And my class has finally decided to confront me about my hijab. I almost want to jump up and down with relief. I can handle an insult or an interrogation. I can’t handle going from getting along with everybody (with the obvious exception of Tia and her Mini-Mes) to being a social outcast.
    Somehow, in between classes after lunch on Monday everybody suddenly finds the guts to approach me, wanting to know what’s going on with my new look.
    “Did your parents force you?” Kristy asks, all wide-eyed and appalled.
    “My dad told me if I don’t wear it he’ll marry me off to a sixty-five-year-old camel owner in Egypt.”
    “No!” She’s actually horrified.
    “I was invited to the wedding,” Eileen adds.
    “ Really? ” This is definitely a case of dropped from the cradle.
    “Hey! Amal!” Tim Manne calls out. “What’s the deal with that thing on your head?”
    “I’ve gone bald.”
    “Get out!”
    “I’m on the Advanced Hair Programme.”
    For a second his eyes flicker with shock. Then Josh punches him on the shoulder. “Rocked!”
    “Like I believed her,” Tim says, looking sheepish.
    “Doesn’t it get hot?” someone asks.
    “Can I touch it?”
    “Can you swim?”
    “Do you wear it in the shower?”
    “So is it like nuns? Are you married to Jesus now?”
    It’s unreal. Everybody’s asking me about my decision and seems genuinely interested in hearing what I have to say. They’re all huddled around me and I’m having the best time explaining to them how I put it on and when I have to wear it. Then Adam plants himself in front of me and starts joining in with the rest of them and I want to plant a massive kiss on his face except that really would be defeating the purpose of my entire spiritual roadtrip now, wouldn’t it?
    “So it’s your choice then?” he asks.
    “Oh yeah!” I answer. “One hundred per cent.”
    “Wow . . . so how come it looks different on you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Like you see some women covering their faces and other women wearing really bright material with that red paint on their hand. Are they all Islamic too?”
    “You mean Muslim.”
    “Huh?”
    “What she means,” Josh says, “is that the religion is Islam and the followers are Muslim. Like you can’t say to somebody you’re a Judaism or a Catholicism. Get it?”
    “Right.” Adam nods his head. “So are they Muslim , like you?”
    “Yeah they are. But, every girl is going to interpret the hijab differently. It depends on their culture or their fashion sense, you know? There’s no one uniform for it.”
    “I get you,” Adam says.
    “A lot of Africans wear those really colourful wrap-around dresses and veils,” I continue. “Um, stricter women cover their face, but it’s not required in Islam. It’s their choice to go to