You Be You

"Hey." I feel a nudge on my shoulder, pulling me slowly into consciousness. "Get up, we're home." Drowsily, my eyelids lift a little open, peering at a blurry Asad right in my face.

"Mmm," I mumble sleepily, stirring in the passenger seat. I'm so tired. Today was exhausting. Asad sighs.

"Get up before I drag your ass out of my car," he says, crossing his arms. I open my eyes fully, giving him an irritated stare.

"Yeah. You're car," I grumble, grabbing my bag and stumbling out, now annoyed.

"Hey, I paid for this, so don't start getting all pissy," he says, following me into the house after locking his car.

"Well that's because you were allowed to work way before I was," I say to him. Even though we're twins he still has always received different treatment because he's a boy. It's no fair. He makes a face.

"Your lazy ass didn't even want to work. And you chickened out of an interview too."

"Because I wasn't allowed to go!"

"Right." Before I can give a response, we enter the kitchen where are parents are sitting together, Abbu drinking his coffee and Mamma drinking her chai.

"Asalam walaykum," we both say in unison.

"Walaykum asalam," they say back. Mamma puts down her coffee.

"There's vegetables and fish in the oven," she says. "And Mishal make sure the kitchen is clean before you go to sleep." I take in a deep breath, calming my growing irritation. I already know kitchen duty is mine, why does she always have to say something about it? Jeez it's so annoying. It's like I never do the dishes that she constantly reminds me like that. Does she ever notice anything unless I haven't done it?

"Okay," I say, turning to go upstairs.

"Where are you going?" she asks. I stiffen, trying my best to stay calm. For some reason, Mamma always get's on my nerves. Her tone is like I'm about to do something bad. Like she expects the worst.

"Upstairs," I say. Where else? I literally just came home. Before she can say anything else like "why?" I hurry up to our room to put my things away. Thank God all my little siblings are asleep, otherwise I know they wouldn't leave me be either.

Forty minutes later, dish washer is on and kitchen is sparkling clean. Asad shoves a handful of kettle jalapeno chips into his mouth.

"You're not eating?" he asks. I dry my hands with the kitchen towel.

"No, I'm not hungry." I walk over to the living room and plop onto the couch, opening Instagram. As I scroll, a picture with Pierce and two other girls comes up. I guess there was a bonfire at someone's place today. One girl is Scarlet, someone I know seems to have a good relationship with Pierce. They mess around and talk a lot at school. And Scarlet mentions him in her story a lot, and they comment on each other's posts. I click on her profile and start scrolling through it. Gosh she's so pretty. And she has a nice body. She's fit. And she's even really social. People like her. Just like a lot of people like Pierce too. He usually has a lot of comments or mentions. They can easily talk to people, not like me. My insecurities start to pull me deeper and deeper into a wallowing pit.

I'm not like them. I'm not good with a lot of people. I'm quiet, I shut people down easily without even meaning to. I don't think people really want to talk to me, I'm nothing special. I'm just there. Just a girl in their class. In their school. If I disappeared no one, not even my "friends" would notice it. That's just the kind of person I am. I'm not particularly pretty or really good at anything that people would notice. I don't have a nice body. I sink into the couch. I'm just a flubbery miserable potato that Pierce would never give a second thought to.

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" Asad asks, coming to sit next to me. He peers over at my phone. "You're stalking Scarlet? Really?" I lean my head back against the sofa, turning my head to look at him.

"Do you think she's pretty?" I ask. He looks at me as if I asked a stupid question.

"Duh, she's like..." he trails off as he reads my expression and sighs. "Mishal."

"Yes?"

"Listen." He puts his arm around me and pulls me into a big hug. "You're cool as Mishal. Stop worrying about everyone else and just do you."

"Ok, first of all you're only saying that because you're my brother. Second, it's not that easy."

"But I appreciate this person right here next to me. Man, when are you going to learn?"

"Learn what?" I ask him.

"You know what?" Asad looks at me. "You need new friends. Your friends suck." I frown.

"And yours don't?"

"You know my closest friends don't," he says. I nod slowly, thinking about it. Right. Omar. Yousef. Those are his best of friends. "What happened to Amal? You two were tight. And hanging out with her always made you really happy." I think back to the last text I sent her, like two months ago. She still hasn't opened it, I checked last week.

"I don't know. She low key disappeared off of the face of this earth. I haven't heard from her since like, the beginning of summer."

"That's weird. You didn't fight, did you?"Asad asks.

"Pftt no. We would never," I say.

"Hmm. Did you stop by her house?"

"No one answered the door."

"Oh." Asad pauses to think. "Maybe something happened. I'm sure she'll contact you after whatever it is is over. Moving on. You need to be involved in something. To build yourself. Then you'll learn to appreciate yourself more and stop carrying about other people. And you gotta remember whatever you do has to be for Allah, so that's another reason not to worry about other people. If you remembered that, you wouldn't care."

"Why do you not care about what other people think?" I ask him. I wonder how me and him turned out so different. He's so confident and great with people. Me? I'm the opposite.

"Why would I? I have my goals, and my focus is on them, nothing else is going to distract or stop me. Who I am depends on me. Everything is in your head Mishal. You make yourself who you are. If you think you're quiet and shy and no one likes you, then no one will. Obviously don't be arrogant. People only see what you show, and interpret it the way they want. You interpret yourself too. Does that make sense?" He says. I look at him in awe. Wow. That makes so much sense. I nod.

"Yeah, it does."

"Good. Your confidence and a Mishal that you want to be proud of is gonna come with work," Asad tells me. "Get that straight in your head and ignore all your fluff. It'll still be there, it's up to you to fight it or not."

"Okay. Thank you." I pull away and put my phone on the coffee table, suddenly very motivated. "Can you help me?" He smiles.

"Of course." I smile back happily, grateful for my brother.

Little did I know how much I was going to hate him the next day.

This better "Mishal" was going to come through a whole Jurassic Park kind of journey.