"I can't do this!" I exclaimed exasperatingly.

"Yes, you can. Just take a deep breath, and press the pedal," Nasr instructed calmly. "Oh, and one more thing."

"What?" I snapped, gripping the steering wheel like it was a chunk of debris in the middle of the ocean.

"Try not to crash into anything," Nasr added with a condescending smile. "No pressure."

I groaned. "I should've just gotten Baba to teach me to drive," I muttered as I checked the mirror, even though there were no cars behind us. And you know why? Because we were in a carpark. Pathetic, I know.

"Bismillah," I murmured the magic words as I hit the accelerator, jerking us forward faster than I anticipated.

"Whoa! Not so hard!" Nasr looked petrified, and he clung to the dashboard. "She's sensitive."

"She?" I scoffed, easing the pressure on the pedal and turning us in a wide circle. This was kind of fun, actually –

"Trolley!" Nasr yelled, and I braked abruptly, rocking forwards in our seats before slamming back again. The trolley in our path seemed to mock us, barely even an obstacle, just loitering in a parking square like a stray, but Nasr's shout had scared me enough to think we were going to crash into it.

"Dude, I wasn't even going to drive in that direction!" I cried.

"You were swerving all over the place, so how was I supposed to know which direction you were going in? Plus, I can't risk you denting my beautiful machine," Nasr retorted. "Any damage done to my Honda and you'll be paying for it out of your tuition fees!"

"You can't do that!" I protested.

"I can do anything – I'm your elder, and for this afternoon, your driving instructor, so no arguments!" Nasr commanded, his voice filling the closed car space.

"Fine," I sighed, making the wise decision not to argue with Nasr because usually I ended up losing. Baba had told me to listen to him, and I couldn't disobey Baba, even if that meant obeying Nasr. I could tell Nasr enjoyed being in charge of me. It had been his job for the past eighteen years.

"Just think, in a few months you'll be ready to drive all by yourself!" Nasr's words were supposed to be encouraging, but it seemed to just make me impatient.

"Months? Will it really take that long to get my P-plate?' I complained.

"At this rate, yes, but fear not, for your brother is the best driving instructor to have ever lived!" Nasr declared. "I can get you ready in weeks, sis, weeks."

"Unless you plan on spending 120 hours straight with me, which according to my calculations, is exactly five days in total, there's no way you'll be able to do that," I said cynically.

"Don't doubt my power, Mims," Nasr said, and I rolled my eyes.

"I think you mean the power of Allah, since you are as powerful as a marshmallow," I shot back.

"Why, thank you," Nasr grinned at me, and I let out a laugh at how stupid my bro was.

"Well, if we're gonna do 120 hours, we might as well get started, right?" I steered the car towards the exit of the carpark, and Nasr began freaking out.

"What are you doing? I thought we agreed to stick to the carpark for the first few lessons?"

I chuckled at how petrified Nasr sounded. He might think he was in charge, but I was after all in the driver's seat, so I had the real control here. "Since when were carparks a realistic simulation of traffic in Melbourne?" I asked as I flicked the turning signal, checking both ways of the empty street. "I need some real experience."

"Ya Allah, please don't let us die today," Nasr began praying sincerely, and I laughed.

"You won't die, Nasr. Maybe a few injuries, but other than that, you'll be fine," I assured him.

Nasr shook his head with a sigh. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"The best 120 hours of your life," I grinned, making the turn and embarking on the first road of my life. Not bad for a first go, if I did say so myself.

Life after school was...liberating. And now that we were on summer vacation, it felt like I was in a state of limbo. I was still waiting for my VCE results to come out, as they came out in early December, which was a week and a bit away.

Now was what Aussies called, "Schoolies week," the time when teenagers fresh out of high school decided to go on holiday with their friends and try out all the illegal stuff while almost getting themselves killed from being too adventurous. But not every teenager was that reckless. Just the stupid ones.

Theo and Denise were staying near the coast in Theo's beach house with his family, and according to what Denise had told me on the phone, life was never dull with the Papadakis family. It was cute that they were spending their summer vacation together. I was just stuck here finally learning to drive and relishing in my new found free time.

But I wasn't the only one who was free. And we never missed the opportunity to see each other, and sometimes even spend the night. Yeah, that's right, I was talking about my home girls, Yaz and Fatima.

"We haven't had a sleepover in...ages!" Yaz exclaimed, her brown eyes wide and sparkling with excitement, and I knew that I had the same expression, because sleepovers were what defined being a teenage girl. It was probably one of the only things I could tick off the list of typical things that teenagers did that wasn't a) illegal and b) haram. That, and going shopping, of course.

"I know right? But now we can have them as often as we want!" Fatima bounced on the bed, her silky black hair free from its usual braid since we were at her house and she didn't have any brothers. Her father was in Sydney for the week to attend a meeting so it was just Fatima's mother babysitting us tonight. Unfortunately, Zeinab couldn't come since she had exams this week and couldn't afford the interruption.

"Maybe we should all just get an apartment and live together. Wouldn't that be fun?" Yaz dreamed aloud, joining Fatima on her large queen size bed.

"That would, but we'll be going to different universities, won't we?" I sighed.

"Ugh, Mims the realist," Fatima teased. "But yeah, it's true. We'll be too far apart."

"What's a few kilometres between us gals? We'll still be in touch," I said hopefully. "We can meet up on the weekends, go out for smoothies or something..."

"Yeah, because smoothies are such a grown up drink," Yasmine rolled her eyes. "We should be going to Starbucks like the privileged adult women we are!"

"I don't like coffee that much," Fatima wrinkled her nose. "I prefer hot chocolate."

"Mochaccino is the best," I chimed in.

"Okay, coffee haters, we'll go get Boost Juice instead, how about that?" Yasmine said sarcastically.

"As long as we're together," I added.

Fatima and Yasmine exchanged a look, and before I knew it, I was being attacked by pillows.

"What'd I do?" I cried through laughter as I was battered by the softest objects in the world.

"You need to stop being so lame, Mims! We've had enough!" Fatima tried to sound disciplinary but she just ended up laughing.

"Yeah, you're too cheesy! And I happen to be lactose intolerant," Yasmine was better at scolding me, but her face was just too cute when she was trying to be angry.

"No, you're not," I pointed out her lie, and she stuck her tongue out.

"Beside the point," she snapped.

"Let's have a dance battle," Fatima suddenly suggested.

"Oh, I am down for that," I said, leaping off the bed and stretching my limbs. "Prepare to get owned, ladies!"

"The only one getting owned here is you!" Yasmine challenged, thumping her chest as Fatima searched up a song on her laptop. Usually we wouldn't listen to music but tonight was an exception, especially since we needed to loosen up a bit after the stress we had experienced a fortnight ago.

We were halfway through our dance battle when my phone rang, and while Fatima and Yasmine continued to shake their hips and hair, I took the call, thinking it would be Immi checking up on me, but instead, it was Damian.

"Is that music I hear?" Damian gasped dramatically, and I laughed, watching my friends dance like crazy people.

"What? No Salam or nice greeting?" I pretended to sound hurt.

"I was getting to it," Damian muttered. "But first – what are you doing right now?"

"Right now, I am talking to you," I replied.

"Real smart, Mariam," I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "But what's with the music? I thought you said it was forbidden?"

"Everybody's got their own forbidden fruits," I responded airily, and at my words Yasmine and Fatima looked over at me with suspicion. Here we go.

"Who're you talking to?" Fatima asked over the music.

"It's definitely not your mother," Yasmine winked.

"Or Nasr," Fatima added.

"Sounds like you have company," Damian chuckled as Fatima and Yasmine crept closer, curious to know who was on the phone. I motioned for them to back off as I forced a reply. "Yeah, I do. And I'm guessing you're bored?"

"Is that Damian?" Yasmine finally cracked the code, and Fatima burst into a fit of giggles when she saw my blush.

"Why's Damian calling you at eight o'clock at night, huh, Mariam? Naughty girl," Fatima wriggled her eyebrows in a way that was supposed to be sly, but it just made her look ridiculous. And creepy.

"I gotta go, my company calls," I hissed into the phone, but before I could hang up, Yasmine swiftly nicked the phone from my fingers, and began pacing across the room speaking into it.

"Salam, Damian. I'm good thanks, you? Yeah, my holidays have been great. That's good to hear. Yeah, she's mad," Yasmine smirked at me as I attempted to retrieve my precious device, but Fatima restrained me by wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me back, betraying my loyalty.

"Don't worry, we got her under control now, but she sure looks pissed. Yeah, I'll tell her. Okay, Salam. Bye." Yasmine hung up with a cheeky grin, holding my phone up as I struggled against Fatima's grip. Since when had she gotten so strong?

"Damian just wanted to let you know that he still has your pencil," Yasmine informed me, but I had a feeling from the glint in her eyes that there was more.

"Is this really necessary?" I wriggled in Fatima's grasp, which felt more like a really tight hug from behind.

She rested her chin on my shoulder and smiled. "Nope, but I just like hugging you. You're so huggable!" to prove her point, she squeezed me even harder.

"Try a teddy bear," I suggested stiffly, finally freeing myself from her constricting hug and snatching my phone from Yasmine's hand. "Don't you dare talk to Damian with my phone again! That was uncalled for!"

Yasmine blinked innocently at me. "What, so you can talk to him but I can't?"

I hesitated, realizing that I probably sounded ridiculous. "Um...no..."

"Sounds like someone has a little crush," Fatima enunciated slowly as she twirled a lock of my hair in her finger. Yasmine circled around me with an evil gleam in her eyes, and I suddenly knew how prey felt in the wild.

I scoffed. "What makes you say that? There's no crush here. The only crush is what your skull is going to get if you keep mentioning such nonsense!" I pounded my fist into my palm threateningly, but Yasmine just laughed, while Fatima smirked, her kohl-lined brown eyes prying into my soul. Was it natural to be afraid of your best friends? Probably.

"You are too cute, Mims," Yasmine pinched my cheek, and I scowled. "But we both know the real reason why you keep answering his calls..."

"It's my duty as his friend to be the first to know if something bad happens to his mum!" I cried defensively. "That's the only reason I answer them."

"Are you sure?" Fatima drawled.

"Yes!" I exclaimed a little indignantly. "Now can we continue on with our dance battle?"

"Not until you tell us what's been going on between you and the convert," Yasmine said firmly, dragging me to the bed and forcing me to sit, the two of them on either side of me so I was locked in the middle.

"I'm just being a nice person!" I claimed. "I feel it's my responsibility to keep in touch with him, especially when he's gone through so much, and I've been there from the start –"

"You know, there are more halal ways of keeping in touch with a guy, and if you feel it's a responsibility, then you should have no problem with marriage!" At Fatima's words, I froze.

"Exca-you-za-mee?" I spluttered. "What's that got to do with -"

"Oh, honey, it has everything to do with what we're talking about," Yasmine cupped my chin in her fingers, turning me to face her and her sly grin. "It's time you wake up and realize."

"Realize what?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"Girls! Time to pray Maghrib!" Fatima's mother stuck her head in to our bedroom, and I let out an audible sigh of relief for the interruption.

"Yes, ma'am!"

And before Fatima and Yasmine could stop me, I was already out of that room and doing my wudhu in the bathroom. Alhamdulillah.

***

Damian's POV

I still had Mariam's pencil she had let me borrow for my maths exam.

It was your average pencil, HB, grey lead, nothing special. The only thing special about it was that it was Mariam's, and I was so glad I had forgotten to return it to her, because now I had a piece of her with me wherever I went. Wow, that sounded creepier than I anticipated. But it was true.

Now, as I was about to view my results to my exam, I twirled her pencil between my fingers, feeling a little nervous. How did I do? Did I do well? I knew I didn't get a perfect score, but did I get a good score? Good enough to brag about?

It didn't help that I just had her pencil with me. I needed to hear her voice. And I wondered if she had already found out her results, so I texted her.

Results are out...

VM: I haven't checked mine yet. I'm a little nervous to.

I smiled at that. Me too. Together?

Five seconds later, she called me.

"This is more stressful than sitting the exams," Mariam moaned, and I chuckled in agreement.

"Yeah, but I can't do this alone," my words weighed with a heavier meaning, but I chose to ignore it as I logged in on the site, drumming my fingers on the table. Now that I had Mariam on the line, I didn't need a stupid pencil to ease my nerves.

"Are you on?" I asked, and I heard her murmur a yes.

"Bismillah," I whispered, and she said the same thing, but just as I was about to click on the thingo, Mariam shouted, "Wait!"

"What?" I almost jumped in surprise.

"We have to call Denise and Theo too!" Mariam cried. "And Yaz!"

"Oh, yeah." How had I forgotten about all my other friends? "But how?"

"Let's meet up," Mariam suggested. "After we check our results, we'll meet up at a café or something and talk about it."

"Sounds good." I liked the idea of seeing my friends again. I could finally return Mariam's pencil to her, and see her face again. Not that I had forgotten how she looked like. I could never forget.

"Ready?" I exhaled, mustering up some courage for something that I could've done five minutes ago, like ripping off a Band-Aid. But it gave me comfort knowing that I wasn't going through this alone. Hundreds of thousands of other kids were also checking their results and experiencing either pride or disappointment. There was no middle ground when it came to ATAR scores. Or was there?

"Ready," Mariam seemed more nervous than I was, and I just had to point this out.

"In Sha Allah you did fine. I bet you did better than me."

"Back to bets, are we, Damian?" Mariam's tone was teasing and light-hearted, so at least she didn't seem nervous anymore, thanks to me.

"Well, I wouldn't be talking to you without one," I answered, and she laughed.

"True. Anyway, shall we get this over and done with?"

"We shall."

***

"Woo! 83!" Theo bellowed proudly as we sat in what was supposed to be a quiet café, but when the five of us were together, nothing was how it was supposed to be. Except us, of course.

"That's great, Theo!" Denise cheered for him, slapping his palm in a high-five. I noticed she had become more loud and confident. I guessed that was what spending a week with the Papadakis family did to you. "I got an 84, so...beat that, son!"

Theo groaned. "Why do you always manage to beat me?"

"It's my job as a woman," Denise shrugged.

"Man, how the times have changed," I remarked. "I better keep up."

"What did you get, Damian? I'm sure you're dying to tell us!" Denise rested her chin atop her palms, gazing at me with her blue eyes, bluer than mine. I had a mix of green in mine, as I had been told on many occasions by many girls...whoa, stay on track, Damian!

"Oh, you know, nothing special," I mumbled, stirring my iced coffee with the straw and averting my eyes. "I got a 90."

"That's amazing!" Yasmine exclaimed, clapping her hands.

"Put it there, bro," Theo held his fist out for a fist-bump, and I hit it with a grin, the reality of my score kicking in. I had done better than I had expected. "Damian so far is the champion of this table."

"Not for long, bro," Mariam smirked, and I sighed. Here it comes.

"Lemme guess – you got a perfect score of 99.999999," Theo rolled his eyes. I already knew her score, and I just watched as Mariam kept on smirking, something I was sure she had picked up from me.

"Not exactly, but I did get a 98! The next best thing!" Mariam raised her arms in victory, and Theo and Denise high-fived her, while Yasmine hugged her from the side.

"That's amazing, I knew you'd get a high score!" Denise beamed.

"Masha'allah," Yasmine kissed Mariam's cheek.

"What does that mean again?" Theo asked.

"In this case, it means job well done, while thanking God for the achievement," I clarified.

"Aw, look at you, all religious and stuff!" Yasmine cooed. "I'm so proud!" she flicked an imaginary tear from her eye while I just rolled my eyes.

"Okay, then, mashallah, Mariam," Theo grinned, while Mariam laughed at his mispronunciation, spending the next two minutes teaching him and Denise how to say it.

"You guys have so many phrases in Islam, I noticed," Denise commented.

"Yeah, we do, and it's all to remember God in everything we do in life," Mariam explained.

"I believe there's a God," Denise said.

"Me too," Theo nodded. "I mean, so many people believe in one, so he must be real, right?"

"Well, everyone's entitled to their own opinion," I shrugged.

"Says the guy who used to be an atheist asshole," Theo chuckled. "You have changed so much, man. Mashallah."

"You still haven't got it right," Yasmine tutted.

"Hey, what matters is the intention," I defended, clapping Theo on the shoulder. "You're a good guy, Theo."

"You too, Damian," Theo nodded at me with sincerity in his hazel eyes.

"Aw, bromance," Denise cooed. Then she narrowed her eyes at me and said darkly, "but he's mine."