AN: The Tortall characters from Tammy's books in this story don't belong to
me, the known ones that is, the new ones are from my own imagination and
copyright :) Enjoy!! Please don't flame me too much, I'm new at this and
quite shy :P
I can remember the first time I held a Tamora Pierce book in my hand. It had been the first book of the Song of the Lioness series, and I had been far from excited. My sister had recommended it to me; and me, hater of books back then when I was only around ten or eleven, was far too bored. So I read the book.
From then on I grew to love the style and world of Tamora Pierce; I loved Alanna with her fiery and independent spirit, Daine with her calm character and respect for animals, Tris for her own different personality and for reminding me of me. All those characters were bright, intelligent and independent women, set out to do what they wanted. And they succeeded. They felt real. They were fantasy-characters, made up, but the characters were real; none of those unrealistic, magical characters that I found so boring and silly in other fantasy books, they were three-dimensional characters.
With Tamora Pierce's characters, I was Daine, changing into a wolf. I was Alanna fighting Ralon. I was Tris, stubborn and intent on doing what she wanted.
That was why I devoted my reading time to everything Tammy. She, Tammy, had touched me with her writing deep in the heart, she'd got me reading and writing stories. She'd opened up a whole other world for me to escape to if I felt overcrowded in real life. That 'other' world was open, night and day, twenty-four seven, seven days a week. It didn't reject me because of where I was from, who I was and who I hung around with. Or even what I dressed like, what I ate and how I walked and talked.
In that world I was free to do what I wanted; I could journey with Alanna in the desert; I could defeat Ozorne along with Daine; I could find out the truth about Aymery with Tris. I could change it all to suit me and no one could stop me. I was free. Free to do whatever I wanted. The only way anyone could stop me was to snap me back into real life, which teachers always did when I drifted off in class, dreaming that the King of Tortall was knighting me.
'Why must you always do that in my class, Reem?' the teachers would always ask, while the class snickered.
Shrugging, I held up my chin with pride. 'I suppose you're not as interesting a teacher as you would of liked to be,' I replied evenly, eyeing the teacher with a challenging twinkle in my eye.
I was like that; I loved to challenge people, get them worked up and while they're busy yelling at me stupidly, I could look into their angry eyes and tell how they really felt and how they thought. I could always do that, since I was a little girl. I could tell what everyone thought and how they felt. It was weird, but I got used to it.
So anyway, it was a Monday morning (Mondays are always bad luck for me) and I was packing my things in my locker when my friend, Khalil, came up to me with an angry, irritated look in his face. I could have just peered into his thoughts, but he was a very close friend and I respected his privacy too much to steal thoughts from him.
'What's up?' I said, closing the door to my locker and setting the heavy bag of mine on the ground as I leant against the locker.
'You'll never guess!' Khalil exclaimed, his beautiful brown eyes squinting with rage and his chin set stubbornly as he clenched his teeth.
Smiling, I folded my arms over my chest. 'Marlaine embarrass you in class again?'
He nodded, punching the locker with his fist 'She won't leave me alone! I told her over and over that we are over, but her brain has a low level of intelligent, and even that low intelligence can't support her, so her brain has gone on strike for being misused.'
I carried my bag over my shoulder and sighed. 'You just gotta make her realize that you want absolutely nothing to do with her. I don't even know why you ever got with her in the first place. You knew what she was like.' I pointed out.
Making a face, Khalil put his arm around my shoulders and steered me towards the doors. 'Want me to drive you home?' he offered, shrugging away the subject of Marlaine.
I shook my head. 'Nah, I'll take the bus.'
He gave me a stern look. 'You know you shouldn't.'
'I know that. I don't care. I do what I want.' I replied, smiling.
He eyed me uncertainly for a while, but he knew my stubborn ways too much and sighed as he gave me a hug and went over to his car.
As soon as I was out the gates of the school, I sighed with relief. That school made me nervous, I had never fit in and never wanted to. All the students there were too interested in looks, how short a girl's dress was and what makeup a girl puts on each morning.
I wasn't like that, I didn't care what I, or anyone, looked like, let alone how short a skirt was or how much makeup is packed on each morning. The faces of the girls that do put on makeup would give a little girl enough nightmares for a whole month, so that and the fact that I hated anything artificial and unreal, put me off makeup.
The bus arrived and the usual people were on; a few guys from the Catholic Boy's School across the street, men and women out shopping or whatever they did every day and some other school kids.
I sat somewhere in the middle, alone, to the side of the window, where I always sat.
The boys threw snickers from the back as usual, and of course they were aimed at me. I ignored them. I ignored them all the time, but when they got too annoying, I'd turn around, say a smart, sharp remark, and that would shut them up. That was the way the return home each day happened and I didn't care enough to change it. It was a routine and I followed it.
'The Arab needs some cleaning up, mate, don't ya reckon? So dirty. Terrorists need to die and that bitch down there definitely needs to die.'
'Hey, Arab, you need to die, go bomb yourself, we don't need you and your shit!'
'You heard him, get the friggin' hell out of here, Arab scum!'
Resting my head against the window, on the crook of my arm, I stared out at the passer-bys. Most were girls going home from school like me. But they didn't have to put up with this racism. No. They weren't Arabs.
But I loved being an Arab and loved being Lebanese! Damn those idiots, damn them and everything they are. They're too ignorant. Some day they'll wake up and see all the missing pieces in their lives and they'll see how pathetic and useless they are. I don't think they'll be calling me names then!
'Arab! Come over here, I haven't had me a lap dancer in so long!'
I turned around, a dangerous smile on my face. 'I'll take you up on that, bud.'
The guy that had shouted the comment raised an eyebrow, his handsome face breaking into a sneer. 'Really? Then come over here and show me your stuff.'
I got up and dumped my bag on the floor. Walking slowly towards the guy, I heard gasps and muffled comments, as everyone's eyes in the bus turned to look at me. But no one interfered; no, it was none of their business.
I sat on his lap and looked straight into his face. 'I'm an Arab. I'm Lebanese. I may be filth to you hun, but you are the worst filth, the most disgusting creature I've ever come across. Now shut your filthy mouth before I shut it for you.'
He slid his arms around my waist as a nasty grin spread across his face. 'Mm, I can see that happening, Muslim filth.'
I sighed and shook my head. 'Must it always come to this?' I dug my heel into his foot and sent him yelping, his arms slid off my waist and I smiled as I punched his jaw hard, and heard a satisfying crack as I got up, grabbed my bag and laughed; I knew I'd had the timing right, the bus stopped and the doors slid open.
I shot out of the bus and ran as I heard shouts of anger from the bus being called out. 'DAMN YOU, YOU CRAZY BITCH! Next time we see you, you're friggin' dead, YOU HEAR ME?'
I gave them the finger and snickered as the bus drove away, the guys at the back banging on the window at the back and making rude gestures.
I can remember the first time I held a Tamora Pierce book in my hand. It had been the first book of the Song of the Lioness series, and I had been far from excited. My sister had recommended it to me; and me, hater of books back then when I was only around ten or eleven, was far too bored. So I read the book.
From then on I grew to love the style and world of Tamora Pierce; I loved Alanna with her fiery and independent spirit, Daine with her calm character and respect for animals, Tris for her own different personality and for reminding me of me. All those characters were bright, intelligent and independent women, set out to do what they wanted. And they succeeded. They felt real. They were fantasy-characters, made up, but the characters were real; none of those unrealistic, magical characters that I found so boring and silly in other fantasy books, they were three-dimensional characters.
With Tamora Pierce's characters, I was Daine, changing into a wolf. I was Alanna fighting Ralon. I was Tris, stubborn and intent on doing what she wanted.
That was why I devoted my reading time to everything Tammy. She, Tammy, had touched me with her writing deep in the heart, she'd got me reading and writing stories. She'd opened up a whole other world for me to escape to if I felt overcrowded in real life. That 'other' world was open, night and day, twenty-four seven, seven days a week. It didn't reject me because of where I was from, who I was and who I hung around with. Or even what I dressed like, what I ate and how I walked and talked.
In that world I was free to do what I wanted; I could journey with Alanna in the desert; I could defeat Ozorne along with Daine; I could find out the truth about Aymery with Tris. I could change it all to suit me and no one could stop me. I was free. Free to do whatever I wanted. The only way anyone could stop me was to snap me back into real life, which teachers always did when I drifted off in class, dreaming that the King of Tortall was knighting me.
'Why must you always do that in my class, Reem?' the teachers would always ask, while the class snickered.
Shrugging, I held up my chin with pride. 'I suppose you're not as interesting a teacher as you would of liked to be,' I replied evenly, eyeing the teacher with a challenging twinkle in my eye.
I was like that; I loved to challenge people, get them worked up and while they're busy yelling at me stupidly, I could look into their angry eyes and tell how they really felt and how they thought. I could always do that, since I was a little girl. I could tell what everyone thought and how they felt. It was weird, but I got used to it.
So anyway, it was a Monday morning (Mondays are always bad luck for me) and I was packing my things in my locker when my friend, Khalil, came up to me with an angry, irritated look in his face. I could have just peered into his thoughts, but he was a very close friend and I respected his privacy too much to steal thoughts from him.
'What's up?' I said, closing the door to my locker and setting the heavy bag of mine on the ground as I leant against the locker.
'You'll never guess!' Khalil exclaimed, his beautiful brown eyes squinting with rage and his chin set stubbornly as he clenched his teeth.
Smiling, I folded my arms over my chest. 'Marlaine embarrass you in class again?'
He nodded, punching the locker with his fist 'She won't leave me alone! I told her over and over that we are over, but her brain has a low level of intelligent, and even that low intelligence can't support her, so her brain has gone on strike for being misused.'
I carried my bag over my shoulder and sighed. 'You just gotta make her realize that you want absolutely nothing to do with her. I don't even know why you ever got with her in the first place. You knew what she was like.' I pointed out.
Making a face, Khalil put his arm around my shoulders and steered me towards the doors. 'Want me to drive you home?' he offered, shrugging away the subject of Marlaine.
I shook my head. 'Nah, I'll take the bus.'
He gave me a stern look. 'You know you shouldn't.'
'I know that. I don't care. I do what I want.' I replied, smiling.
He eyed me uncertainly for a while, but he knew my stubborn ways too much and sighed as he gave me a hug and went over to his car.
As soon as I was out the gates of the school, I sighed with relief. That school made me nervous, I had never fit in and never wanted to. All the students there were too interested in looks, how short a girl's dress was and what makeup a girl puts on each morning.
I wasn't like that, I didn't care what I, or anyone, looked like, let alone how short a skirt was or how much makeup is packed on each morning. The faces of the girls that do put on makeup would give a little girl enough nightmares for a whole month, so that and the fact that I hated anything artificial and unreal, put me off makeup.
The bus arrived and the usual people were on; a few guys from the Catholic Boy's School across the street, men and women out shopping or whatever they did every day and some other school kids.
I sat somewhere in the middle, alone, to the side of the window, where I always sat.
The boys threw snickers from the back as usual, and of course they were aimed at me. I ignored them. I ignored them all the time, but when they got too annoying, I'd turn around, say a smart, sharp remark, and that would shut them up. That was the way the return home each day happened and I didn't care enough to change it. It was a routine and I followed it.
'The Arab needs some cleaning up, mate, don't ya reckon? So dirty. Terrorists need to die and that bitch down there definitely needs to die.'
'Hey, Arab, you need to die, go bomb yourself, we don't need you and your shit!'
'You heard him, get the friggin' hell out of here, Arab scum!'
Resting my head against the window, on the crook of my arm, I stared out at the passer-bys. Most were girls going home from school like me. But they didn't have to put up with this racism. No. They weren't Arabs.
But I loved being an Arab and loved being Lebanese! Damn those idiots, damn them and everything they are. They're too ignorant. Some day they'll wake up and see all the missing pieces in their lives and they'll see how pathetic and useless they are. I don't think they'll be calling me names then!
'Arab! Come over here, I haven't had me a lap dancer in so long!'
I turned around, a dangerous smile on my face. 'I'll take you up on that, bud.'
The guy that had shouted the comment raised an eyebrow, his handsome face breaking into a sneer. 'Really? Then come over here and show me your stuff.'
I got up and dumped my bag on the floor. Walking slowly towards the guy, I heard gasps and muffled comments, as everyone's eyes in the bus turned to look at me. But no one interfered; no, it was none of their business.
I sat on his lap and looked straight into his face. 'I'm an Arab. I'm Lebanese. I may be filth to you hun, but you are the worst filth, the most disgusting creature I've ever come across. Now shut your filthy mouth before I shut it for you.'
He slid his arms around my waist as a nasty grin spread across his face. 'Mm, I can see that happening, Muslim filth.'
I sighed and shook my head. 'Must it always come to this?' I dug my heel into his foot and sent him yelping, his arms slid off my waist and I smiled as I punched his jaw hard, and heard a satisfying crack as I got up, grabbed my bag and laughed; I knew I'd had the timing right, the bus stopped and the doors slid open.
I shot out of the bus and ran as I heard shouts of anger from the bus being called out. 'DAMN YOU, YOU CRAZY BITCH! Next time we see you, you're friggin' dead, YOU HEAR ME?'
I gave them the finger and snickered as the bus drove away, the guys at the back banging on the window at the back and making rude gestures.
