I remember when my parents first told me we were moving. It would be my first public school, seeing I'd gone to a Muslim academy my whole life.

There, when I first put on my hijab in 6th grade, it wasn't weird. In fact, I was proud. When I put on my hijab, it was like a symbol I was not a little kid anymore. Some of the girls in my classes already were wearing a hijab, and some weren't.

But I knew that was only normal among my Muslim friends. When I'd go to the playground, or movies, or stores, or almost any public place, I'd get strange looks.

But, I did as mother said: I held my head high and stared right back. Showed those people I wasn't ashamed to be Islamic.

Except, moving meant those stares would be on me all the time. My little sister, Aini, didn't have to worry about those stairs. She was only in second grade and didn't need to wear a hijab.

But, of course, there was our prayer schedule. Five times a day. If I played my cards right, I devised a schedule where only one of those had to be at school. Not that I am ashamed. I'm proud, but I want to be happy. I will be happy if I have friends. God can understand that, can't he?

Tomorrow I start public school for the first day. My little sister is excited. She will pray twice at school, she says. And the thing is, 8-year-olds don't really judge you. They don't have stereotypes or a "popular" group. But 13-year-olds do. So it stinks I'll be 13 next month, and not 8. So, as I kneel and look towards Mecca before going to sleep for the night, I ask Him if I could fit in tomorrow, then apologize for my selfishness. Maybe it won't be as bad as I think?

---

The principal, Dr. Moore, hands me my schedule. "I've placed you in classes with some very nice students, so there's nothing to worry about." I nod, hoping he's right. He shows me to my locker, so I can put all my afternoon books away for now. I take off my backpack.

I lean over my backpack, trying to conceal my praying rug, hoping he won't ask questions. Once it's in my locker I close the door quickly. "Uh," I say my first real sentence to him, "how many Muslims are in this school?"

He rubs a hand over his bald head, "Actually, you're our first." I nod on the outside, but my inside is disappointed. I'll be the only one wearing something on my head, because I know hats were banned.

He escorts me to a science classroom, with students already learning inside it. Great idea, mother and father! Move schools and towns mid-year!

I sigh and watch the principal turn the knob. "Students," the teacher calls, "we have a new student." Dr. Moore steps inside, and waves me in.

Deep breath, here you go! I enter the room, and all the eyes instantly track my hijab. One kid actually had the nerve to say, "What's on your head?". The teacher and principal both give him scolding looks.

"Maybe Sana would like to share?" The teacher suggests. "It's a hijab," I reply kind of quickly, "I wear it on me because I'm Muslim and it's my religion's custom." Just like I practiced. The boy seems satisfied and returns to doodling in his notebook. "Well, this is Sana." Dr. Moore shares, "And, Sana, this is Mr. Brooks."

I shake his hand. "You can sit back their next to Mavis." He points towards the only empty seat in the class. She must have had to turn down one of her friends, the teacher probably told her some Muslim was coming and needed a nice friend. She looks normal and must fit in.

I plop down in the seat next to her.  The teacher jumps right back into his lesson and Mavis whispers something to me.

"I like your hijab."