Prologue

My heart pounds in my chest.

My books are lying fanned out on the floor, my hands are shaking. Tears sting my eyes as I think of Fatima back home. How she would have never let me down in a time like this.

Giggles ripple through the crowd and I am thankful for the veil which covers my burning face.

Slowly I bend down and pick up the books off the floor, 

The jeering comes in short spiteful words which make my heart capsize.

"Terrorist."

The crowd takes up the dreaded word, repeating it over and over again until it pounds in my skull, my hands shake as I quickly slip my books in my bag.

I walk away and as I do I pass by Sara.

"You'll never fit it." she hisses.

You're so wrong. I think. So very wrong.

Because I know something they don't.

And that is,

My name is 'Amal', and in Arabic it means:

Hope.