By second period, the whispers had a name: Hijab Lilly. By lunch, it was Hijab Lilly Hall, as if her first and last names had been replaced by a costume. A sophomore boy called out, “Hey, Lily Pad—did you join a cult?” The table laughed. Lilly’s hands trembled around her tuna sandwich, but she didn’t run.
She turned to them, adjusted her peach veil, and smiled.
The whole cafeteria burst into laughter—not at Lilly, but with her.
And in the center hung a mirror. Beneath it, a note in Lilly’s handwriting: “What’s your sanctuary? Wear it like I wear mine.”
Lilly Hall had never thought much about the sky. It was just there—a blue ceiling for her soccer games, a gray blanket for study halls. But on the first day of senior year, as she adjusted the soft peach fabric of her hijab for the first time in public, the sky felt like a stage.
The comments exploded. Some were cruel. But more were kind. A girl named Amina from the grade below wrote: “I’ve worn hijab since sixth grade. You just gave me the courage to not take it off tomorrow.” A football player she’d never spoken to posted: “My mom wears hijab. You made her cry happy tears.”
“Sanctuaries often do,” Mrs. Vang replied. “They ask you to be brave inside them.”
This typeface is available exclusively through MyFonts
or with a Monotype Fonts subscription.
