Chapter 2 #2
I massage my eyes, trying to will it away. I’ve never done well with any strong scents. So much so, Mama stopped lighting the oud her friend got her from Qatar. It was a lovely, rich smell, but it made my brain choke.
“Good morning,” a cheery voice says, and I glance ahead. A girl with two pigtails sitting behind the desk is waving at me.
The woman in the suit is gone, and it’s my turn.
“Good morning.” I shift in place. “I’m, uh, new. It’s my first day, and I’m here for my schedule.”
“Yeah, no problem,” the girl says with a smile that freezes the moment she registers my uniform. She’s wearing the girls’ uniform. A student. “What’s your name?”
My stomach twists. Even though I’ve been expecting it, it doesn’t make me dread it any less. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like meeting new people or having to introduce myself. This is why my old school was fine. Everyone knew me.
Something as simple as saying my name is my greatest fear.
I clear my throat and lower my voice. “Ji—Jihad Dabbagh.”
Her brows furrow, and she leans in closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”
“Can I write it down?” I say, my right leg becoming restless. “It would be easier that way.”
The girl nods, handing me a notepad and a pen. My hand shakes a bit, and I feel as if everyone in the office is peeking over my shoulder.
When I give it back, I see the familiar reaction. Confusion, surprise, uncertainty, a quick, shifty look in my direction, then acting like everything’s fine.
She silently types it in the computer, and I’m grateful for that.
“All right, here we go,” she says, and her voice strains with forced cheeriness.
The printer springs to life, and my schedule is spat out.
She hands it to me. “Right. So you’ll be assigned a buddy to help you with anything you need. If you have any questions or want a quick tour, your buddy will be there.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking at my schedule.
My classes are the same as they were back in my old public school with the exception of art.
I can’t draw what I can’t see. I can’t paint without Mama.
I can’t do it without the colors. So I’d decided not to take art this year and settled on art history, which should satisfy the requirement. “And how do I know who my buddy is?”
“Can I see—yeah, right here. Your buddy is Jamie Murphy. He shares most of your classes, so you’ll see him in your first period. He already knows you’re assigned to him.”
I frown. Why does that name sound familiar?
But before I can rummage through my thoughts, one of the older ladies working in the office stops short in front of me. She studies me from head to toe, and her nose wrinkles.
“This isn’t the girls’ uniform,” she says in a loud voice; it draws stares. “Young lady, you should be respecting the school’s rules.”
This is a play I’ve been a part of my entire life.
Different script, different audiences, same intentions.
I’m not even fazed.
“I know,” I say evenly. “But the girls’ uniform is a short skirt, which I can’t wear because I wear the hijab.
The boys’ uniform lets me cover up, and I’m respecting the school’s rules as it’s still a uniform.
I checked the regulations regarding this, and it’s not written anywhere in the handbook that girls or boys can’t wear either uniform. ”
Her mouth presses into a thin sour line, and I know I won. Still, I don’t taste victory on my tongue.
“It is utterly unsightly,” she hisses, and walks away before I can ask her to clarify what she meant.
Even though I know the answer. I look back at the girl who helped me and find she’s wearing a different tie from mine.
Hers isn’t a part of the uniform. Another student walks by with an embroidered sunflower on her skirt.
I could laugh if the situation weren’t so horrible.
I dig my fingers into my palm, an ugly feeling like a stab thudding in my heart. Regret that sours my blood because I didn’t say anything back.
No one stops me. No one says anything in my defense. No one speaks up.
No one ever does.
The hallways are chaos, and I imagine this is how it sounded when the Athenians gathered in the agora.
Loud chatter mingling, which grows louder and louder so they can be heard, a few students gathered around a laptop watching something and cheering, a group of girls comparing the bags they’re carrying.
I have no idea where Alexis and her friends will be. She sent me a text this morning that said I AM SO EXCITED FOR TODAY!! I shoot her a reply, telling her I’m at the school.
I study my schedule. I have English in room 5A.
I look around, searching for signs that indicate where the classes are. In doing so, I finally notice people staring at me, and I know I look out of place with the wrong uniform. I pat it down, focus on walking past them, and find the sign for 5A.
I climb up the stairs, telling myself not to trip. There are fifteen minutes left before class, and I’ve broken out into a fresh sweat.
Awesome.
I reach the class and open the door tentatively, feeling relief when there’s no one inside. Then I frown and double-check I have the time and class right. Yes, it’s Monday, and this is room 5A, and it’s twelfth-grade English literature.
I really like the classroom. It’s a small auditorium, but the desks and chairs are all made from wood. There’s a large window that spans the length of the room on one side, which overlooks the school’s gardens.
I choose a seat at the very back, at the very right, beside the window.
Ten minutes pass, but they feel like years, until the second person arrives. A short boy with straight hair. He doesn’t spare me a glance and sits right at the front. More students start pouring in, and both relief and anxiety fight for the throne in my heart.
I decide to shut down—survive on low power for the rest of the day.
I don’t have enough energy to be anxious, and there’s too much of a void inside me to feel relief.
The seats fill up and, thankfully, predictably, no one sits beside me.
I check my phone and still don’t find a reply from Alexis.
The chair beside me is suddenly pulled back, and I look up to see a tall boy with messy hair, grinning widely at me.
“Good morning,” he says warmly, and I blink.
Instinctively, I look on the other side of me to make sure there’s just a window and not other people he might be talking to, but he’s looking directly at me.
He laughs and sets his bag on the table where my bag is and slides into the chair beside me, pivoting in my direction.
“You’re the new girl,” he says, and I find myself admiring the way he speaks. Like the letters slide smoothly off his tongue.
“Yeah,” I answer, sitting upright. Even sitting down, he’s taller than me. Without the colors, his hair appears as a light gray, the roots a shade darker, which means it’s dyed. His curls spill in a way that remind me of the sea’s waves.
“I’m Jamie. Your buddy.” He doesn’t extend his hand. Up close, I can see his eyes twinkling in shades of gray, and I wonder what color they really are. I pinch myself.
“Right.” I press myself against the wall, a bit uncomfortable with how close he is.
Jamie notices and inches his seat away from me. “Sorry.”
I don’t know where to look or what to think. What is happening right now?
He runs a hand through his hair. “If… well… if you have any questions, you can ask me. I was new here two years ago, and it can be a bit daunting. There are so many hallways.”
I blink, a light bulb flickering on.
Jamie. That Jamie. The one Alexis and half the school have a crush on.
“Oh my God, hi, Jamie!” a voice trills from the front of the classroom.
A girl with long seemingly dark gray hair struts up all the way to where we’re sitting. She’s beautiful with her dark eyes and flawless porcelain skin.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” She stands in front of him on the lower benches and rests her elbows on the table. “How was your summer?”
“It was great,” he says with the same enthusiasm he showed me a minute ago. I guess this guy has it turned up to a hundred at all times. “Vietnam was breathtaking.”
“Wow,” the girl replies like he just said something profound. “We spent the summer at our chateau in Monte Carlo. You would have loved it there.”
“I’m sure I would have.”
I don’t know why I feel as if I’m eavesdropping on this conversation.
“Oh my God, Ji!” I hear Alexis and look toward her, smiling. She hurries up the steps, engulfing me in a hug. “You made it! I was worried you wouldn’t find your classes.”
“I’m good,” I mumble into her hair. I don’t mention I texted her this morning. She must have been busy with how hectic the first day is.
She leans back. Her eyes shine and her hair is blow-dried, matching the other girls’. “Let me introduce you to my friends! Nicole, Jenny, and Hayley.”
Nicole turns out to be the girl with the chateau in Monte Carlo. Jenny is the one with round glasses. Hayley stands beside her with her hair in a high ponytail.
The door opens and the teacher walks in, already speaking loudly at a hundred miles an hour. She’s a tall woman in a black sheath dress with a small slit at the back. Her pumps become the only sound in the room as everyone scrambles to their seats.
Alexis yelps. “Can I sit next to you?”
“I’m—” I begin, but Jamie has already moved one chair over.
Alexis nods at me before leaning in to whisper quickly, “I can’t sit next to him! He makes me flustered!”
I move one spot over immediately. Everyone around me opens their laptop or tablet, looking laser focused. Anxiety coils around my heart like a snake. With shaking hands, I take out my notebook and start writing what she’s saying, but my sentences end up jumbled and unfinished.
“Damn it,” I whisper, gripping my pen tightly.
“Hey,” Jamie whispers to me. He has the latest laptop model, a sleek silver thing that can probably take notes without him typing a thing. “I’ll send you my notes. Don’t worry.”
He smiles, and my chest constricts. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m not used to kindness from strangers. I’m used to how the woman from the administration was.
“Okay,” I say quietly. I never know what to say to new people, always scared I’ll say the wrong thing.
I fix my attention back to my notebook and try to take as many notes as I can. I don’t want to rely on Jamie. I don’t want to even ask Alexis for her notes. I can’t ask for help. Not from anyone. It makes my skin itch to be seen as a burden. So I do it on my own.