Chapter 13
Jasmine White
This is impossible.
This is utterly and completely impossible.
Am I hallucinating?
I rub my eyes, but everyone around me is seeing it as well.
“Who did that?” someone asks beside me.
“How did they do it so fast? It wasn’t here yesterday, right?”
“No. I took this same route.”
“It’s pretty.”
“Sure, but it’s vandalism, right?”
I press a hand to my mouth, my stomach twisting and twisting like it’s threatening to expel everything in it.
Did I do this? How did I do this? Did I sleepwalk, get on the subway at three in the morning, and somehow paint entire buildings that are twenty stories high? Did I fly?
There are blessings in this vanity, Mama said.
All your wild imaginations, draw them here, my great-aunt said.
No way.
Did the blessing forgive me? Did it become a story stretching beyond the person who has it?
I turn away and hurry in the direction of the school, trying to shove my shock down. I don’t have time to think about this right now. I didn’t study yesterday, didn’t do any homework, and I know I’m behind.
When I reach the school, I hear bits and pieces of conversations as I pass other students on my way to class. My painting is the main subject.
I’m a second from colliding into someone and jump back just in time.
Jamie.
He’s staring down at me, but the easy smile and the light filling his eyes are absent.
My first thought is that he knows that’s my painting all over New York.
My second thought is that’s stupid. Of course he doesn’t know.
“You okay?” I ask hoarsely, trying to clear my throat.
He blinks, ease returning to his gaze. “Yes, thank you.” But then he squints at me. “Are you?”
My heart rate still needs a way to come down, and the rush of people around me isn’t helping.
“Is there a quiet place here?” I try breathing evenly.
He nods. “Follow me.”
Students split for him like the Red Sea. I didn’t realize this could happen to someone in real life. I’ve gotten so used to clawing and shimmying and squeezing.
He reaches a room I haven’t stepped into before and opens the door, looking at me and nodding his head inside.
I walk in, heading straight to the window and gripping the sills. I close my eyes and take deep breaths until every part of me calms.
After a few minutes, I turn around to see Jamie leaning against the wall, watching me carefully.
“Thank you,” I say. “And I’m sorry I keep being a bother to you.”
He frowns. “Did I say that?”
“No, but—”
He raises his eyebrows. “So you know what’s going on in my mind?”
I blink.
Jamie looks around the room. “This is the art classroom. I like to come here to clear my mind. I’ve been lucky that every time I come here, no matter when, there’s no class. I think it’s a front for money laundering.”
I laugh, and he looks at me, pleased.
There are easels placed beside one another with soft stools in front of them.
Floor-to-ceiling windows cover one side of the room, overlooking the inner courtyard.
Art from students hangs in intricate frames all around.
There’s a pang in my chest at being somewhere that could have felt like home, but I know if I were here before last night, it would have only hurt.
“You want to talk about it?” Jamie asks. “You looked pretty… shocked.”
I slide down to the floor, and he does the same. We’re on opposite sides of the room, the morning light filtering through the window, and even if I spoke in a whisper, I know he’d be able to hear me.
“What does the color red mean to you?” I ask. If Jamie is surprised, he doesn’t show it.
He hums, drawing a knee closer to his chest. “Love?”
“What else?”
He thinks about it. “I suppose it’s such a vibrant, deep color that I see it associated with strong emotions or things that are impactful. I guess in a way, it’s the color of your soul?”
I close my eyes, letting my thoughts push and pull. The color of your soul. The color of life. Of course it would come back first.
When I open my eyes, I notice the flickering of red around Jamie’s chest, and goose bumps run all over my body.
I’m seeing inklings of his colors. The red is deep, like the color of blood hearts pump out.
It then tapers off into another shade through his veins, and I think it’s orange.
I think Jamie’s colors are an orange sunrise.
Something hopeful and wonderful and magical.
“I agree,” I say, and he smiles. “You also looked pretty shocked when I nearly bumped into you. Wanna talk about it?”
He lets out a half laugh and rubs his chin. “Do you think it’s possible to make huge decisions when we’re this young?”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
He crosses his legs. “We’re seventeen, still in school.
We basically spent the first ten years of our lives just learning to walk and talk.
We don’t know as much as we think we do.
But then you come across something and it resonates so deeply, you feel it in your bones.
But you wonder how this will affect the rest of your life. How the people around you will react.”
I ponder this. “We’re expected to know what we’ll study in college at seventeen.
That’ll shape a big part of who we are. A lot of us have heavy responsibilities before we reach twenty.
I think in the end, if it makes sense to you, if you feel this huge decision is right for you, then the world will understand it. It might take time, though.”
Jamie’s eyes are full of something I can’t decipher with him sitting so far away from me. There’s no humor but a seriousness in the air.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think so too.”
I clear my throat. “How… how did you know all that stuff about Islam yesterday?”
He blinks, takes a second to reply. “I like to research.”
I hum. “Good research”
He bites his lower lip, then says, “Did I speak over you yesterday? I didn’t think of it until later.”
I shake my head. “I was frozen. Everyone’s eyes on me; it was heavy. Besides, I think it’s better you’re the one who said something.”
His brows knit. “What do you mean?”
I shrug a shoulder. “It’s less convincing when it comes from me. They all think I’m brainwashed and defending a cult or something. But you don’t look Arab or like what a stereotypical Muslim looks like, so your words hold more weight than mine do.”
He shakes his head. “That’s messed up.”
“I agree. But this is the world we live in. White-passing Arabs have the same privilege.” I stare at my hands, wishing I could see the beautiful brown shade.
My skin had a dash of amber and honey, and it was alive, warm like the sun.
I wonder what it looks like now. A husk of a color.
“I was tongue-tied back in class. I hate when that happens. Like someone says something horribly racist, and you’re caught in the moment, trying to make sense of it. I only think of a comeback much later.”
“You never have to be hard on yourself for that,” Jamie says.
We smile at each other, and then he says, “On a more fun note, did you do the chemistry homework?”
I stare at him.
A grin tickles his lips. “You didn’t?”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my stomach feels queasy. I haven’t been pulling my weight in this partnership.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, gripping the hem of my shirt. “I am a bother. I know this is a partnership, and I promise I’m not taking advantage of you and the notes you send me every day. I won’t forget next time. I’m really sorry. But I get it if you want to change partners.”
“Jihad, stop.” He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It happens.”
I look away, ashamed.
He gives me a once-over, and I feel like I’m being x-rayed. But it’s not unpleasant. “All right. How about we meet up after school? Go through the notes. I know it’s Friday, so if you have any plans, we can do it some other time.”
My stomach goes back to clenching. Where would he want to go on the Upper East Side? My pocket money is strictly for emergencies, like being stranded in the middle of the night.
“No plans for me. Would the library work for you?” If I suggest a place first, then I have more control.
He nods. “Sounds good. I think it’s about time you had more quality time with your buddy. Look at all the deep, strange conversations we have.”
I roll my eyes but smile nevertheless and stand. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“Oh, I very much am,” he says cheerfully as we move toward the door.
There is genuine kindness here I’ve been looking for all my life. The kindness Alexis would show me when I saw her every now and then. But I want this every day.
As soon as we’re out in the hall, multiple stares burn holes in me. I realize, a little too late, walking out of an empty room with this boy in particular is going to build a rumor fire so big no truth can tame it.
“Should we head to English lit?” Jamie asks, oblivious to everyone around us.
The no rises in my chest, loud and sudden, along with anxiety about the stares that will follow us if we go together, but the hopeful look on his face breaks it down.
“Sure,” I say instead, and his smile deepens.
I look up to where we’re walking and make direct eye contact with Alexis, who’s surrounded by Jenny, Hayley, and Nicole.
There’s a sour taste in my mouth when Nicole and I lock eyes. They’re all watching me as if Jamie is carrying me in his arms bridal-style.
I don’t know if this means I’ll ever be welcome to her friend group. It’s better if I’m alone anyway. Hiding out of sight, out of mind. But Jamie isn’t making it easy. And I think I might not mind it.
“The same painting is replicated everywhere,” I hear one student say.
A cluster of them are hanging outside the cafeteria, and I pause, lingering to hear what they have to say.
“It’s even down in the West Village.”
“Look, people are claiming it’s been seen in Brooklyn too.”
“Do you think it’s a group of people? One person can’t have done that in one night.”
“Someone said it’s probably some YouTuber practical joke.”
“But it’s not funny?”