Chapter 13 #2
“I don’t know. But what else can it be? I just don’t get why. What’s the point of it?”
The point was Mama, I say to myself. The point was the stories that died with her. The point is her story.
I step back from the cafeteria doors, in no mood to go through another emotionally draining conversation with people who want to see me squirm.
I return to the classroom Jamie took me to this morning and find it empty.
There’s a strange feeling reverberating in my chest at being here.
Like a scab healing. The ache of a bruise that’s turning yellow.
I sit on the floor at the back, hidden behind the stools and easels and eat my lunch there, the same labneh sandwich I made last night.
I grab my phone to see whether what the students said was right. If my painting has gone viral.
It’s the first video that comes up.
People piecing together the different places it’s been seen, creating a sort of slideshow.
It’s not just on buildings, but on the ground, too, in courtyards so wide it takes up the entire space.
These paintings are in several shades of gray to me, different from the ones in my sketchbook, which means they are in different colors.
Others just in shades of black. One is entirely in red, and I stare at it for minutes, zooming in on every detail.
Speculators wonder if it’s the same artist. But without any signature, it’s anyone’s guess. A few claim it’s Banksy, while others think it’s a Banksy wannabe. I see a couple of videos trying to decode the picture, analyzing the shades and the blur in the edge of the conch.
I scroll through the comments in a cloud of befuddlement. Most people are dying of curiosity. Comments calling it another unexplained mystery of the world. Everyone is wondering if it will happen again. Everyone is calling it a mural. I feel overwhelmed from the magnitude of the response.
I close my phone and throw it into my bag. My appetite is gone. The shock is still there, and I can’t reconcile the fact that my art has been transformed into a mural for all of New York to see.
The fact that the colors are coming back.
Joy bubbles tentatively, but the guilt as the colors come back into a world Mama doesn’t exist in anymore is louder. I’m caught in a deep purple melancholia.
I feel flickers of frustration build inside me, wishing Mama talked more about Syria.
Wishing we could have visited. We never had enough money to go as a whole family, and then Syria became an open wound.
I wonder if the trees my great-aunt talked to still exist or if they’ve all been martyred.
I want to walk where Mama walked. Swim where she swam.
Maybe my blessing would have been stronger there.
Maybe I would have picked the colors straight from the nature around me.
Dipped my fingers into the sea for its blue, asked the grass for the green, the sun’s rays for the yellow.
Maybe if the cancer caught up to Mama in Syria, it wouldn’t have been strong enough to try to kill her. Maybe even if she passed away, I’d have seen her ghost. I’d have painted her back to life.
I’ve had a life taken from me. A life I’ll never know in Syria.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cabinet behind me.
That sketchbook is in my drawer in my room right now. I think of how much trouble I’d be in if it were discovered. Would I be arrested? Of course I would be. This is vandalism. I could go to jail.
I press my hands to my face, trying to take in deep breaths.
No one knows it’s me.
But deep down, more than the relief, I want to draw again. I want everyone to see Mama’s story. All the moments that made her who she was. Her death made no sound, but I can keep her alive in the murals I’ll draw. I can make her into a blessing.
“Where the hell were you?” Alexis says, and I look up from my desk. The red polka dots in her hair tie glimmer.
It’s chemistry, the last period, and I’ve successfully spent the entire day alone or in Jamie’s presence. He’s not here yet, the chair beside me empty.
“Around,” I reply dully. “Are we not fighting anymore?”
She chews the inside of her cheek. “No. I’ve decided to be the bigger person.”
I raise my eyebrows.
She shrugs one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. “Do you want to stay the smaller person?”
My lips twitch. “So we’ll both be the bigger person and admit we were both wrong?”
She nods and smiles, which makes me smile.
She turns serious for a second, scratching the table.
“Mason was awful. But honestly, he’s like that with everyone.
It’s his way of joking.” When she sees the look on my face, she hurriedly adds, “Which, I totally agree, is not cool. But, like, it’s mutual.
For example, he’s teased Andrew for his braces, and Andrew made fun of his crooked nose. You just have to give him shit back.”
“I—I don’t know, Lexi,” I say, feeling the heat at the back of my neck.
She looks around her and drops into the empty seat beside me. “I didn’t like Mason when I first met him. He called me frog face.”
“What the hell?”
She holds up a hand. “But then we got paired for biology homework, and he apologized for what he said. What I’m saying is, this is just the first layer.
Trust me; I wouldn’t be with someone who is actually horrible.
And I’m going to talk to him about what he did.
” She glances at her hands. “I’m sorry I said you’re impossible to be friends with. I didn’t mean that.”
A knot rises in my throat. Those words were salt to a wound I’ve carried all my life. I think of telling her about Adrian yesterday, but I don’t want to cause trouble. I was probably imagining things. So I say, “Thanks.”
“Are we okay?” She pokes my shoulder.
I smile. “Yeah, we’re okay.” I take in a deep breath. “Guess what. I can see red now.”
She gasps. “Shut up!”
Her joy is real, and I clasp it my hands, telling myself she cares for me exactly as I care for her. This friendship means something to her. It’s not an afterthought. “Yeah! It came back this morning.”
“That’s amazing, Ji.” She leans back in her seat. “Why now, though?”
I don’t want to tell her about the murals. Not that she wouldn’t believe me, but because this is something I want to keep for myself for now. This piece of me I want to discover more of. I wonder if Alexis recognized my style of painting, though she hasn’t seen it in over a year.
I shrug. “Not sure. It’s a good sign, though. Hopefully, I’ll get the colors back before I start at Opus.”
She snaps her fingers. “Right. When will you send your art piece?”
“I have until June, but I want to send it before.” My fingers tingle with anticipation and anxiety.
I already applied in January; I was accepted for the second round, which I didn’t think was going to happen.
They want an art piece from me, which is what they base the bulk of their decision on.
Opus operates on a rolling deadline. The weight of the decision falls on the art you create.
Because of this, they allow applicants to send in their pieces until the middle of June.
I want to send my sketchbook that I’ve had since I was nine.
It still has a few pages to be filled out.
“It’ll be fine. Do you want to come over after school? The girls are coming back to my place. I think it would be good to have some time with them.”
“Hey!” someone says beside me. Jamie places his bag on the floor and nods at Alexis. “Hi, Alexis, you sitting here?”
“Nope!” Alexis chirps a few octaves higher, and her shoulders immediately tense. She stands, clearing her throat. “All yours!”
Her voice is still high, and her expression screams Kill me. Jamie doesn’t notice and slides into the empty chair, thanking her.
“I would love to,” I say to Alexis, continuing our conversation, “but I actually have some homework stuff to go over with Jamie after school.”
“Oh! Well, sure. Yes. Of course, school is very important.” She cringes again, and I give her a Get it together look. The teacher walks in at that moment, and Alexis squeezes my hand. “We’ll talk after.”
I nod, smiling after her. It’s going to be all right.
I’m ignoring the whole Mason part of it.
I don’t think I want to talk to that guy ever again.
Alexis was right when she said I should try more with her friends.
I just wish this came more easily to me.
I wish I didn’t feel so self-conscious around them.
Even though all I want to do is think about my great-aunt’s sketchbook and analyze the existence of the murals, I have to make up for slacking off.
I force myself to listen intently to everything Dr. Preston is teaching and write every single word down until that cramp in my palm flares up, familiar from when I draw. I press through it and write and write.
When the bell rings, a collective groan of relief erupts from the class. I gaze down at my notebook, pleased to see I’ve filled eight pages of notes.
“I’ll meet you at the library in twenty minutes, all right?” Jamie says, already slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Sure,” I say.
“I really like this.” He taps a finger on the cover of my notebook, where I drew a sea turtle.
“Thanks. I drew it.” I can’t explain the little happiness jumping in my stomach when his eyes go wide.
“You’re really talented.” He gives me one last smile before leaving.
I pack my pencil case and notebooks, feeling a certain lightness in my chest. I didn’t understand most of what Dr. Preston explained, some of the topics feel like I’ve only brushed the surface level, but I was able to keep up. Which means I can do my research at home and understand them better.
I see Audrey, the girl from the school paper, packing her bag as well. Now that I’m drawing again, I can see the same passion for writing reflected in Audrey. That sparkle in her eyes when she asked me to do the interview. I make my way to her and say, “Hey.”
She glances at me in surprise, and the red in her hair tie glitters. “Hey?”
“I wanted to apologize again for not doing the article.”
Her eyebrows raise, and she shakes her head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I was just stressed with last-minute deadlines. But I get not wanting to talk about yourself to the whole school. That’s your right.” She gives me a small smile that I return.
“Thank you.” She’s nice, and I think I would like to have talked to her. I wonder if she would talk to me outside the whole article thing.
She grasps my shoulder. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. See you around.”
“Yes. For sure.”
She leaves, and I turn around to see Alexis and her friends crowding me.
“Hey, Jihad,” Hayley says.
There are still some of the other students in the class but no teachers.
“Hey?” I glance at them uncertainly. “Can I help you with something?”
Hayley, Jenny, and Alexis are wearing excited expressions while Nicole studies me intently.
“Jamie asked you to meet up in the library?” Jenny exclaims. “Oh my God, you know the history section is a very popular make-out spot.”
“He—I suggested the library,” I say, a bit dazed.
Nicole’s shoulders sag with relief.
“Still!” Hayley says. “This is big. You have to tell us everything that happens.”
“Yeah, Alexis says you’re also a great artist. When we were over last week, she showed us the flowers you drew on her wall. They’re so beautiful. You’re really talented, you know?” Jenny says, beaming at me.
This catches me off guard, and I glance quickly at Alexis, who winks at me.
“Th-thank you,” I say with a genuine smile.
“We’re all going out tomorrow to this really cute bakery in the Village. Would you like to come?” Nicole asks, and I try to hide my surprise.
“Oh my God, yes!” Hayley supplies. “They make the best red velvet cupcakes. And it’s so cute inside.”
“I just hope that mural thing isn’t painted outside it,” Jenny says. “It’ll be so crowded. But I think we’re fine if we make a reservation.”
“So what do you say, Ji? Can you come?” Alexis asks.
I press my hands to my knees. A big part of me wants to go, really bad.
I want red velvet cupcakes and coffee with artistic foam.
I want them to be my friends. Even Nicole.
I don’t want to be her enemy. I know they’d like me if they knew me.
Alexis likes me. I want to tell them I wasn’t always like this, sad and snappy.
But the rational part knows that bakery is outside my tax bracket.
Maybe Amal can give me some money.
They’re all staring at me, waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I say, still smiling. “What time?”
“We could do brunch?” Alexis suggests, looking around, and the girls nod enthusiastically. “Great! I’ll make reservations for eleven.”
“It’ll be fun,” Hayley says. “I’ve been craving a French omelet with truffle for ages.”
“You’re going to love it, Ji,” Jenny says.
My chest expands tentatively. “I’m sure I will. Thanks for inviting me.”
She waves a hand.
“Are you going to be late to meet Jamie?” Alexis asks.
“He said we’ll meet in twenty,” I reply.
“Good,” Alexis says, and I catch a look exchanged between Hayley and Nicole.
“Say, Jihad,” Nicole begins. She sounds guilty. “I think I should apologize to you about how I treated you. I was being weird.”
She looks meaningfully at me, and I don’t know if she’s apologizing for what she did yesterday or just in general.
“That’s okay,” I say, even though it wasn’t okay, but I don’t want to ruin a good thing.
“Thank you.” She gives me a small smile and then hesitates for a second.
“I hope you can help me out and put in a good word for me with Jamie? I promise I didn’t apologize to ask that.
You don’t have to, but you know what it’s like to like a guy and he doesn’t even see you as more than a classmate? ”
My skin prickles.
“I can do that,” my mouth says, “but I don’t think it would help. I mean, I barely know him, so I’m not sure any input from me would be helpful.”
“Thank you!” Nicole exclaims, and she smiles so deeply, looking at me like I’m her best friend in the world. “I appreciate it. A lot.”
I manage a half smile.
“I guess we’ll see you tomorrow?” Nicole says with her sweet smile.
“I’ll text you the place.” Alexis gives me a thumbs-up, and then they’re gone.
The silence in their wake is jarring, and it takes me a full minute to get my bearings before I leave as well.