Pomegranate Red #2
Baba doesn’t answer but unlocks the doors to get something from inside. I’m rooted to my spot, watching the ugly lines of those letters and the uneven shapes of the pictures.
Baba comes out, carrying a pint of white paint and a roller. He opens the pint and dips the roller into it before starting to cover up the wall.
“Baba, what is this?”
“Just some kids,” he answers in Arabic.
“When? Did you call the police?”
He paints in silence.
“Baba!” I yell.
He turns toward me. “Yes, I called the police. They said they’d look into it. They haven’t called back, so it’s nothing serious, Jihad. And doesn’t happen often.”
I gape at him. “What if it escalates?”
He sighs, dropping the roller into the pint. “What would you want to do? Do you want me to stake this place out and beat them up when they come? What can I do, Jihad? What can I do to stop this?”
I stare, my jaw trembling with helplessness.
I don’t know what he can do. We know that not even our deaths would spur the police into action.
This is why nothing I say to the teachers at school will have any effect.
We have no power, so we can’t fight for justice.
I’m seventeen, and the only way I can fight is through my paintbrush.
Baba works at a gas station; the only way he fights is with a paint roller.
I think of the day when I’m stronger. When the ripples in the sea become rogue waves.
When I don’t reply, Baba goes back to painting over the words, over the pictures, and I sit on the ground, watching him, my heart breaking all over again.
“Hey, Jihad!” Hayley calls out to me on Monday.
I turn around, confused. It’s the break between classes, and I’m on my way to third period.
She’s smiling brightly at me, her large, stylish curls bouncing with every step she takes. I find myself jealous of how perfectly her uniform fits her, knowing she must have had it tailored.
“Hey?” My confusion deepens when she wraps her arms around my shoulders.
She leans back, her hands sliding to my back. “I haven’t seen you around!”
“Busy with studying,” I say, unnerved.
“Ugh, same. I had to stay in this weekend because of the stupid calculus exam.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
She scratches her mouth. “Do you want to have lunch together? Nicole calmed down, and I was sent as a peace broker. I mean, I told her it was unfair how she was treating you, by the way. It’s not your fault Jamie doesn’t like her.”
I grimace. “I don’t know about lunch.”
“Oh, come on,” she whines. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Mason and his weird friends won’t be there either. It’ll be just us girls.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.”
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Awesome! Honestly, Nicole was real bitchy, wasn’t she?”
I don’t say anything, confused about what’s happening.
Hayley laughs. “Come on. You can say it. If someone treated me the way Nicole treated you, that bitch would be dead.”
“I guess. Look, I really need to get to class. But I’ll see you at lunch?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely!”
Jamie isn’t with me in my next class, so I sit by myself. At the end, I look at my notes, feeling extremely proud of myself. I won’t even have to listen to the recording I took. My stomach growls, and I grab my bag, glad and nervous that I’ll be eating in the cafeteria.
I hear giggles following me and then a loud laugh.
I’m not sure if it’s about me, so I hurry along. But then something sharp hits me on the side of my shoulder. It stings and I stop, looking down to see a quarter.
“I paid up!” a guy calls.
Something else gets thrown at me, but it doesn’t hurt. A twenty-dollar bill lands beside my shoes.
“I don’t carry coins,” another says as four boys gather around me. “So does that mean I can rent you for the whole week?”
My heart stops beating, and I try to walk past them, but they block me.
One takes out a hundred-dollar bill, shaking it in front of my eyes before rolling it and tucking it between my hijab and cheek. “This’ll feed you for a month, right?”
Bile rises in my throat. I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Okay, move on,” a girl says behind them. Audrey stands with her arms folded against her chest. Her hair is gathered into a tiny ponytail, and I finally see it’s dark brown. “Joke’s over.”
“It’s not my fault, Audrey,” one of the guys says. “She’s the one advertising it.”
I feel their eyes on my back. My hands scramble, touching a paper stuck to me. I rip it off, and my blood freezes when I read what’s written.
FOR 25￠ I’LL GIVE YOU A GOOD TIME
“Did you do this, Wyatt?” Audrey snaps.
Wyatt’s face is pink with laughter. “No, I didn’t, but it’s brilliant.”
I yank out the hundred-dollar bill and throw it at him. I wish it were a brick so it would crush his organs. All I feel is anger.
“Whoa!” Wyatt says, raising his hands. “Calm down.”
I’m shaking. “Screw you.”
Audrey takes my elbow and steers me away from them. Once we’re out of sight, she turns toward me. “Are you okay?”
I wrap my arms around myself, unable to look back.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” When I don’t answer, she rubs her nose. “I’m sorry it’s happening, but I was thinking maybe the principal doesn’t know about this. You should tell him.”
“It’s not going to help,” I finally reply. “He won’t do anything, because we don’t know who did it.”
“But you know,” Audrey insists, her cheeks ruddy and freckles disappearing. I’ve gotten used to the gray for so long that seeing most of the colors is jarring.
“Why do you care?” I ask.
She chews on her tongue and pushes her glasses up her nose. “I couldn’t sleep after what happened to you. What I saw. I felt disgusted with myself, okay? The least I can do right now is go with you to the principal.”
I study her. “You think something will come out of it?”
She nods. “This is still Braxton. This shouldn’t be happening here.”
Maybe she’s right. It did happen in front of everyone, unlike what happened with Adrian. Maybe Audrey as a witness will help. “Sure.”
“At the very least, the principal will know.”
When we get to the administration office, we’re told to wait. We sit on the couches, and while Audrey looks as cool as a cucumber, I’m shivering. I haven’t met the principal, and I would have liked to keep it that way.
“Did someone really put a bunch of socks in your locker?” Audrey asks, drawing me out of my panicked haze.
“What?”
“Socks. Locker.”
I nod. “I don’t know who, though.”
She mimes gagging. “That’s disgusting.”
“Girls, Dr. Mérieux will see you,” the administrator calls from her desk.
Audrey walks in like she comes here every day and has coffee with Dr. Mérieux.
Dr. Mérieux himself looks exactly how someone who runs a school for the wealthy would look.
A tailored three-piece black suit, and I’m sure he has a monocle peeking out from a breast pocket that also houses a multicolored handkerchief.
He can’t be older than fifty with the fine lines around his eyes and an impressive mustache.
His eyes are piercing blue, and I avoid looking at them.
His hair doesn’t seem to have aged, brown with a few stray silvers in it.
“Hello, girls,” he says warmly. “Have a seat.”
We do, and my stomach pulls and pulls.
Dr. Mérieux settles behind his mahogany desk. It’s empty save for the wide-screen monitor and one Moleskine notebook. Behind him are shelves filled with leather-bound textbooks from top to bottom.
He smiles. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Audrey looks at me, but my bravado has abandoned me. When I don’t say anything, she takes over explaining from her own perspective.
Dr. Mérieux gazes at me intently the whole time, and I try my best not to look guilty. I suspect he must be thinking I made the whole thing up, put the paper on my own back to try to trap the boys of this school. To ridicule them and get them into trouble.
When Audrey finishes, he presses his lips together, looking grave.
“Well, thank you for letting me know,” he finally says, and turns his attention at me. “Are you all right, Miss Dabbagh?”
I nod.
“Do you know who did this to you?”
I glance at Audrey, who raises her eyebrows.
“I—I’m not sure,” I say quietly.
“There’ve been other things too,” Audrey chimes in. “Old socks in her locker. There’s a rumor about who can steal her hijab. I’m not sure where it came from, but I heard Adrian talking about it.”
I suppress a shudder.
Dr. Mérieux frowns. “That’s not good.”
We then fall quiet. Audrey looks at Dr. Mérieux, waiting for him to say something, and I look anywhere but the door. I just want to leave.
Dr. Mérieux nods again and then stands. “All right, I will personally look into this.”
Audrey’s expression relaxes, and she stands as well. “Thank you, Dr. Mérieux,” she says, pronouncing his name in a perfect French accent.
When we’re outside she turns to me, smiling. “Didn’t I tell you it would help?”
I want to laugh at how innocent and naive she’s being, but I don’t. “Thank you.”
All I want is to leave this place and go to the art studio, where I can be alone.
She crosses her arms. “You don’t sound so sure.”
“I guess I’m an ‘I’ll believe it when I see it’ kind of person.”
“Fair enough.”
We stand awkwardly, and I feel like I have to break the silence. “Thanks for saying something.”
She waves a hand. “Honestly, it wasn’t anything. I’ve known Wyatt since we were in kindergarten. He’s just an asshole.”
I consider her for a while. “You have to know, telling the principal won’t do anything. I know you’re being kind and helpful, but trust me, nothing ever happens. When you try to get people to help, it almost never leads anywhere, because no one wants to do anything. You have to do it yourself.”
She goes quiet, mulling over my words.
“There you are,” Jamie exclaims when he finds me in the art studio hiding behind one of the easels. “I don’t know why I checked the theater, cafeteria, and gym before coming here. Of course you’d be here.”
I mumble a mmm from where I’m crouched out of view.
It’s last period, but I have it with Alexis and her friends and I don’t want to see them.
So I skipped. I haven’t spoken to Alexis since last week.
I don’t want to hear whatever excuses on Hayley’s behalf she’ll have this time.
Our friendship is hanging on by a loose thread.
Jamie walks up and sits beside me, leaning his back against a cupboard.
I stay quiet, legs tucked to my chest as I scroll through my phone.
Of course, still no messages from Alexis.
Plenty of texts from Amal, though. She sent pictures of the view from her apartment, which is all the way up on the twenty-sixth floor.
It has a balcony that overlooks the Arabian Gulf.
There are also several pictures of the inside of her penthouse.
It’s wide and beautiful and sandy colored, like the desert molded itself into a house.
Amal: I love it here
Amal: waking up to the athan. I never realized how much I missed this without knowing I did
Amal: people speak ARABIC
Amal: halal P.F. CHANG’S
Amal: I know I’m not helping but oh my god I can’t wait till you visit
Amal: your room is going to be so cute
Amal: call me when you’re free
I’ve looked at the pictures until I can draw them from memory.
Amal being gone is still a raw wound. While she has a new life to soothe her wounds, I have nothing but the sketchbook and dreams of San Francisco beaches. It’s a fire in my chest I hold on to.
“If you’re here and I’m here,” Jamie says, “then who’s taking notes in class?”
His tone is jovial, too careless for my liking. It’s salt in the wound.
I snap my head up. “What?”
He doesn’t flinch at my tone. He doesn’t even register it. I finally see the anxiety gleaming in his brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried.
He lets out a laugh and musses his hair. Then he drags his hand over his face, blowing a long breath.
I stare at him.
“I—” he begins, then shakes his head. “Damn it, why do I feel embarrassed?”
I frown. “What’s happening?”
His jaw flexes, and then he stands, pacing around for a minute. “There’s—I want your help.”
“Yes?”
“I think—no, I do. I want—” He goes quiet, and pink smatters all over his cheeks.
“Jamie, what is going on?”
He looks away from me, training his eyes on the floor. “I want—I want to become Muslim.”