Red, White, Blue, and Green #2
He takes in a sharp breath, steadying himself.
“I’m scared out of my mind how to tell my parents I converted.
I’m scared what this will mean for my future.
But all of that doesn’t matter when I’m with you.
And just because you gave up on your dream doesn’t mean I did.
We’re going to find a way for you to get in. Mark my words.”
He grabs his bag and storms to the other side of the room before turning around.
“And for your information, I’m sitting here because you want your space.
” He sets his bag on the desk before aggressively yanking out his laptop and books.
Then he turns to me once again. “You know I spent the entire night sick with worry about you. I’m sorry I don’t know what to do—” He breathes in deep and loosens the first button of his shirt. “I’m not going—”
The doors open before he can finish his sentence, and the entire class comes pouring in. Some do a double take when they see me. The bell must have rung without us hearing it. I train my eyes on my notebook, pretending I don’t feel everyone staring at me.
I look up and see Alexis. Our eyes meet, and it feels like everyone in the room has stopped to stare at us.
She doesn’t say anything, and I can’t make out the expression on her face.
It’s as if she gained new expressions since that phone call, just like how I’m someone else with my hair cut short.
The frayed thread of our friendship is torn.
My eyes burn with tears that won’t fall.
Nicole pulls Alexis’s arm before giving me a dirty look, and they sit together near the front of the class.
And that’s that.
I don’t have time to perform an autopsy on the past thirteen years of my life, because the professor walks in right after.
“All right.” Her heels click on the floor, and everyone quiets down. “I know you all saw the mural outside, but right now we’re in this classroom, and I will not tolerate any distractions. You have AP exams coming up, and trust me, that distasteful mural won’t be a question.”
A couple of people turn around to look at me, and I go right back to my notebook.
The class drags on for ages, and I barely hear a word the professor says, so I’m glad I recorded the entire lecture. Finally, the bell rings and everyone leaves for the next period, not sparing me a look.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop as I walk to my classes, but it’s still hanging in the air. I’m more cautious, looking over my shoulder. My hijab was just the beginning of something more sinister, I’m sure.
But nothing happens.
Not even the principal calling me to his office.
I have my lunch alone in the art studio, barely able to eat any of the kabse I made two days ago.
My haze of anger has faded a fraction, and guilt roars through me. I shouldn’t have lashed out at Jamie. He’s been nothing but kind. A lump lodges in my throat, and I move to the back of the room. Hidden behind the easels and brushes, I open my phone and try calling Amal.
She picks on the third ring.
“Aren’t you at school?” she asks. I close my eyes. I’ve missed her voice so much.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Lunch, though.”
She hums. “That’s okay. What’s up?”
I hug my knees to my chest and look around. The cupboard behind me is a comfort, keeping me steady.
“Jihad?” she says when I’m quiet for a long second. “Everything okay?”
I clear my throat, sniffing. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s fine.”
There’s no point in telling Amal. She’s thousands of miles away, and harassing the principal through constant phone calls can do only so much. Besides, she’s pregnant, and I don’t want to dump something this stressful on her.
“You sure?” Her voice is concerned.
I nod, knowing she can’t see me, but I can’t say anything with my throat closing up. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you too. I keep seeing things and thinking Jihad would love this. I found this really cool brush that changes color in the sun, and I bought it. I think you’ll love it when you visit this summer.”
This makes me smile despite the emptiness in my chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
I scratch the floor. “Did Mama ever tell you anything about the vanity in her room?”
“Hmm, she said… it was a wedding gift. I don’t remember anything else. Why?”
I clear my throat. “I found this sketchbook inside. It was dedicated to Mama from our great-aunt. Nahla. She talked about her, remember?”
“I guess. She said she used to talk to trees, right?” Amal blows out a puff of air. “Damn, I forgot about that.”
“What if it was real? Everything. Like really real.”
I can feel Amal tensing. “Jihad—”
“I know we never saw Mama talk to the jellyfish. Maybe sometimes the blessing is something private that happens to just you. Something others can’t see. I couldn’t see the colors, and now they’re back. I—”
“Jihad, stop,” Amal says forcefully. I hear her breathing quietly and then a rustle. “I knew I should have signed you up for therapy. I knew you weren’t okay even though you said you were. I was thinking of the money and—” She lets out a loud sigh.
“Stop.”
“Clearly, something’s happening. I hear it in your voice, and now you’re talking about Mama’s stories being real? Jihad, please, make an appointment. Wait, I’ll look for someone and make—”
“Stop it,” I say, my voice trembling. “You—I’m not crazy.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that,” she replies sharply. “But so much has happened to you, and you need to discuss this with a professional. You need to discuss what happened to Mama—”
“Stop talking!” I snap. “You know what, this was a mistake. Bye.”
“Jihad—” she begins, but I end the call.
She calls back four more times before giving up.
I take in a deep breath and let it out. My future has fallen apart, and I’m stuck unable to move forward. Opus is vapor in my hands, and no matter what Jamie says about being on my side, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing he or I can do.
For Jamie this is a passing moment in his life. For me, this is forever.
I run into Audrey on my way to sixth period. She stops abruptly, looking me up and down. Her expression is blank, only the flicker in her eyes betraying her.
“You okay?” she asks.
I stare at her. “What do you think?”
Her face drains of color. “You know the picture of you yesterday has been shared on all the school group chats. It’s…” She takes a deep breath. “What are you going to do?”
I knew that. If I see it—my face blotchy and red, that makeshift hijab around my head, I might die from the humiliation.
“Why are you asking me?” I say. “Why should I be the person who comes up with solutions?”
She scratches her nose, avoids looking at me. “I’m sorry. I…I think…What can I do?”
I shrug. “Audrey, I’m tired. I know you feel bad. But I can’t be the one to tell you what to do to lessen your guilt. I’m trying to survive this school.”
I walk past her and am a couple of minutes late to sixth period. Everyone is already inside. Conversations die down when I walk in. They’ve been talking about me.
Alexis sits huddled with Nicole and Hayley and Jenny on one side of the room.
She firmly ignores me while the other three stare daggers at me.
I notice they’re all wearing the same butterfly clip in their hair.
Hayley holds Alexis’s hand, murmuring something to her. Alexis shakes her head in response.
Someone is already in my usual place in the corner, so I’m forced to take a seat in the middle rows. The girl sitting beside me inches her chair a fraction away from me.
Some stares become a shade more hostile. I am debating whether to leave the classroom when the professor arrives. He sets his bag on the table and starts fiddling with the remote for the projector.
“Okay, class.” Dr. Lowe squints at the remote. “I know you’ve heard the same speech from the other professors about the mural. You know the drill. Focus on the lesson, and don’t worry; the school is launching an investigation in cooperation with the police.”
Nicole turns in my direction to flash me a victorious smile.
My blood runs cold.
I can’t focus on the lesson.
They’ll definitely blame it on me. I get bullied yesterday, and this morning the Statue of Liberty is a hijabi? It’s only a matter of time before I get called to the principal’s office.
I don’t care about being expelled anymore, because the only reason I was here was for Opus, and now I don’t know what to do.
I have no idea what to submit for my art piece.
The art pieces go through several judges, and their decision on admissions has to be unanimous.
I didn’t even have a guarantee my sketchbook was going to get me in.
They post their students’ art online as examples.
One from the previous year made an interactive installation of a tree with metallic branches and a glowing core.
When a person comes closer, the tree senses it, and the leaves flutter.
When the branch is touched, light trickles all over the tree.
That is what I’m up against.
I bang my fist against my forehead. I was applying on a hope and a dream. A hysterical laugh gurgles in my chest. In what world did I think a sketchbook that has me drawing strawberries in a bowl when I was ten was going to get me into Opus?
I press a palm over my mouth, trying not to laugh out loud. The girl beside me gives me a look.
But it’s the involvement of the police that unnerves me.
Even though there have been so many versions of my previous murals painted by artists online, I won’t be able to use that as a defense if they somehow get Mama’s sketchbook.
Even if it doesn’t prove the murals are based on my paintings, it will show at the very least that I found the murals inspiring.
That will be more than enough evidence for them.
Will I be arrested? Will I go to jail? Baba won’t be able to hire an attorney.
My palms become slick with sweat, and I spend the rest of the lesson with my heart in my throat.
After class, I pass by the administration office to see if there are any cops hanging around, but it’s eerily quiet. Like a trap waiting for me to step right in. There’s nothing for me to do but wait for whatever the outcome will be.
The rest of the day goes by with unease wrapped around my neck like a coiled snake. No one bothers me. No one bumps into me. No one does anything but stare at me.
But I know this is just a facade. Something more is going to happen.