Dusky Gold #2
She gives me one last look before walking toward the school, jogging to get in quickly when she reaches the reporters.
My heart beats strangely, and beads of sweat gather at my forehead. I never thought it would come to this. Alexis choosing her friends wasn’t the shock of my life, but I thought she’d leave me alone. But this… this I wouldn’t have guessed.
I try calming myself and fail. My lungs won’t hold air long enough, and I don’t know if I should go home or not.
If the cops are after me, they’ll find me at home.
If I leave, I can’t guarantee what Alexis will do.
She might go straight to the principal because she’ll think I’m running away.
Even with the threats inside the school, I can’t look suspicious. I have to go.
One of the reporters notices me and says, “Oh my God, she wears the hijab.”
The rest of the reporters glance from me and back to the school building, where half the mural is now being painted over. And in one voice they start clamoring, “Did you do this?”
“Are you the artist behind the mural?”
“Do you hate America?”
“What do you know about the mural?”
“Is there anything going on in the school that would lead to this?”
I push past them, my chest constricting more and more.
They call after me until I’m inside the school, breathing hard.
It’s business as usual inside, as if the storm outside doesn’t exist. There are fewer parents here than there were yesterday.
“Miss Dabbagh,” a woman says, sticking her head out from the reception desk, “Dr. Mérieux would like to see you now. Before class.”
I can’t seem to swallow past the solid thing stuck in my throat, so I nod. A few students hear what she says. Soon enough the whole school will know. I notice there are three cops walking around reception and one climbing the stairs toward the classes, and nausea sours my blood.
My legs are made from metal, and I drag them toward the administration office. As soon as the person working there sees me, he says, “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”
My hands are icicles, my stomach churning on itself. Did Alexis speak to him already? Did she lie by telling me she’d let me have a chance?
I knock on the door, the sound echoing all over the school.
“Come in,” Dr. Mérieux says.
He’s behind his desk, hands folded in front of him and wearing the same expression he always does. But there’s an edge to it. The slight tightness of his brows and the way his lips thin.
“Jihad,” he says gravely. “I’m sorry to see you in such circumstances, but it’s vital we get to the bottom of this.”
I nod, my mouth dry. I keep standing because he hasn’t asked me to sit.
“We’ve launched an investigation as to why that graffiti defaced our school. The police are also looking into the matter. This is very serious, as I’m sure you know.”
I nod again. My voice isn’t working.
“The graffiti appeared right after the alleged unfortunate situation you found yourself in. Now, there could be no correlation, or it could be the definitive reason. All I know is that I have seen you in my office far more than I would have liked.”
He watches me carefully, but my expression is blank.
“The police may interview you, asking where you were around the time it appeared at night, but I would like to as well. I would like to give you the chance to defend yourself.”
“I—I—” I croak before clearing my throat. Defend myself? “I was home. I left school early because I was humiliated, and no one did anything to help.”
His lips tighten.
“Can anyone corroborate that?” he asks, dismissing what I said.
“No. I was home alone. My dad works late. Besides, I don’t go out at night in New York when I look the way I look.” Not after what happened to Mama.
This time his jaw clenches for a fraction of a second. He taps the table with a fountain pen. “So you have no idea how the graffiti took place?”
“No clue,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can. I don’t want to push my luck by saying something that could get me in trouble, so I just think it. Just as you had no idea who humiliated me, even though I told you.
He nods. “All right. Thank you for your candor, Jihad.”
I take it as my cue to leave, but when I reach the door, he calls me again.
“If there is any evidence you were behind this,” he says, holding my gaze, “we will have no choice but to expel you at best. And if the board of directors finds we should press charges for the damage that happened to the school, then that’s what you’ll be facing as well.”
I nod.
Once I’m outside, I finally take in my first deep breath.
News has spread across the entire school that I’m the number one suspect.
Whispers follow me, and the police investigating give me lingering looks like I’m a real threat who, at any second, will start attacking.
When they ask me questions, I give the same answers I gave Dr. Mérieux.
I don’t like looking at them. I don’t want to talk to them.
This they’ll make into a tragedy to be discussed for years to come.
But the cold-blooded murder of a woman who looked like me is just another unfortunate and unimportant something that happened.
Alexis gives me looks the whole time that scream, End this now and tell him.
I ignore her.
Jamie comes in and drops right down onto the seat next to me, firmly ignoring everyone around us.
He doesn’t say anything to me, just takes out his books and laptop.
When the professor walks in, beginning the class, and I start writing in my notebook.
Jamie leans over to my side and scribbles on the top of the open page: Everything okay?
I want to tell him about what happened with Alexis, so I write in the margin. We’ll talk during lunch.
We have separate classes for the next three periods. He nods at me before leaving.
“Art studio?” he asks. I nod, my heart feeling lighter just looking at him.
I’m in the bathroom washing my face when Audrey storms in, closing the door behind her. She quickly checks the stalls, and when she finds them empty, she turns to me. I watch her in the mirror warily.
“Interesting how the mural showed up after the gym thing,” she says. Her hair is in two short pigtails, and there are smudges under her eyes like she’s been up at night.
“Are you here to tell me that you also think I did it?”
“I don’t care if you did it. I’ve been thinking about what you said. Doing something. Because… because someone has to. Someone has to take the first step. You know why I work on the school paper?”
I shrug.
She walks over, leaning against the sink, and turns her head toward me. “My whole family are literature nerds, to put it lightly. We have Pulitzer winners and, they like to say, we’re related to Alice Munro.” I raise my eyebrows, and she frowns. “The 2013 Nobel Prize winner in Literature.”
“Ah, okay,” I say, because I don’t know what else to reply with.
“I grew up with that path made so easy for me to take. I mean, we have an entire library dedicated to first edition books. We have a first edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
She takes in a deep breath. “I was surrounded by people who made a difference. Whether I knew them from books or my family. I wanted to be like that. I write articles in my free time to make myself a better writer. I don’t just write columns about the new students.
I’m sure you haven’t read our school newspaper.
Nobody does, but I don’t care, because I’m doing it for me.
For my future.” She glances up at the ceiling.
“But how can I have a career in journalism when I’m not using what I have to start it the right way?
” She looks at me, her eyes on full volume.
“We could get into a lot of trouble. Unfortunately, you more than me. But I want to write about you and the school and what’s happening. ”
My hands become clammy. “Wait… so my name and everything else about me would be in a school newspaper article that talks about how I get bullied for being Muslim, my name, and economic status?”
She nods.
I shake my head. “No. No.”
Her brows furrow. “What do you mean, no?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not a victim, Audrey. I get this is a good way to show what’s going on, but I can’t have my name associated with ‘bullied victim’ for the rest of my life. Anything posted is forever. Especially if it’s going to mean that people will think I’m the one who did the murals.”
She studies me for a long second. “I’m trying to help you. You said you needed it.”
I nod. “I do, and I’m grateful you’re offering; I really am.
No one else has done that. But you need to know that if an article like this gets published, at best, it’ll be contained to the school.
They may or may not expel Nicole and her friends.
But then I would spend the rest of the school year scared of the retaliation that will come.
Because Nicole can fight back with her family, and no school newspaper will stop it.
At worst, I get expelled because they’ll say I’m the one responsible for the murals.
My life will be on display for everyone to read about.
People will… they will find things about my family, and my name will be everything they need to make me the bad guy here.
It’ll be really difficult to get into colleges, to get jobs.
I have it hard as it is. I’m not…” I turn on the faucet and splash water onto my face.
“I was wrong. Thank you for offering, but I don’t need help.
Not now. Not here. Maybe after I graduate from Braxton, I can tell the world what happened. When I’m away, far away.”
Audrey stares at me for a long time. She finally says, “What if it gets worse?”
We go our different ways, and the thoughts twist in my mind until they cloud my vision. Before I know it, I’ve tripped on something, landing hard on my shins. I look up, cheeks smarting, to find Mason smirking down at me.
“Look where you’re going,” he says, and walks away.
Another shade of apprehension drips into my anxiety. My humiliation the other day was just the beginning. It doesn’t matter there are police here. They’ve tested the boundaries of how far they can go, and there were no consequences.
I pick myself up, ignoring everyone around and the pain in my knees before going to class.
Jamie stares at me for a long time after I tell him about Alexis’s threat.
“She can’t do that,” he finally says, horror coating his words.
“It feels like she can.” I lay my head against the wall, closing my eyes.
We’re in the art studio, sitting across from each other.
A headache blooms from the center of my brain.
My shins are somewhat scraped, but my pride has taken the biggest hit.
You’d think after everything that’s happened to me, my pride and dignity would be stripped down to nothing.
But that’s what I fiercely try to protect the most. Even with my torn hijab raised as a flag and my humiliation branded on my cheeks, I have kept my dignity.
I’d sooner die than let racists have control over it.
“Fine, if it comes to it, then I’ll go with you to the principal and tell him you were with me the whole time,” Jamie says, clutching his bent knees tightly. “They have security cameras all over the school; let’s see them find you there.”
I smile at him. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Not doing it to be thanked.”
“I know.” I think my heart is healing. I think I can be stronger than what’s happened. I think I can live beyond it. Find the joy and the colors. “But I was never really someone who people wanted to protect. So this means a lot to me.”
His gaze crumples with sadness. “I wish I knew you back when we were younger. Maybe we’d have been classmates from first grade. I’d have tried to borrow your crayons, and you’d have smacked my hand.”
I laugh. “But I would share them after you brought a lamb to show-and-tell.”
He grins. “I actually did that.”
“What?” I groan. “Now I really do wish we were in the same school.”
“Still a possibility in your future,” he says, and I become warmer under my uniform. “Not the school. The farm.”
I stare at the space between us. “You’ve invited me already.”
“And I’ll keep doing it until you come.” He stretches his arms.
And I think, yes, my heart feels like it’s healing.