Chapter 31 Bloodred #2
What I feel is disgust. At myself for the way I ran after Alexis’s friendship and love.
How she had this place in my life when she didn’t deserve any of it.
I groan, covering my eyes with my hand, embarrassment making my chest constrict.
Why did I spend an hour on public transportation for a week to go to her house to paint that stupid art on her wall?
Why did I praise her bare-minimum efforts?
Why did I smother the way it bothered me how she never tried to get to know me? Never asked to come over to my home?
I slide off the bed and take the sketchbook from the drawer.
Nothing I draw in it will hurt them, but I can get out of here.
Jamie was right.
This sketchbook can be the answer.
I want to draw something that heals me. There are four pages left.
I want to fill them with Mama, and while her life was cut short, I know she’s in heaven.
I know her soul is immortal. I know it’s not goodbye.
And that gives me comfort, knowing the person who did it won’t get away with it.
Knowing no matter how much I miss her and want her to be here, I will meet her again. I will meet her again.
I draw Mama with her lungs trying to breathe an air that’s not Syrian.
I draw jasmine flowers on her hands, pomegranate seeds trying to fight the cancer growing in her.
I draw them succeeding. I draw the battles lost and the wars won.
I draw her beautiful and alive and smiling because the one thing they can’t do is take away her smile.
It disappeared so many times, but it always came back.
The next morning, social media is ablaze, and pictures of my mural are everywhere. It gives me the boost of courage I need to get out of bed. There are no messages from Alexis or Jamie. Not that I expected anything from Alexis, but I was hoping Jamie would say something.
My face feels too tight—my black eye is worse, and even my nose is a bit swollen. I take out an old foundation bottle that belonged to Amal and is the wrong shade for me, but there’s not much else I can do.
I apply it with a feather touch that still feels like I’m punched in the eye all over again. It hides most of the bruising, and anyone passing by wouldn’t notice unless they were standing in front of me.
My arms won’t move to slip my shirt on, but I force them to.
It’s Friday. The weekend is just hours away, I tell myself. And there’s just less than two months left for school.
Braxton had a unique study set up where the curriculum for final and AP exams was done a few weeks before exam season started. We were now in review mode, where our teachers were going over the important chapters.
So, technically, I survived Braxton.
I put on my uniform and stare at myself in the mirror, then at my hijab lying innocently on the bed. This all happened because of my name and what I wear on my head.
I think of how different my life would have been if I’d lived in Syria my whole life.
If Syria were free. If Syria were mine. My parents would not have moved here.
My freedom here is not true freedom. My freedom here is borrowed time; it’s me apologizing for existing.
I don’t have freedom in my countries, and I don’t have freedom here.
But if I were in Syria, the real one that was always promised to her children, I wouldn’t have a black eye or a bloodied nose.
Baba would have built his house right beside Seti’s, and I would wake up to her singing Fairuz’s songs.
He would have been an esteemed engineer, and Mama an artist famous in the Arab world.
I wouldn’t be a stranger in my country. I would know every ancient nook and cranny and where the sweetest honey was.
If my countries were allowed to thrive, I would holiday in Palestine and Iraq and walk the pathways my ancestors forged.
I wouldn’t be standing here, watching my hijab with a wary expression, doubts filling my mind.
I open the door quietly to make sure Baba is either asleep or gone. He’s not home.
I pull up Amal’s phone number, my thumb hovering over the call button. Maybe… maybe she can help. Maybe she won’t judge me for the thought that has spawned in my head.
Then I remember how she never backed down at anything in school, at work, in her life.
I exit the screen and, without overthinking it, take my hijab and stuff it into my school bag before leaving the apartment. It’s sudden, and the colors squirm uncomfortably against it.
The weirdness of it all is striking, and I hate it.
I hate the feel of the wind on my hair. I hate the emptiness where my hijab should be. I fidget and tie my hair into a ponytail. It’s blunt, short, but a bit better than having it untied. I hate the sickening feeling in my stomach and heart, knowing this was a choice forced upon me.
To conform or to be hurt.
The sun is too hot on my head, and I feel like everyone’s staring at me, knowing exactly what I’ve done.
How I caved in.
I told Jamie this hijab is a part of me. It’s infused with my soul, and now I have torn my soul apart.
I hate it all.
And still I walk, hoping this will appease them. That this will make them stop.
It’s only when I’m sitting on the subway, getting closer to my stop, that I feel like an idiot.
What am I doing?
I put my hands over my head, trying to hide as much as I can and cursing myself for not wearing a hoodie. I was drunk on this absurd idea and just acted.
As soon as I get off, I rush behind one of the large columns and fish out my hijab and undercap. Once I have them on, I feel like myself again. My lungs expand with air, and the colors sharpen, hugging me, when before they were blurry and hazy.
Still, my courage is increasingly wispy the closer I get to the school. Glimpses of my mural bring a smile to my face, and I miss Mama more than I thought possible.
The few stubborn reporters still at the gate crowd me with questions again.
“Hello! Were you the injured girl yesterday? Rumors are going around that a girl in a headscarf got hurt? Could you tell us what happened?”
“Do you know who’s behind the mural at this school? You could just describe them!”
I push past them and walk into the school, stopping dead in my tracks when I see my bullies. Like they’ve been waiting for me. My mouth runs dry, and I see Nicole zeroing in on the patchy old foundation.
“Hey, Jihad!” Adrian yells, and a couple of people stop to listen.
I pretend I don’t hear him and skitter away to the hallway opposite them.
“We’re talking to you!” Mason calls as I half run, half jog out of reach.
I look over my shoulder to see Mason, Adrian, and the girls following.
I shouldn’t have come. They now know how far they can go.
I try to find a professor or any adult to take shelter with, but I have no idea where I’m running, my heart in my throat, and everything blurs around me. I can’t find anyone, and none of the students I’m passing say anything.
Is this how Mama felt when she was on the ground, looking for anyone to help her?
“Where are you going?” Nicole’s shrill voice comes, and she’s laughing.
I push the doors of the first room I see and find myself in the school’s theater. It’s massive, with over two hundred seats, and I almost trip, running down the stairs to hide. My school bag digs into my side painfully, and sweat drips down, washing away the foundation.
I swing myself behind the large curtains, balancing on a large platform and tucking my feet out of sight the second the doors open.
“Where’d she go?” Nicole asks.
My breaths are shallow and quick, and not enough oxygen is reaching my lungs. My heart is thundering in my ears, and I think they can hear it.
“She couldn’t have disappeared this fast,” Adrian says. “She’s either here or in the other two rooms.”
“Come on, you guys,” Jenny says. “Isn’t this a bit too much?”
“What’s too much?” Mason asks.
There’s an awkward silence as Jenny struggles to answer.
“We could get into trouble,” she finally says. “What if she goes to Dr. Mérieux?”
“Mérieux won’t do shit.” Mason laughs. “She went to him twice, and he did nothing.”
“He might with that fucking black eye she has,” Jenny argues. “Damn, Mason, we didn’t know you were going to maim her!”
Mason lets out a scoff. “She’s not maimed. What do you think, Alexis?”
I manage to peer through a sliver in the curtain and see them all on the top of the stairs. The emptiness of the theater and the impressive acoustics the school probably paid thousands for carry their voices as if they’re standing right beside me.
Alexis doesn’t answer at first, but then she says, “I just don’t want to get into trouble. You guys know my dad isn’t, like, super connected like yours are.”
Mason drapes an arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer to him. “You’ll be fine. And what would you be in trouble for? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Then he nods. “We got ten minutes until first period, to find her so we can have some fun. I mean, the nerve on her to show up.” He laughs again.
“It’s like she has a death wish,” Hayley finally squeaks out, and her voice is a bit shaky. “I wouldn’t have come back.”
“Yeah, but that’s because you got brains, Hays,” Mason says. “Hey, Jenny, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll just ask her not to go to Mérieux.”
Adrian starts going down the stairs, and his face becomes clearer and clearer.
I feel sick even though I didn’t eat anything for breakfast. He climbs up the podium, and I start looking for a weapon.
Anything to defend myself because I’m realizing ten minutes is a long time, and they won’t be interrupted.
Just last Friday, I was in Coney Island.
Now I’m here.
Adrian is getting nearer, and I glance down at my nails. I think they’re sharp enough to shock him so I’d get a head start to get away.
But just then the door of the theater opens, and someone walks in.
“Jamie!” Nicole squeals out. “Hey! Hi! How are you?”
I’m stunned, not understanding what’s going on.
“Good,” Jamie answers in his signature cheerful voice. “What are you all doing here?”
The girls look at one another, but Mason answers, “Just hanging around. Looking for someone.”
Jamie nods. I’m dizzy, trying to make sense of his tone and reconciling it with how he defended me from Mason last time. Dread trickles down my spine. What if I was being played?
“Jihad, right?” he asks.
“Right,” Mason says. “Don’t you have an issue with that?”
I can see Jamie’s grin as clear as day from where I’m hiding.
“Nah,” he says lazily. “Just having some fun with her.”