I stirred the onions. “Romantic? Like in love?”
She laughed while breaking the eggs perfectly, yolks intact, into the pan. “It’s not justthatlove. It’s being in love with this world.”
I close the front door behind me and make my way down and out of the building toward the subway.
Weirdly, I don’t see any pieces of my mural anywhere and begin second-guessing whether I drew it or not. But I know I did. Did the sketchbook lose its powers? Is the blessing gone?
I finally check my phone to see a torrent of messages. Most of them are from Jamie.
Jamie:I’m sorry
Jamie:tell me what to do
Jamie:please tell me you’re all right
Jamie:I need to know if you’re okay
I swipe the rest away and see a message from Amal.
Amal:we keep missing each other. do you have time today? I feel like I haven’t heard your voice in forever
Amal:I went to a water yoga thing yesterday. For women only. Isn’t that crazy? No hijab. No leering men. Just yoga and vibes
No messages from Alexis. I hate that I’m disappointed.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and pocket my phone. I just want to see my mural. I just want to be vindicated. I want thiswhole cityto see.
But there’s nothing.
Not on the walls of the subway. Not on the ground. Not anywhere.
Unease slithers around me, wrapping itself around my limbs. When I reach my station, I get out and climb up the stairs, taking two at a time, praying it’ll be there.
But it’s not.
The same building that faces the subway station that had all my murals splattered all over it is empty.
Something’s not right.
I swallow hard. Is it because what I drew had nothing to do with Mama’s story? In a way it does, but not directly.
I pull my backpack tighter around my shoulders and head toward the school. The closer I get, the more people I see, and my confusion deepens. There’s a huge crowd around the gates, loud voices mingling together, and I don’t understand a word.
Not everyone here is a student, but each one has their phone out and is taking pictures.
Someone tugs on my bag strap, yanking me back, and I immediately get defensive, reaching up a hand to slap them. I freeze when I see it’s Jamie.
“Hey,” I say dully, tugging my bag and folding my arms.
But Jamie looks distracted, something akin to terror in his eyes. “Why weren’t you picking up your phone?”
“What?”
“Follow me,” he says, looking around, moving out of earshot. I stumble after him, beyond confused about what’s happening. He turns toward me, running his hands through his hair, and then massages his eyes.
“Did you draw something yesterday? In the sketchbook?” he asks in a low voice.
I shrug. “Yes? But nothing showed up.”
