The color drains from his face. “It did.”
I stare at him for a long second, the wires in my brain firing, and then slowly turn toward where the crowd is gathered around the school. From where I’m standing farther away, I can see parts of it. I see the red, white, and blue inked onto the school’s building for everyone to see.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
My mural was a cry for the world to see me. To see my hijab and myself.
I drew the Statue of Liberty as she was intended. A Muslim woman in traditional green Egyptian clothes. And I added the American flag as a hijab wrapped around her head and neck. Her face is that of royalty, her features strong and proud, the look in her eyes unwavering.
She is everything I want to be.
They took my hijab, tore it, stepped on it, and raised it on a pole. So I will take the American flag and make it worth something on the Statue of Liberty. I will take their humiliation and make it my pride.
Seeing my mural all over the school gives me the relief I’ve been looking for. At this moment I’m not afraid. I’m not angry. I am the Statue of Liberty. Iamher.
As if she hears my thoughts, she fixes her gaze on me and winks.
“Jihad,” Jamie says, jarring me back to reality.
His eyes are bloodshot as if he hasn’t slept either.
“What?” I say defensively. “It’s not even wrong. Shewasoriginally supposed to be a Muslim woman, but it was too expensive for the Egyptian government to commission.”
He inhales sharply. “I wasn’t asking for a history lesson. This isnotgoing to be good for you.”
“Because it was going great before?” I snap.
He tugs at his hair. “You know what I mean. They’re going to blame you for this. You’ll be expelled for sure. What happens then? How will you attend Opus?”
“You don’t know,” I say quietly, then laugh when he raises his eyebrows. “There is no Opus. Nicole and her friends stole my sketchbook.” My chin wobbles, but I dig my fingers into my arms to steady myself. “I can’t apply. I have nothing.” I take a step back. “I know you’re trying to help, Jamie, but just leave me alone. You don’t know what it’s like to be me. You can pretend. But you just see it, and then you go home to your rich life while I still live in this one. Your biggestissue is that people don’t know you’re Muslim. Wow, that must sucksomuch not to get the hate I do every single day.”
His jaw tightens, and hurt flashes in his eyes, but I don’t care. He moves toward me, but I back away.
“Leave me alone,” I bite out. “Imeanit.”
In a split second, I make the decision to walk into the school building. If I go back home, any suspicions of my involvement will solidify. I couldn’t have predicted this happening, and I realize that even if I knew it would, I’d still have done it. I would do it all over again. Let this school suffer for a change. Let them lose their minds over something made from acrylic paint and spray bottles.
Stares burn the back of my head when I push my way to the gates and slide in. I hear someone shouting something, but I can’t make out what it is.
I pass under the Statue of Liberty, and I swear her gaze follows me until I’m inside.
It’s mayhem.
There are ten minutes to the first class, and the atrium is filled with students excitedly talking to one another. A large group of parents stands in the administrative office, their brows furrowed and their expressions annoyed. One parent jabs a finger at the receptionist and then toward the principal’s office. His face is red, matching his tie. The din makes it hard to hear anything, and blessedly, I slip through all of them and head to class.
The classroom is empty, and I sit at my usual desk, right at the back in the corner.
Jamie bursts in a minute later, and I jump. He closes the door behind him. There’s no more fear on his face. He makes a direct beeline toward me, striding down the steps, and drops his bag right beside me.
I look up to see his lips tight, his nostrils flaring. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry before. For some reason, I like that look on him.
“You don’t get to decide what I do,” he starts in a shaky voice. I realize that while the anger suits him, he’s not familiar with it. It’s like he doesn’t know how to use it. His voice betrays him. “You’renota charity case. I wouldn’t do this for anyone, but I do it for you. You don’t get to decide to push me away because you feel like you have no one. I’mhere.”
I stare at him.
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—”
