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, thatdistastefulmural 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 thinkingJihad 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.”
