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?”
