“I’m good,” I say shortly, staring intensely out the window, and she sighs quietly.
The closer we get to Braxton Academy, the more the buildings look elegant, the people rosy faced and the streets cleaner.
Braxton takes up several buildings with a wide courtyard, looking like old money and dark history built from the ground up. It’s as if I’m walking up to the haughty smirk of a beast only to be swallowed into its bowels. The buildings are vast, spanning great heights, and reminiscent of Georgian architecture. There is not one crack in the columns and pilasters, whose design must have been carved by human hands rather than machines. Everything about this school emphasizes its history and importance, as if the building grew roots buried deep underground.
There’s a drop-off section just outside the gates, and Amal steers in, stopping behind an Audi whose driver gets out and opens the door for whoever is inside to climb out.
There are students everywhere, friends reuniting after the summer, hugging and laughing. They walk in packs and shout to one another. Those walking by our car give us surprised looks, and some hide their mouths behind their hands, dissecting the very old Camry with their eyes.
“Boy, do I miss high school,” Amal says, sarcasm dripping from her tone.
“Thanks.” I grab my bag. “Just what I need to hear.”
Amal puts her hand onto my shoulder, and I steel myself, facing her.
“You’re going to be fine,” she says seriously, and then wipes an invisible speck of something from my cheek. “Just…” She chews on her words, and I know what she wants to say.
A long time ago, she would have told me the old cliché ofBe yourself! There are so many memories to make and friends to meet!
Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through.
“I’ll keep my head down,” I say, and the pain in my sister’s eyes could have broken me if I weren’t already in pieces.
She grabs me into a hug, and I let her hold me for a few seconds before I pull away.
“Here.” She pushes a piece of Tupperware into my hands. “Your lunch.”
“Thank you,” I say, staring at it for a second before getting out.
“Text me!” she calls.
I give her a thumbs-up while looking ahead.
I pull the strap of my bag closer, trying not to feel self-conscious. Like everyone around me is staring. Even though they might be.
The grass outside the main building is perfectly mowed, the smell somehow more pronounced in the morning’s humidity.
I don’t linger by the entrance, staring at the architecture of the high dome or the winding staircases that look like they’re transported from a boarding school whose students exclusively study Dante’sInfernoand find themselves sacrificing a friend to an eldritch god.
I don’t make any eye contact, heading directly to administration to get my schedule. In the acceptance letter, I was told to be sure to go to administration as it’s my first day in this school.
Once I’m there, I wait in line behind a smartly dressed woman in a suit who seems like she’s drenched herself in a flowery perfume. It instantly goes to my head, constricting the blood vessels and giving me a headache.
I massage my eyes, trying to will it away. I’ve never done well with any strong scents. So much so, Mama stopped lighting the oudher friend got her from Qatar. It was a lovely, rich smell, but it made my brain choke.
“Good morning,” a cheery voice says, and I glance ahead. A girl with two pigtails sitting behind the desk is waving at me.
The woman in the suit is gone, and it’s my turn.
“Good morning.” I shift in place. “I’m, uh, new. It’s my first day, and I’m here for my schedule.”
“Yeah, no problem,” the girl says with a smile that freezes the moment she registers my uniform. She’s wearing the girls’ uniform. A student. “What’s your name?”
My stomach twists. Even though I’ve been expecting it, it doesn’t make me dread it any less. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like meeting new people or having to introduce myself. This is why my old school was fine. Everyone knew me.
Something as simple as saying my name is my greatest fear.
I clear my throat and lower my voice. “Ji—Jihad Dabbagh.”
