I blink. “What?”
Another bout of silence hangs between us, but then he says, “Jihad, that was me.”
Navy Blue
I lie awake inbed, my brain churning through thought after thought.
Jamie and I talked for a long time until sleep laced his voice, and he mumbled his words before snoring quietly. I smiled when I heard him breathing softly. The sky was a lovely periwinkle then, my room flooded in blue hues, and it felt like a moment outside of time.
It felt like my color.
But now, I’m thinking of the days ahead. There’s no pain in my heart over what they did, because it didn’t end with my dignity in shambles. Despite everything they tried to do, I still won. I’m breathing. I’m alive. And for brief moments, my murals are all over the city. This school is not the end of my story. This year isn’t the final brushstroke on my canvas. My black eye will fade, and the pain will disappear. But I will be here. I have so many years ahead of me. And in each one I will be looking for Mama, looking for myself.
My heart thrums in my chest at all the possibilities laid out before me.
At what Jamie says becoming a possibility. My art laid out all over the world. Murals I would paint by my own hands rather than through a sketchbook. My name no longer a whisper but a roar.
It could happen. It could.
Rolling to my side, I take out my phone and open the last text-message chain between me and Alexis. The keyboard is alight, waiting for what I’ll type, and I try a couple of sentences before backspacing.
Closure from this friendship will be its own trial. I’ll always be reaching for it, but it’ll never be there, like a phantom limb. It makes me feel queasy; I know in my head she was no friend, but my heart still hurts.
It was Jamie who showed me how I’m a priority. Made me realize I’m important. And because of that, I need to fight back.
I’ve barely slept a wink when my alarm rings for Fajr. I pray and call Amal without thinking it through.
She picks up on the fifth ring.
“What?” she says, voice hurried, and I hear the snap of her shoes on the floor. “I have an appointment. Can we talk later?”
“No, we can’t.” I don’t sound like myself. It’s an out-of-body experience, and I’m watching someone who looks like me, sitting in the middle of my room with her earphones. “I need to talk to you.”
Amal stops walking. “Okay. Let me cancel the appointment. I’ll call you in a minute.”
The minute stretches on forever and ends in the blink of an eye.
I pick up and she says, “What happened?”
Warmth spreads over me and tears prick my eyes.
I tell her everything that happened, taking moments to gather myself and breathe. Amal listens and doesn’t interrupt me. I tell her the murals in New York are mine because of the blessing our great-aunt left for us. She’s stunned, doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to challenge it. My voice breaks when I detail what happened to me with Mason and Adrian. I even tell her I think Adrian may have assaulted me by my locker, but I’m not sure. Amal’s silence becomes deadly.
“That’s all,” I say, and a load of bricks I didn’t realize I was carrying on my shoulders falls.
“That’s all?” Amal repeats in a strange tone, and I think she’s crying. “That’sall.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not.” I hear a low thud like she sat on the floor. “I can’t—thisfuckingschool.”
“Don’t swear,” I joke, and she lets out a choked laugh.
She takes in a deep breath. “All right. Do you want my help, or do you know what you’re going to do?”
I tell her my plan, and she hums in agreement.
“That could work. But it could also lead to a lot of unwanted attention on you.”
