And sure, enough an email arrives in my inbox Monday morning from Dr. Mérieux himself, lifting the suspensions and allowing me and Jamie to sit for our exams.
The board of directors has reviewed both your cases and found you innocent, he wrote. It doesn’t escape my notice how I had to go above and beyond with several people’s help to be able to go back to school, while Mason and Adrian just existed.
While some reporters stayed outside the school gate for a few days, they are all appeased with a statement from the school condemning any acts of bullying and soon leave.
My black eye fades with each day, but I never cover it up when I go back to school for my exams. Students and professors do double takes, most looking uneasy.
When I see Jamie again at school, it’s the morning of our AP chemistry exam. I haven’t seen him since he was expelled. He spent the week before AP exams at home studying with the tutors his parents got for him while I went to school every day, getting all the important notes I can squeeze out of the review classes. Even though we talked every single day, quizzing each other, I feel some shyness, seeing him leaning against the wall in the hallway, going through his notes.
His hair is entirely black now and cut shorter; he’s gotten rid of the blond ends. He looks like a different person. Sort of like me when I cut my hair. Mine is growing faster than I anticipated, and I wonder if this is a blessing in itself. I’m enjoying looking at myselffrom different angles seeing how I’m changing like a tree through the seasons.
“Hey,” I call out, and he looks up, smiling wildly when he sees me.
“Hey, Jihad.”
We take our exams and soon enough, they’re done.
All that’s left is the summer. Amal booked me a flight out in June, returning in the middle of August, so I have enough time to move to San Francisco if I get in. I drew my last three drawings the end of May and sent the sketchbook to Opus. I ended it with Mama back with the jellyfish. She’s older now, the same age she was when she left us, the marks of time, pain, happiness, and life on her face.
Somehow, a lot of people knew it was the last mural. I cried drawing it and cried when I saw the emotional reactions online.
“We’ve been on this journey since the beginning,” one girl with faded purple hair says, wiping a tear from her eye. “It feels like saying goodbye to a friend. Whoever you are, Artist, thank you for making us feel like this.”
My anxiety spikes each day June gets closer to end, and I don’t hear back.
Jamie tries to distract me. He takes me out every chance he gets. Although now with the summer giving me more time, I’ve been spending it with Baba. Either helping tidy up at the gas station or sitting with him at home while he tells me about our history in Syria and talks to me about Mama, stories I never knew. He decides to move to Qatar when Amal video-calls us from the hospital, crying and holding her newborn son in her arms.
“Baba, this is Hisham.” Her eyes shine; she looks tired but more alive that she’s ever been. Her hair is stuck to her forehead as she raises my nephew into view while her husband holds the phone.
Baba’s eyes flood with tears, and I gasp. She named him after Baba.
“You have to come, okay?” Her voice is frantic now. Poor thing is delirious with sleeplessness. “You guys will be here in three weeks,right? Oh my God, that’s so soon. Marwan, remember we have to get extra pillows. The nice ones. Also, I think we need to make reservations at the Shami restaurant.”
“Amal, relax,” I shout so she can hear me. Our voices always seem to rise whenever we talk to each other through video. “Just take care of the baby, okay? Is there anything you want us to get from here?”
“Yes. Get me onion bagels,” she says instantly. “The ones here are good, but it’s nothing like home.”
I’m excited to visit her. It’ll be my first time on a plane. My first time in an Arab, Muslim country.
I don’t hear from Alexis ever again. The last time I saw her was during our final exams, and she didn’t even look at me. I’m not sure if she got off the Yale wait-list, and I don’t even care. But Audrey got accepted to Oxford, as she told me when she invited me out for coffee.
A few days into the summer break, Jamie takes me to a Syrian dessert shop for booza—stretchy, creamy ice cream. When we walk inside the café, the door opens again right behind us, and Jenny stands there, catching her breath.
Jamie and I look at each other in confusion. She wipes her hair from her face, looking summer ready with her flowery pink shorts-suit and tanned legs.
“Hey,” she says, sounding nervous.
I don’t reply.
She shakes her head, scratching absently at her shoulder. “I—I want to apologize for… for everything.”
I stare at her. Her face is red, but it’s more from shame than the heat.
“I’m sorry for being a part of what they did. I’m sorry I didn’t call the teachers when Mason and Adrian hurt you. I—I was scared I’d get in trouble with the boys. It’s no excuse. You don’t have to forgive me, but I’m still sorry.”
The cafe’s air-conditioning beats down on me, and I don’t know what to reply, so all I say is “Okay.”
She nods, gives a half-awkward wave before putting her hand down. “Hope you two have a great summer.”
