Nicole extends her hand behind her, and Hayley catches it, squeezing.
“Wait, what was your name again?” Jenny asks me, frowning. “It’s not Ji?”
I blink. “That’s my nickname.”
The three girls exchange glances.
“I thought it was weird you’d have a Chinese surname for a first name,” Hayley says. “But Alexis just called you Ji the whole time she talked about you, so we thought it was your first name.”
I look at Alexis, whose cheeks have become a faint pink.
“So your name is…Jihad?” Jenny asks quietly.
I grip the edges of my seat, nodding.
Nicole chews on her lower lip like she’s holding back tears.
“Is it… legal for you to have that name?” Hayley asks, eyes narrowed. “No disrespect, but it’s kind of offensive, right?”
Jamie stares at her. “What?”
My tongue is made from lead, glued to the bottom of my mouth, and I can’t speak. Deep down, I knew something like this would happen.
“You guys, come on,” Alexis finally says, her tone taking a defensive note. “I’ve known her all my life.”
Nicole sniffs loudly before covering her face with her hands. Hayley immediately puts her arm around her, drawing her close.
“It’s okay,” she whispers to Nicole. “It’s all right.”
I can’t look at anyone, and I don’t understand what’s happening, so I stare at a point on the table, letting my limited peripheral vision take in my surroundings.
“Her uncle died in Afghanistan,” Hayley says, and I know she’s talking to me. “From an IED that jihadists made.”
“Oh my God, Nic, I forgot,” Alexis says, horrified, her hands flying to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Jenny comes behind Nicole, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She stares at me, her expression half glaring as if his death is my fault.
I’m sure they think it is, with my name being what it is.
“May he rest in peace,” Jamie says quietly.
“Thank you, Jamie.” Nicole dabs the corner of her eyes. “It means a lot.”
They all stare at me then, waiting for me to speak.
My heart hurts where it beats against my ribs. It’s the same pain I had when I was five and wandered to a new aisle in the grocery store, searching for chips, but when I looked up, I couldn’t find Mama. It’s the pain that fear brings.
“Sorry about your uncle,” I finally say, my voice rough.
Nicole just sniffs and steers her gaze away from me.
“I don’t know. I think you should just stick to Ji.” Hayley crosses her arms.
“That’s not her name,” Jamie intervenes. “It’s not your call.”
Hayley shrugs, unperturbed. “Nobody is called Hitler now.”
ExceptJihadisn’t like that, I want to say.It’s an Arabic word, I want to say.It has nothing to do with terrorism, I want to say. So many words from my language have been co-opted out of their beautiful, resonant meanings and made to be weapons of fear. We never sayAllahu Akbarin public, even though all it means is “God is great,” when Christians can praise God.Intifadais uprising against oppression, when the French Revolution is a symbol of courage. Our words, our meanings, my name, my meaning—all crushed under the boot of racism.
