He looks bashful, giving me an apologetic look. “You said she lived in a coastal town and on an island, right? And that she liked to paint?”
I take in a measured breath. “Right. I did.”
“I really like it.” He nods toward Mama. “I can actually feel the water on my skin, and I imagine the jellyfish are soft. The girl looks so peaceful.”
I lean forward, and my heart flutters again, crocus petals opening under the sun. “Really?”
He nods. “It’s like the girl is the sun in the sea. A beacon of light. I’ve never seen jellyfish like this before, though.”
He finally turns toward me, and I’m too late in schooling my expression. He blinks but then lets it go and stands abruptly. “Can I treat you to a drink? Hot or cold. Your choice. And I insist. If you don’t have any plans, that is.” He holds out a hand toward me before taking it back just as quickly. “Sorry. I forgot.”
I laugh, pressing a palm to my mouth. After everything that happened this morning, I didn’t think I’d laugh for a while. This boy who treats me like the person I’ve always wanted to be treated as. I can see how the whole school would fall for him. “If you don’t mind my company.”
Bruised Purple
I ignore Amal’s messagesand calls the entire rest of the weekend. Even Baba tries to convince me.
“Baba, talk to your sister,” he says from the doorway of my room, using the traditional word fathers call their children, but still unable, unwilling, to walk in. “Let her explain.”
“Okay,” I reply in a dull voice even though I want to scream. He doesn’t see me unless someone points it out. I’m scrolling through videos on social media, all discussing my murals.
He lingers for a few seconds before leaving me alone, and I go back to my videos.
A good number of people have deduced that the two murals are connected. They talk about how it’s a story and are waiting for what the next mural will be. There are some videos discussing how it’s spoiling the image of New York to have something like this splattered all over the city. I see it trending online as #MysteryMuralist, and that hashtag makes all of this very real to me.
My pulse picks up its pace, and I wrap myself in the cocoon of my hair, finding safety in it. My art is not hurting anyone. They can’t trace it back to me. I quickly look up New York’s population, and mymuscles relax when I see it’s more than eight million. I’m a needle in a haystack.
But I know deep inside that not even the fear can stop me.
It makes me slightly dizzy. I open the Notes app on my phone, placing it behind a password so no one can access it. There are many moments in Mama’s life I want to illustrate, all leading to when she passed away. But she was more than what happened to her. I can give her a better ending. A peaceful one for the magical girl with an imagination so wide, it was endless. The jellyfish were her friends, and she spoke to the Mediterranean. He knew her, and she found herself in his waters.
I come up with a list, but I’m not committed to it. Maybe I’ll get inspiration for something different.
A message notification pops on my screen.
Amal.
Amal:talk to me
I swipe it away, but more follow.
Amal:please
Amal:you know this stress isn’t good for me or the baby
Amal:these are critical months for me
Amal:I’m leaving in three weeks by the way
Amal:I don’t want to leave with you not speaking to me
I chew on my tongue. The betrayal still feels fresh, and it hurts to know she’s been holding on to this for months. I get why she’s doingit, but I don’t understand how she could have kept it a secret. How she’s not easing me into this after everything we’ve been through.
I open the message and send anOK.
My phone immediately rings, and I let her sweat for three seconds before answering.
“Are you talking to me again?” she asks.
