I haven’t seen Jamie all day. I think he’s hiding from me, although I’m not sure why. Maybe Nicole asked him if we’re together. But everywhere I go, I hear bits of conversations.
“…Jamie…”
“… told me they made out…”
“… she’s never been with anyone so she’s dying…”
It’s enough to make my nerves clench, and I barely make it to my next class. Jamie isn’t there, and I’m starting to think he didn’t come to school today.
Maybe I shouldn’t have either.
Later, I hide in the bathroom until I’m sure everyone has gone to their next class and then sneak out. I get reprimanded by the teachers, but I don’t care. My nerves are frayed, like they’ve been zapped with too many electrical currents and are now blackened and withered.
I don’t go to lunch and choose to sit in the art room.
I’m aware the number of days is dwindling until Amal leaves for Qatar. And the fact that she’s leaving makes me want to escape all of this even more. I eat my labneh sandwich and pull up my application for the Opus School of Art.
My sketchbook is nearly finished. I think it’ll be my ticket in. It’s my manifesto, a collection of all the snippets of my life. I hope it’s like nothing they’ve seen before. While the sketchbook can come off as chaotic, every line, color, and sketch was done with feeling. I know this sketchbook has a soul. Amal had tears in her eyes when I showed it to her. I’m applying on a prayer because on top of that, I’m submitting a request for a scholarship. One of their major funds is for underrepresented artists who require financial help, but I don’t know whom I’m competing with.
I let myself imagine that life for one second. The ocean is my backyard, and there I’d learn to speak to the jellyfish or maybe even to the whales. Maybe there I can find out if Mama’s stories were true or not. I’d live in a small apartment with a roommate I’d have inside jokes with, and we’d bake desserts passed down from our families. It would be easier to smile, to paint. It would be far away from Baba and even farther from Amal, but that’s okay because we’d make it work.
Loud conversations outside the door bring me down to earth.
To get there, to make that dream come true, Braxton is a means to an end. A necessary hell I have to survive. I cannot let all this pain and effort go to waste. They won’t win.
Sighing, I pull myself to my feet.
But before I walk out, the door is flung open and my heart shoots up to my throat. I debate fighting for my life or leaping from the window.
Jamie stands there, panting, chest heaving up and down. He’s not in his uniform but in simple jeans and a shirt. His face is flushed, and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He must have been running.
He relaxes a fraction when he sees me and marches in, closing the door behind him.
I’m so surprised, I forget I’ve given up on him.
“What are—” I begin.
“You’re the one behind the murals, aren’t you?” he interrupts, voice breathless.
Rose Gold
What?” I gasp,but it comes out as a wheeze.
He pushes his hair back, shaking his head. “No. No. We’re not going to play this game. It’s you, isn’t it?”
I laugh. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. What murals?”
He breathes in deep, and it shudders along his frame. “Jihad, don’t act stupid.”
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” My mouth is dry, and my stomach churns with acid until I know it’s going to dissolve me from the inside.
He sniffs, taking a step toward me, and I take one backward. “I saw the way you draw. And I felt like those murals’ style looked familiar. And then you acted strange after I said that mural of the girl with the jellyfish reminded me of your mother. For some reason, I couldn’t shrug it off. It kept replaying in the back of my mind, but I thought it was nothing. And then yesterday, all of… that happened. And today a mural shows up, and I thought of how they were showing up after something… bad happens to you. I saw that sea turtle in the girl’s hair, and it hit me that I’ve seen it before. On the cover ofyour notebook. It’s exactly the same. And those jellyfish are not like any jellyfish I’ve ever seen. So I google them, and guess where they’re mostly found.”
My throat is closing up, my chest compressed like something is sitting on it.
“How are you getting around town so fast?” he asks breathlessly. “Do you have a crew?”
“Are you going to tell someone?” I ask quietly, because it doesn’t matter if I deny it from now until the end of time. It doesn’t matter if it really wasn’t me. If he tells the principal or the police, I’ll be in a whole load of trouble. It will be seen as damaging property, which would be a misdemeanor. I looked it up. Defacing multiple buildings could land me in jail. I know being Muslim and named Jihad will only add oil to the flame. The judicial system in this country isn’t kind, and I might end up in a juvenile facility, and that would ruin my life. The media will spin it whichever way they want. No proof is needed, just one person to point a finger at.
