My irritation turns to anger. “I don’t have to explain the intricacies of how I date to Nicole. But how couldyouthink I’m not allowed to date?”
She blinks. “Because you’re Muslim? Like, you don’t kiss and stuff before marriage.”
“And the only type of dating that exists is what you do? How do people in other cultures get married, Alexis?”
“I—I—” she flounders.
I stare at her, a horrible thought slithering into my head. That she doesn’t see me as someone like Nicole or Jenny or Hayley. Or any of the girls who are walking outside in the hallways. That even if I hadn’t lost Mama, I would always live my life to a lesser degree than she does because I’m Muslim. Because I wear the hijab means there are so many things I can’t do that she can. I can’t fall in love, because she thinks I’m not allowed to. That my parents would shame me for it. That the Islamic way of getting to know someone is wrongbecause the termdatingencapsulates only her meaning. It’s an unconscious bias, but it’s one that makes me sick to my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes tearing up. “I didn’t know this would offend you.”
I need time to think. I always thought she saw my pain as an obstacle, not my identity.
I nod.
“I’m—Mason asked me out this weekend. The girls are coming over so we can pick an outfit. Do… would you like to come?”
Stuck in a house with Nicole and Linda, munching on lettuce and carrots. I probably would have said yes before I discovered the sketchbook, before the colors started coming back.
I shake my head. “I don’t think the girls would be too happy if I joined.”
She scrunches her nose. “Who cares? I want you there.”
I like this Alexis, when she’s not with her friends. “I know. We could do something you and I next week.”
She nods. “I’d like that.”
I wait a second after she’s gone to dash out, not wanting to be alone in the classroom in case Adrian shows up, but I also don’t want to fifth-wheel stiffly behind them until we go our separate ways.
When I’m out of the gates, I get a text.
Jamie:do you have time to meet me here?
He sends me his location, somewhere on Fifth Avenue. It’s not far from the school.
Me:yeah. I’ll be there
He sends me a thumbs-up.
Even though I haven’t walked down Fifth Avenue much, I know exactly where he is.
The mural.
Jamie is sitting on a bench outside Central Park with an uninterrupted view of the mural on a beige building. He doesn’t hear me walking up to him. He’s staring intently at the mural like he’s trying to memorize every line and color. There’s a certain dreamlike look in his eyes, his whole body relaxed. I can’t help but admire the way he looks. So sure of himself.
I sit beside him, keeping a healthy amount of distance between us.
“Beautiful.” He smiles softly at the mural before turning toward me. “Thanks for coming.”
I stay quiet.
“I want to talk about what happened yesterday,” he says, and I jump.
“We already did.”
“No, I—”
“I really,reallydon’t want to.” My heart beats painfully. “What would you have done anyway? Just let it go. It happened. Whatever.”
