He gets out of the car, and I follow him before my limbs freeze.
Someone has spray-paintedterroristall over the front with some crude pictures beside it.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, shocked.
Baba doesn’t answer but unlocks the doors to get something from inside. I’m rooted to my spot, watching the ugly lines of those letters and the uneven shapes of the pictures.
Baba comes out, carrying a pint of white paint and a roller. He opens the pint and dips the roller into it before starting to cover up the wall.
“Baba, what is this?”
“Just some kids,” he answers in Arabic.
“When?Did you call the police?”
He paints in silence.
“Baba!” I yell.
He turns toward me. “Yes, I called the police. They said they’d look into it. They haven’t called back, so it’s nothing serious, Jihad. And doesn’t happen often.”
I gape at him. “What if it escalates?”
He sighs, dropping the roller into the pint. “What would you want to do? Do you want me to stake this place out and beat them up when they come? What can I do, Jihad? What can I do to stop this?”
I stare, my jaw trembling with helplessness. I don’t know what he can do. We know that not even our deaths would spur the police into action. This is why nothing I say to the teachers at school will have any effect. We have no power, so we can’t fight for justice. I’m seventeen, and the only way I can fight is through my paintbrush. Baba works at a gas station; the only way he fights is with a paint roller. I think of the day when I’m stronger. When the ripples in the sea become rogue waves.
When I don’t reply, Baba goes back to painting over the words, over the pictures, and I sit on the ground, watching him, my heart breaking all over again.
“Hey, Jihad!” Hayley calls out to me on Monday.
I turn around, confused. It’s the break between classes, and I’m on my way to third period.
She’s smiling brightly at me, her large, stylish curls bouncing withevery step she takes. I find myself jealous of how perfectly her uniform fits her, knowing she must have had it tailored.
“Hey?” My confusion deepens when she wraps her arms around my shoulders.
She leans back, her hands sliding to my back. “I haven’t seen you around!”
“Busy with studying,” I say, unnerved.
“Ugh, same. I had to stay in this weekend because of the stupid calculus exam.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
She scratches her mouth. “Do you want to have lunch together? Nicole calmed down, and I was sent as a peace broker. I mean, I told her it was unfair how she was treating you, by the way. It’s not your fault Jamie doesn’t like her.”
I grimace. “I don’t know about lunch.”
“Oh, come on,” she whines. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Mason and his weird friends won’t be there either. It’ll be just us girls.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.”
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Awesome! Honestly, Nicole was real bitchy, wasn’t she?”
I don’t say anything, confused about what’s happening.
Hayley laughs. “Come on. You can say it. If someone treated me the way Nicole treated you, that bitch would be dead.”
