“What?” I said. “Too weird?”
The intense look in his eyes evaporated. In fact, he seemed suddenly frustrated. He shook his head and said, “I wish you’d stop saying things like that to me. I don’t think you’re weird. And I don’t know why you think I’m going to have a sudden epiphany that you’re weird and start freaking out. I’m not. Okay? I genuinely don’t care that you cover your hair. I don’t. I mean”—he hesitated—“as long as it’s, like, something you actually want to do.”
He looked at me. Waited for something.
I looked back, confused.
“I mean,” he said, “your parents don’t, like, force you to wear a headscarf, do they?”
“What?” I frowned. “No. No, I mean, I don’t love the way people treat me for wearing it—which often makes me wonder whether I shouldn’t just stop—but no,” I said. I looked off in the distance. “When I’m not thinking about people harassing me every day, I actually like the way it makes me feel. It’s nice.”
“Nice how?”
We’d officially stopped walking. We were standing on the sidewalk, next to a sort of busy road, where I was having one of the most personal conversations I’d ever had with a boy.
“I mean, I don’t know,” I said. “It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like I’m in control. I get to choose who gets to see me. How they see me. I don’t think it’s for everyone,” I said, and shrugged. “I’ve met girls who do feel forced to wear it and they hate it. And I think that’s bullshit. Obviously I don’t think anyone should wear it if they don’t want to. But I like it,” I said. “I like that you have to ask for my permission to see my hair.”
Ocean’s eyes widened suddenly. “Can I see your hair?”
“No.”
He laughed out loud. Looked away. He said, “Okay.” And then, quietly, “I can already kind of see your hair, though.”
I looked at him, surprised.
I wrapped my scarf a little loosely, which made it so that a little of my hair, at the top, sometimes showed, and some people were obsessed with this detail. I wasn’t sure why, but they loved pointing out to me that they could already see an inch of my hair, like maybe that would be enough to nullify the whole thing. I found this fixation kind of hilarious.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I mean, that’s usually all it takes. Guys see an inch of my hair and they just, you know”—I mimed an explosion with my hand—“lose their minds. And then it’s just, like, marriage proposals, all over the place.”
Ocean looked confused.
He didn’t say anything for a second, and then—
“Oh. Oh. You’re joking.”
I looked curiously at him. “Yes,” I said. “I’m super joking.”
He was looking at me just as curiously as I looked at him. We were still standing on the sidewalk, talking. Staring at each other.
Finally, he said: “So you’re trying to tell me that what I said was stupid, huh? I only just got that.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m usually more direct.”
And he laughed. He looked away. Looked back at me. “Am I making this weird? Should I stop asking you these questions?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. Smiled, even. “No one ever asks me these questions. I like that you ask. Most people just assume they know what I’m thinking.”
“Well, I have no idea what you’re thinking. Like, ever.”
“Right now,” I said, “I’m thinking you’re so much ballsier than I thought you’d be. I’m kind of impressed.”
“Wait, what do you mean, than you thought I’d be?”
I couldn’t help it, I was suddenly laughing. “Like, I don’t know. When I first met you? You seemed really—timid,” I said. “Kind of terrified.”
“Well, to be fair, you’re kind of terrifying.”
“Yeah,” I said, sobered in an instant. “I know.”
“I don’t mean”—he shook his head, laughed—“I don’t mean because of your scarf or your religion or whatever. I just mean I don’t think you see yourself the way other people do.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m pretty sure I know how other people see me.”
“Maybe some people,” he said. “Yeah. I’m positive there are horrible people in the world. But there are a lot of other people who are looking at you because they think you’re interesting.”
“Well I don’t want to be interesting,” I said. “I don’t exist to fascinate strangers. I’m just trying to live. I just want people to be normal around me.”
Ocean wasn’t looking at me when he said, quietly, “I have no idea how anyone is supposed to be normal around you. I can’t even be normal around you.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re crazy intimidating,” he said. “And you don’t even see it. You don’t look at people, you don’t talk to people, you don’t seem to care about anything most kids are obsessed with. I mean, you show up to school looking like you just walked out of a magazine and you think people are staring at you because of something they saw on the news.”
I went suddenly still.
My heart seemed to speed up and slow down. I didn’t know what to say, and Ocean wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Anyway,” he said. He cleared his throat. I noticed he’d gone pink around the ears. “So you went to twelve different schools?”
I nodded.
“Damn.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It sucked. Continues to suck.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I mean, it doesn’t suck right now,” I said, staring at our feet. “Right now it’s not so bad.”
“No?”
I glanced up. He was smiling at me.
“No,” I said. “Right now it’s not bad at all.”
12
Twelve
Ocean and I split up for lunch.
I think he might’ve joined me, if I’d asked, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t know what he did for lunch, who his friends were, what his social obligations might be, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know yet. At the moment, I just wanted space to process our conversation. I wanted space to figure out what to do about Mr. Jordan’s class. I wanted time to get my brain on straight. I was no longer hungry, thanks to the stack of pancakes I’d eaten at IHOP, so I headed straight to my tree.
This had been my solution to the lonely lunchtime problem. I’d grown tired of both the bathroom and the library, and enough time had passed that I no longer felt too self-conscious about eating alone. This school had a couple of green spaces, and I’d picked one at random to make my own. I chose a tree. I sat under it, leaning against the trunk. I ate food if I was hungry; but mostly I wrote in my journal or read a book.
Today, I was late.
And someone else was sitting under my tree.
I hadn’t been looking at people, as was my unfortunate habit, so I hadn’t noticed the person sitting under my tree until I nearly stepped on him.