SAFIYA

JANUARY 20, 2022

Fact: Lies can hide the truth. But they can’t change the truth.

Truth: The safest place to hide is in plain sight.

“Are you avoiding me?”

The sound of his voice made me jump. I slammed my locker to see Richard, wearing a cream-colored fisherman’s sweater, leaning on the locker next to mine. My heart raced, but not for the usual reason it did when I was around him. Even though I’d spent most of my day off yesterday putting together the Medium and Reddit posts, I’d also spent a lot of time going over everything that had happened the last two weeks. Richard had lied to me about London. I wanted to find out why.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Act casual. Be normal. Richard was wearing his usual charming smile and gazing at me with soft eyes, but for the first time, it felt strained. Was I the only one who felt this weirdness? Dammit. What if I was seeing connections where none existed? I didn’t like constantly questioning myself, but everything was so messed up right now, it was hard to know who or what to trust.

“Only that you didn’t respond to my texts and I think I know why,” he grinned.

The text from the day before yesterday, when I’d found Jawad’s body. I hadn’t responded to that or one from yesterday when he was checking in to see how I was feeling. My throat went dry. Richard didn’t know about anything besides the vandalism at our store and that I stayed home because I was a little under the weather. I had to keep it that way. I shrugged, painting a confused look on my face.

“It’s because of what Dakota said, right? The scarf I got her? I swear it didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh!” I said, relieved but still on guard. “Yeah. No big deal.”

“Cool. I was getting worried.” Richard pretended to wipe sweat off his brow.

“I’ve been distracted is all. You know with everything… the vandalism at my parents’ store. And now about Jawad. It’s so scary. There could be a murderer in our neighborhood.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t worry about it, though.”

“There’s a dead Muslim kid and I shouldn’t worry about it?” I couldn’t hide the shocked look on my face. Richard clearly noticed.

He stepped closer to me and took my hands in his, his eyes full of concern. “I meant that you’re safe. Jawad attracted attention because of the whole bomb thing.”

“It wasn’t a bomb, though. It was a costume jet pack. And he didn’t attract anything. A racist teacher called the police on him, and a racist murderer killed him. None of it was his fault.” I pulled my hands away from Richard’s and stuffed them into my pockets.

“I get it. It’s super upsetting. Especially after what happened at your parents’ store. But getting all fixated on it isn’t going to help, you know?”

“You knew Jawad, right? That’s what you told us at the bench.” I could feel the bile rising in my throat. I’d been so tired the last day and a half. But I’d woken up full of rage, and I didn’t know where to put it.

“I saw him, like, once or twice when I was volunteering. That’s all.”

“So a dead kid doesn’t bother you?” I snapped.

“Of course it does. All I’m saying is, I’m not shocked. People get murdered in Chicago every day. It sucks, but he was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re too smart to let that happen to you.” Richard smiled and rubbed his knuckle against my cheek. It made me flinch. His hands, which were always so warm, were ice cold.

“So charming Richard is turning out to be an unfeeling asshole? Ugh. That’s doesn’t seem like him,” Asma said as we ate our lunch at the bench, our fingers freezing. It was cold, too cold for everyone else, but it was dry, and the bench across the street was the only place we could make sure no one heard us.

I nodded, distracted, and crunched into my chutney, chips, and kheema sandwich, thinking about the exchange I’d had with him earlier. Asma winced as she watched me take another bite. “What?” I asked. “It’s my leftover fave.”

“Kheema with rice, lentils, and mango achar? Yes. But ground beef, cold, on sandwich bread with potato chips? Uh, no. Hard pass.”

“That’s salt-and-vinegar potato chips, miss. It’s the perfect balance of flavors, salt, and crunch. You clearly have no sense of culinary adventure.” I laughed. And immediately felt horrible about having the privilege of laughter. My smile faded.

“So… how are you dealing with everything? Does it feel okay to be back at school?” Asma’s tone shifted.

I sighed. “I’m relieved that Nate is absent again today. I don’t know if I could spend a whole class looking at his face.” Asma told me he’d been a no-show yesterday, too, which only made him more suspect in my book. “And as far as Richard? I don’t know. Maybe I’m misreading it? Or maybe he’s having second thoughts about getting involved with someone who is obsessed with a murder.” I shrugged.

I didn’t tell her that I kept seeing Jawad’s body in my mind. Kept replaying that moment when they’d placed him on the stretcher. I chewed for a bit, letting my mind drift to my conversation with Richard again. I hadn’t told Asma about his being in London, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. None of it made sense. “Richard was all nice and chivalrous, stepping up when Nate was harassing me. And now he’s super insensitive about Jawad, and he called Dakota a bitch the other day.”

“Whoa! Misogynist alarm!” Asma drew back and raised her eyebrows. “That’s some creepy Jekyll and Hyde crap. Red flag! You didn’t tell him about finding Jawad, did you? Or your suspicions about Nate?”

I inadvertently knocked over my bag of chips and watched as they scattered over the ice-crusted, dirty snow. I squeezed my eyes shut. There was so much I wasn’t saying. So much I wasn’t admitting to myself. I could barely comprehend that I’d seen Jawad lying facedown in that culvert. My whole life felt like the most precarious Jenga tower, ready to topple if I even breathed wrong. I thought about Richard being in London. I racked my brain trying to remember if he was in the crowd shots on the day of the smoke bomb. I shook my head. It was all too much. “No! I told you, no one else can know. Besides… I… I mean… I’m not even sure. Everything points to Nate. He has all the Ghost Skin characteristics. He confronted me. He’s obviously obsessed with Nietzsche. And the glasses…”

Asma bit her lower lip. “Listen. Hear me out for a sec. There are a lot of things we don’t know. There could still be a plausible explanation for everything. Let’s say Nate is the hacker and the vandal. Does it mean he murdered Jawad, too? What if someone stole his glasses or he lost them? He goes birding around there, right? What if he actually has been sick the last two days. Maybe this is, I dunno… too much for us?”

“So you’re saying I should drop it? That Richard is right, that I’m obsessed? Jawad is dead! Someone has to do something!” I could feel the anger in my voice, but I was having a hard time controlling it.

“I know. I get it,” Asma said in a soft tone. “I’m on your side. But I’m saying you need to be careful. And—” Her phone buzzed. “Hang on. I set up notifications for if we get any bites on our Reddit post.”

I scooched over to peer at her phone as she scrolled through the post, which we’d uploaded last night. A lot of the responses were condolences. Some had good questions. “I can’t believe we didn’t check South Side neighbor pages on Facebook. Duh,” I said.

“Of course we didn’t. We’re not middle-aged parents.”

I gave Asma a small smile. We weren’t exactly Redditors, either. And if we wanted to bust Nate, we had to think outside the box, as Ms. Cary loved to say when we were brainstorming story ideas. “Oh my God. Look at that.” I pointed to the screen, a message from someone with the handle RyngofFyre with info about a car rental. My palms got sweaty, and I wiped them against my jeans. Asma clicked through to the DMs.

I can’t say how I know this, but about two weeks ago, a black sedan, a Chevy 200, was rented at Anderson Car Rental to a guy named Fred Nietzsche. You said your boy was obsessed with Nietzsche. Seems kinda sus to me. Maybe check it out. Investigate every angle. Like, today. Don’t dismiss any coincidences in a crime. Right? Good luck. Hope you nail that asshole.

Asma and I looked at each other. My jaw dropped. My heart thudded in my ears. This had to be it. “I’m going after school,” I whispered. My mouth was dry as sawdust as I Googled the location and hours of the agency.

“I can’t go. I have a final fitting for the gagra choli I’m wearing to my cousin’s wedding reception. It’s a whole thing—we’re all going to Devon for the last big pre-wedding shopping trip and dinner; it’s a caravan of cousins and aunties. There’s no way I can miss it. Wait ’til tomorrow. I’ll drive. Safety in numbers.”

As Asma spoke, I could feel my agitation growing. If there were any answers out there, I had to find them. Now. By tomorrow someone else could be hurt. I’d already lost a day by staying home yesterday. Asma’s extended family was super tight, and I got how important the wedding planning was. And I would never say this out loud to her, but I couldn’t see how she didn’t want to find answers about Jawad’s murder right away, too. I couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t.

“This place closes at 6:00 p.m. today,” I said. “I can go myself. It’s an easy bus ride there and back. I’ll be around people the whole time. No worries.” I tried to sound confident, but I was nervous. I had no idea what I was going to ask or find out. I had no idea who RyngofFyre was or whether any of this was even real. Or safe. But I also knew I couldn’t wait to check it out. Jawad was with me all the time now. Even when it wasn’t his voice. It was him. His cold face. Rigid, bent fingers. The damp shoes. It was like he picked me to be his guardian. I couldn’t let him down.

Asma sighed. “I know how important this is to you. But I wish you’d wait until tomorrow. Or take someone else with you.”

“No! I told you what the police said. You’re not even supposed to know. Telling Usman or Rachel at this point could get them in trouble, too. It’s better for everyone this way. I’ll be fine. Seriously. Look.” I showed Asma my phone. “The bus stop is directly in front of the car rental. I’ll be there and back before dark.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Asma said, but the look on her face was pure worry.

Even Asma didn’t seem to understand how desperately I needed answers. It was my parents’ store that was vandalized. I was the one the hacker targeted. And I was the one who’d found Jawad’s body. He was counting on me. I nodded, trying to reassure her. I was one-hundred-percent unsure. But I still had to find the truth.