I have to find something, anything that will help me prove who I am when they finally accuse me of being a terrorist. Because they definitely will. I’ve seen this happen too many times, on TV, on the news, and I’ve even heard stories from people at the temple. It doesn’t matter that I’m sixteen, that I grew up here in New Jersey, that I haven’t touched Indian soil in years. It doesn’t matter that I’m a straight A student, that I’m on the Presidential Honor Roll, that my future will be as lawyer or a TV correspondent.
Well, I’ll definitely be news now.
This is it. That story you always see. Came here when I was two. A total Jersey girl. All-American.
Except that I was born in a region marked for “further vetting” or “possible terrorist ties.” In a nation I’ve barely known and may never get to see again. Unless they deport me tomorrow.
That’s when the shaking starts. Slow at first, a slight tremor in my hands. But soon I can’t control it. Then the tears come in a flood, the sobs wracking me from head to toe. And I can’t make it stop, no matter what. My mind is spiraling out of control, the stories that Nani told me about bombs on Dal Lake and the army taking over schools and homes scrambling any rational thought. I try deep breaths, and counting, and staring at a random spot on the wall. But I can’t stop thinking about how I’ll never see my mom or Nani again, about how maybe they won’t even know where to look for me. I have to pull myself together. I can’t let Meanie and the blonde find me here, lying on the cold linoleum in a dim room, sobbing.
I sit up and try the deep breaths again. I will myself to stand and cross the room, one step at a time, making my way back to the table. I’m nearly there when the door opens, creaking ominously, the dim light casting Meanie’s shadow across the floor. I shudder, and I hear him laugh.
“Just a misunderstanding, of course,” he says with another boom of laughter. And then I see the other shadow, small and slim, cast alongside his. Hollander. Thank god.
She pushes past the man and reaches me first, and I sort of collapse into her, even though I’ve never so much as high-fived her before.
“Are you okay?” she shouts, practically shaking me. “I was so worried. They wouldn’t tell me where you were, or why they took you. They wouldn’t let me talk to Agent Lombardi here until I threatened to call the governor’s office. Lombardi is from ICE. But your passport clearly states you are a US citizen.” She’s stroking my back now, as my tears soak her T-shirt. I’ve never been more happy to see another human in my life. “Your mom was frantic.” That just makes me sob harder. My mom. I need to talk to my mom. “Thank god you’re okay.”
The blonde security guard slinks past us, and the shaking starts again. I can’t believe it. Are they going to keep me?
Then I see it. My phone and passport, safe and sound in Hollander’s hands. She follows my gaze and nods. “I made them give them back to me. You have every right to be here. They kept saying it was fake.”
“Look, Ms. Hollander, we said we were sorry,” Meanie says. “There have been a lot of fakes lately, and ICE has put a high alert on certain countries and regions, especially areas like Kashmir. It’s just protocol and we have to follow orders.”
“Your protocol does not apply to a sixteen-year-old American citizen traveling alone.”
“Yes, it does.” Meanie’s voice is firm, and he has a fake smile plastered to his face, which is now a livid red. “I don’t make the rules. But I do follow them. And so should you, if you don’t want to escalate this further.”
The threat in his voice shuts Hollander right up, and I can’t bring myself to open my mouth either. I just want to get out of here.
“Well, if everything is in order now, I think we should get moving,” Hollander finally says. She takes my arm as the blonde brings my bag, which she’s apparently repacked. “Check your stuff now, make sure you’ve got everything. Everyone’s waiting.”
“My mom—”
“Let’s call her on the way to the gate,” Hollander says. But I can’t make myself move. What if they stop us again? What if they don’t let me come back? I can see it now, all those years ahead of me, living in fear.
“Is there a problem, miss?” It’s the blonde, her mouth still the same, disinterested, flat line. She literally could not care if I live or die.
I can’t let her have the satisfaction.
“Yes,” I say, using my best, take-no-prisoners debate voice. “We’ve got to hurry. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Hollander grabs my bag, and we race through the crowd toward the gate. “They’re holding the flight,” she says. “We have to be quick.”
I hold fast to my boarding pass, passport and phone, unwilling to let them out of my sight again.
The man at the gate scans and lets us through immediately, his face concerned and apologetic.
And then we’re on the plane, luggage stashed. Hollander takes a seat next to Andy, and nods toward the next row. “That’s yours,” she says. “Get settled.” She pulls out her phone.
The empty seat is next to Rajan’s. He stands, smiles,
