I looked over at Ruth, who was running through the main tune of today’s music like a demon, her fingers whipping over the keys too fast to see. And then I looked at my own fingers. My hands barely reached some of the keys at the bottom register.
Maybe I’d made a mistake. Maybe I should have just quit band.
But then I thought of Matty being a mere three rows behind me, in the same room. No, this was my mission and I had chosen to accept it. For better or worse.
Still, I was feeling low by the time band ended. Ruth threw an arm over my shoulder.
“Cheer up, Parvin,” she said. “It almost looked like sound was coming out of your instrument—”
“Hiiiii, ladiessss,” a super high-pitched voice interrupted.
We turned around. Yessenia López, first chair flute, was smiling at us. Why was she smiling? I was immediately suspicious. We were lowly freshmen—why was a cool sophomore girl talking to us? I wondered if the rules of popularity didn’t apply the same way they did in band, though. After all, who were we kidding? Everyone in band was a nerd.
“I’m having my quinceañera this Saturday,” she said, handing us invitations. I’d never received a physical invitation in my life. It was covered in sparkly glitter and had a white dress on the front.
“Oooh,” Ruth squealed. “This looks so cool.” She seriously had zero chill.
“Who else is invited?” I asked.
“Cool woodwinds only, for sure,” Yessenia replied, her face turning serious. “And I’m inviting cute boys, too.” She gave a pointed look to Matty, who was packing up his trumpet. Wait, did Yessenia have a crush on Matty, too? But this meant that Matty was going to the party!
“Speaking of—you’re friends with Fabián Castor, right?” Yessenia asked, fanning herself with an invite. “Maybe you could pass this on to him?”
I plucked Fabián’s invite out of her hands. “We’ll be there.” I smiled back, my voice going up an octave to match Yessenia’s. Oh, we’ll be there all right. I still needed to laugh at one of Matty’s jokes and possibly crash into him to initiate physical contact.
Yessenia sauntered away, stopping to talk to Matty.
“Ruth,” I whispered. “This is it! My big chance to get Matty to notice me.”
Ruth ignored me, marveling at the glittery envelope. “Do you think she got these custom? Or made them herself?”
She lovingly stroked the card stock. I knew she would definitely add it to her memory book. We’d never been invited to a quince before, and the prospect of a party with good stationery had caused her eyes to gloss over as she fantasized about the thank-you note she’d send afterward.
“Ruth,” I said, shaking her by the shoulders. “Focus! Matty is going to be at the party. This is huge! I’ll need to wear my cutest dress if I want to stand out from Yessenia. And ask my aunt Sara how to do my makeup. And start rehearsing our small talk, and—”
“Or maybe . . . maybe it’s from an online card store?” Ruth continued, still in her own world.
“It’s custom, Ruth. See? It says so on the back.” I showed her the name of the designer.
“I knew it,” Ruth shrieked. “Jeez, Yessenia sure is classy.” Ruth had just complimented my competition for a Homecoming date, but it was too late, the Ruth Crafting Train had already left the station, and there was nothing to do but watch it chug away.
“Here, Ruth.” I sighed, handing her my invite. “You can have mine, too.”
She squealed. “Thank you, P.”
I was the best friend in the world. All bow before me as I bestow ye with friendship.
“Do you think Fabián will let me have his invitation, too?” Ruth asked, serious again.
“Ruth.”
“What?”
“Stop talking.”
■ ■ ■ MY HOUSE 8:30 P.M.
Whyyy did my parents eat dinner so late? Why, I ask you?
Ruth’s mom made dinner at six sharp every single night. Fabián’s parents always gave him the login to food delivery apps so he could order whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. My parents worked within a hundred feet of our kitchen but couldn’t bother to set foot in it.
“Mom?” I called downstairs. “Dad?”
Nobody answered. They must be out.
I tried making a snack for myself but the only things in the fridge were kale, Dijon mustard, some kind of ancient grain, and yogurt soda. Thankfully, Mom and Dad walked in just then, both of them looking pretty sad.
“Who died?” I asked.
“Parvin, you’ve got bits of kale in your teeth,” Mom said.
“We went to an immigration lawyer,” Dad replied, sitting down heavily at the countertop bar.
“Why?”
“For Sara’s visa,” Mom replied.
“Oh.” I didn’t know they needed a lawyer so Sara could get a visa. “So, what’d the lawyer say?”
Dad shook his head and took a sip of water. He looked too bummed to speak. “Since Sara is only a half sister, it might be difficult getting her approved. Apparently only siblings and parents can get a visa from Iran right now because of the Muslim ban. They’re not sure about half siblings.”
I gave Dad a hug. He kissed the top of my head.
“Thanks, baba jaan,” he said.
We sat there around the kitchen island, wondering if we’d get to see Sara soon.
“Want me to order Vietnamese food?” I asked into the silence.
“That would be great, Parvin,” Mom said, putting her hand on Dad’s.
• • •
It felt weird not knowing when I was going to see my aunt again. We’d always talked about her coming to visit us in the States, but this year it finally felt like it was really going to happen. Now this visa thing was standing in the way.
I had planned on spending tonight brainstorming ways for Matty to fall in love with me (and not Yessenia) for the party on Saturday.
But I didn’t feel like it right now.
Wednesday BLEACHERS 4:00 P.M.
Amir was
