This was our first football game of the year, but the actual Homecoming one with floats and everything was before the dance. Dear god, I hoped band didn’t have to march or do anything then. Me and my cymbals were not ready. Plus I needed that whole day for Ameh Sara to help me with my makeup and outfit in person. I couldn’t wait to do a makeover that didn’t involve a computer screen when she came this weekend.
Our football team did something again, and the band started up another song. Ms. Kaiser gave me a death glare, probably because I hadn’t figured out how to hit the cymbals in time to the beat. She should have just given me a clarinet. To feel like I was doing something, I crashed the cymbals . . . right as the song ended.
Everyone was looking at me now. I hit them a couple more times and shouted, “GO TEAM!” to cover up my mistake.
Amanda smirked.
■ ■ ■ LATER
After the first quarter, everyone from band could go home if they wanted to. I tried to catch up to Ruth, but she just hopped into her mom’s car and left without so much as a backward glance.
I still hadn’t called Fabián. And I’d pushed back my tutoring with Amir to later this week since I had no idea what to say to him, either. I wished Ameh Sara was free to talk tonight. So many thoughts swirled around in my head that I needed help figuring them out.
“Do you need a ride home?”
I turned around, forgetting I was holding my cymbals. It was Wesley. They slammed together in my hands before I could stop them.
“Oh . . . um, no thanks. I should be okay.”
He sat down next to me on the bleachers. Why was he here? Where were his pale friends? He must have been here to see the game, even though he never mentioned liking football before. I guess that was one more thing Wesley had changed about himself that I didn’t understand.
Most of the other kids from band had left now, and we were the only ones in our row.
“So, how’s it going?”
“Why do you keep talking to me?” I suddenly asked. “Didn’t you dump me?”
Wesley’s blue eyes flickered for a second. His military-style haircut was already growing out. He’d have to get it cut again soon if he wanted to keep it up.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his face red. But I knew he understood.
“If I’m so ‘loud’ and ‘too much,’ then why do you keep talking to me?”
“Parvin, come on, that’s not what I meant—” Wesley sighed, making it sound like I was crazy for even suggesting that’s why he broke up with me.
“So why, then?” I stared him down, waiting for a response.
He squirmed in his slacks. “Listen, Parvin—it wasn’t you. It was just, I was starting a new school, you know? And my friends aren’t exactly, um, into this kind of stuff,” Wesley said, gesturing vaguely at me again. But I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
“Excuse me?”
“You know! Everyone at my church . . . they aren’t really big fans of Iran right now. And can you blame them? I mean, look what your government is doing with their sharia law and everything. And your last name—I mean, it’s pretty Muslim, right?”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face. Was this really happening? Was this what it had been about all along? The second Wesley was back from the beach, he had an image to project to his church friends. And I was clearly hurting his brand. After all, you couldn’t be a different person depending on who you were talking to. Unless . . . well . . . it was me trying to be a different person.
“So let me get this straight”—my voice cracked—“even if I had been this super quiet, mousey, boring girl, you still would have broken up with me?”
“Mousey? Huh?” Wesley asked, looking confused.
I could feel the anger boiling inside me, my voice getting stronger. “Yeah. You said I was too loud, remember? As in noisy? Conspicuous? Garish?”
“Well, whatever I said, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t think our families would get along, you know?”
I laughed. It was a manic, loud cackle that echoed off the bleachers. It felt so, so good to laugh like that. “So it had nothing to do with me! I could have changed myself completely and it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d still be Iranian, and my last name would still be Mohammadi!” Wesley looked terrified, and he glanced around to make sure I wasn’t causing a scene, but I didn’t care.
I wanted to scream. To tell him how the stuff he’d said about Iran was completely wrong. I wanted to dunk my head into a shower and let my curls finally be free because this straight hair made my scalp itch. But most important, I wanted the old Parvin back—the person I’d been before I changed myself to get a date and make Wesley jealous. I shook my head, sad that I hadn’t listened to my friends when they’d warned me how bad my plan was. “Wesley, you are a butt and a bad kisser. May all your ketchup be replaced with hot sauce, and may every passing seagull poop on your khakis! KHODAFEZ!” I howled. BUH-BYE!
“Wait, what—?” he asked, still confused.
And then I crashed the cymbals right in his face and walked away.
Wednesday MY ROOM 6:00 A.M.
I Skyped Ameh Sara as soon as I woke up, even though there was a chance she might still be at school. I was desperate to talk to her. Luckily, she picked up.
“Ameh!” I wailed.
Sara threw a chador over her hair and peered into her laptop screen. “What is it, ameh? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“I thought I had to change who I was to make Wesley jealous, but now Fabián and Ruth are mad,
