Rad? Were we saying rad now?
“Totally rad.” I winced. I didn’t really care about theater, I realized. Matty must have cared about it a lot, though. If Fabián had been here, he could have provided conversation topics.
Matty took a bite of his burger. Just then, a woman at the table next to us leaned over. She smelled like baby powder and expensive perfume and wore head-to-toe beige. Mom called people like her “Old Money.”
“You two make a very cute couple,” the lady said, beaming.
“Thanks!” Matty grinned, surprised.
The woman went back to her husband, who seemed like even older money, and they both looked at us approvingly. Matty smiled at me and went back to his food.
Wasn’t this what I wanted? To be a part of a cute couple? To like, and be liked?
My dream of finally being good enough to go on a date had come true.
But it didn’t feel that great.
■ ■ ■ MY ROOM 10:00 P.M.
10:04 PM PARVIN: Hey, Amir, I hope you are feeling OK.
11:00 PM PARVIN: OK, well, see you in Farsi class tomorrow.
11:23 PM PARVIN: Good night.
11:31 PM PARVIN: I mean, shab bekheir.
I had a bunch of missed calls from Ruth, but when I called her back, she didn’t pick up since it was so late. She probably wanted to know how tonight went, but the truth was, I had no idea what to tell her. I stared at my bedroom ceiling, going over the evening.
Matty was a kind, polite date, but there wasn’t really any connection between us. Just trying to get through dinner had been excruciating. How could I handle another date, or even a whole dance? At least with Amir, time flew by every Wednesday as we went over our dry, difficult Farsi homework. With Matty, there just didn’t seem to be the same chemistry. And the more I thought about it, the more I was pretty sure I’d never had the same sparks with Wesley, either.
I couldn’t wait to see Ameh Sara tomorrow. As soon as she arrived, she could help me figure out everything.
She’d know what to do.
Sunday DULLES AIRPORT 8:00 A.M.
Normally I would protest having to wake up this early on a Sunday, but I hadn’t seen Ameh Sara in so long I didn’t mind heading to the airport at the crack of dawn.
I made a sign for her and everything, using some of Ruth’s glitter glue and fancy markers. It read WELCOME, AMEH SARA! in Farsi. Dad helped me spell it out, and I used my best Farsi handwriting.
Mom and Dad clutched the coffees they’d bought in the domestic baggage claim area, which doubled as the reception lounge for international flights. Both of them had been working like crazy lately, but today they actually looked well rested and happy to be away from their computers.
We glanced up at the TV with the arrival times. Ameh Sara’s connecting flight from London had just landed. She’d been traveling for a while at this point, taking a flight from Tehran to London, and then London to DC. She must have been exhausted.
Dad checked the time. “She has to grab her bags and go through Customs and Immigration first,” he said, pointing to the double doors we couldn’t pass through. “That usually takes a while.”
I put my poster down, ready to wait.
■ ■ ■ AIRPORT 9:30 A.M.
Ameh Sara should have been out by now. We asked an English family who had just arrived in the waiting area which flight they’d been on, and they’d been on the same one as her. They said they were the last people to get their bags from the customs carousel.
Dad was starting to look nervous. Airports always made him a little jumpy.
“It’s fine, Mahmoud,” Mom said, patting his arm. “She should be out any second.”
Dad frowned and shook his head. “No, something is wrong.”
I checked my phone. Ameh Sara had texted us the second her plane landed in London, using the airport Wi-Fi to respond. She hadn’t replied to any of our texts here, though.
“I’m gonna go ask,” Dad said, his face set. Mom put her hand on his arm again.
“I can do it, okay?” she said.
“Daphne, let me—” Dad started, but Mom’s blue eyes bored into his brown ones, and I could see them fight some kind of invisible battle.
Somehow, Mom won.
“Excuse me?” she asked a young security officer by the arrivals door, the one who made sure people didn’t reenter the airport gates. “My sister-in-law was supposed to arrive on a flight, but she hasn’t made it out yet. I wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
The officer waved us closer, her nails sparkling with pink polish. She had on flashy pink eyeshadow that matched, and looked like she should be working behind a makeup counter, not Dulles International Airport. “What’s her flight number?”
“UA 989, coming from London.”
The officer got out her walkie-talkie and asked about the flight. “What’s her name?”
“Sara Mohammadi,” Mom replied.
The officer said some more stuff into the walkie-talkie and grimaced. “She’s being detained.”
Detained? What did that mean? I thought she had everything she needed to enter the country.
Mom gasped. “Do you know why?”
The woman shook her head.
“Can you ask?” Mom tried.
“They’re not allowed to disclose the nature of detainment.” The officer frowned. “I’m really sorry.”
Dad stood very still, his whole body waiting for the officer to say something else, to offer any more information. Mom started getting upset.
“But this is unbelievable!” she shouted at the officer. “We have the right to know when we can see our sister.”
“Daphne, come on,” Dad said, trying to drag Mom away.
“But why is she being detained?” Mom asked again. “She has a visa!”
The officer remained silent.
“You’re causing a scene, Daph,” Dad muttered.
“I don’t care!” Mom shouted. “This is ridiculous.” I’d never seen Mom get so upset. Usually Dad was the one who got hotheaded. I could feel my stomach start to twist into knots. Why was this happening?
“Daphne,” Dad said, his voice low and urgent. “If you make a scene with me in
