THIS IS BS! Call me if you need to talk. My maman makes the best zereshk polo and said you have to come over and have some. —Hanna
The same thing happened to my uncle—I’m here for you if you want to vent. —Bobak
The notes ranged from pissed off to sympathetic, many of them offering dinner at their house or asking me if I needed anything.
I clutched the card to my chest. I forgot that I had a whole group of kids who, though we looked a little different, could understand what I was going through. Some of the sadness in my heart lifted.
I got up from my swing and embraced Amir, glad he’d stopped by despite not answering my texts. “Thank you,” I said, my throat choking up for the millionth time today. I smelled his rosewater scent, and it smelled like the best cologne in the world.
“I’m so sorry, Parvin,” he whispered. I sniffled again. Why wouldn’t the crying stop? “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, gripping me tighter. I turned my face toward him, and before I knew what was happening, we were kissing.
“I’m all gross.” I pulled away in protest, wiping my eyes. They just wouldn’t stay dry.
Amir’s brown eyes blazed gold. “I don’t care.”
He kissed me again. Amir liked me just the way I was, even though I was loud, talked a lot, and was “too much.” I wasn’t a full Iranian who drove a BMW and wore Armani and had a nose job, but that didn’t matter to him. That feeling didn’t give me butterflies exactly, but it made me feel confident. And that confidence made me feel like maybe my personality didn’t need a complete makeover.
I stood up on my tippy toes to kiss him back. By the time he pulled away, my tears had dried, replaced by my burning cheeks. Amir’s face was red, his eyes locked on to mine.
I smiled back at him, but he looked away.
“I still can’t tell if you like me,” he said finally.
My heart stopped. Where was this going?
He grabbed my hands and held them in his own. “I really like you, okay? Like, a lot. I want to take you on dates and be your boyfriend and brainstorm ideas for the new school journal with you. I want to make you laugh and I want to drink hot chocolate with you on the bleachers. And . . . the next time you swap out Principal Saulk’s spot and give him a panic attack in the parking lot, I want to help.”
I snorted. I’d almost forgotten about the parking spot prank. “Is that why you haven’t been answering my texts?”
Amir nodded, his eyes still glued to mine. “I know you’ve been through a lot today, but I needed to tell you how I feel.”
“Amir—” I started.
But he shook his head. “You’re really cool, Parvin. And judging from that kiss, I know you like me. But I want to be with someone who wants to be with me. And I can’t tell if you do.”
The last time I’d really thought about my feelings for Amir, they’d turned into dread and shame. But this time, it felt like something else. It was fear. I was afraid of going out with Amir Shirazi. He knew the Real Parvin, and that left me nothing to hide behind. I could barely handle Matty not laughing at my tomato soup skit. What if Amir eventually decided he couldn’t handle me, either?
“You don’t have to say anything, okay? Just think about it. Please.”
I nodded. It was a lot to process. For the first time today, I thought about Matty asking me to Homecoming and how I hadn’t texted him back. What was I going to do?
“Bye, Parvin,” Amir said, walking away.
“Khodafez,” I replied, still stunned.
Monday HOME 9:00 A.M.
Mom let me skip school today. She said I’ve been through enough trauma to warrant a day off. I woke up to the sound of Sara video chatting me.
“Ameh!” I shouted, jumping out of bed toward my desk.
Sara looked tired. She didn’t have her makeup on like she normally did, and she wasn’t wearing her veil. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, and she blinked back at me in a University of Tehran sweatshirt.
“Hi, ameh.” Sara gave me a sad smile.
“Are you okay? What happened?” I asked. I must have looked wild with my smeared eyeliner and bedhead, but I didn’t care. I hoped she was all right.
“I’m fine, azizam,” she said, waving me off. “I’m sorry I can’t be there with you right now, though.”
I squinted at the room she was calling me from. It looked like her whole family was in there behind her.
“Is that your mom?” I asked. Sara nodded.
“Yeah, she came over when I . . . when I came back.” Sara gulped. I wished I could go through the screen and be there for her in person.
“So . . . what happened?” I asked quietly.
Sara pushed her hair out of her face and sighed.
“I told your parents already, but I think it’s important for you to hear, too, azizam.” I nodded, pulling my arms around my legs as I braced myself for the full story.
“When I got off the plane, Immigration asked me a couple of questions, like why I was coming and what I planned to do here. I told them I was going to be visiting my family and sightseeing. They double-checked the visa and said it’s suspicious that it’s a five-year visa just to sightsee, but I wasn’t in charge of the visa length—that’s just what the US gave me. Then they said they’d have to search my personal belongings.”
Sara swallowed. I could tell she was holding back tears. Her face looked so pinched and sad.
“It’s okay, Ameh. We don’t have to talk about it,” I said.
“No.” Sara shook her head. “Mahmoud and I agree, you need to know what happened.”
I stayed quiet.
“After that, they escorted me to a detention center in the airport. They put me in a room and
