Sir’s hand shot straight up. He was wearing his “dress” trench coat today and had even put gel in his hair. I didn’t think he knew what he was doing, though, as his hair was shoulder-length and he only applied gel to the top. It looked like someone had smashed an egg on his head and let it dry there.
“Excellent!” Mr. Clarke loaded Sir’s video onto the projector, and I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking, Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh.
The video blinked on. Sir stood in the middle of at least twenty cats, all of them clawing at his jeans as he held a can of cat food toward the screen. It was complete pandemonium.
“I’m here at the local animal shelter to see if cats love Compañera Cat Food. These are real cats. Accept no imitations!”
One cat started climbing up Sir’s leg. “Ouch, your claws!”
Soon, more cats began crawling all over him as he screamed in pain. You could barely see Sir, he was so covered with felines. It looked like all the cats were part of a single organism now, and Sir was buried somewhere inside.
“See how much they love it?” he screamed frantically through the mountain of fur. “COMPAÑERA CAT FOOOOOOD!” Just then, a cat must have knocked over the tripod, because the camera fell over and cut to black.
Emerson caught my eye and slowly shook his head, then mimed a sad explosion going off between his fingers. I nodded. This was painful to watch.
Only Mr. Clarke clapped.
“Thank you, Sir. That was . . . disturbing.”
“This commercial’s an homage to classic cinema.”
Mr. Clarke nodded kindly. “I can see that.” Sir smirked, pleased with himself.
“Parvin?” Mr. Clarke gestured toward me because I was dumb enough to make eye contact with him. “Want to go next?”
I nodded and handed Mr. Clarke my USB stick. The music started up, and my voice filled the classroom.
“Need help planning your next meal? Look no further than Tongola Tuna.” On screen, my little tuna fish swam in the sea as a paper boat bobbed above it on the waves.
“Low in fat, high in protein, it’s perfect for snacks, salads, or sandwiches.” From there we cut to a paper fisherman eating tuna salad in his kitchen, smiling at the camera. The little cutouts kind of looked like an episode of South Park, only done by an actual fourteen-year-old.
“Tongola Tuna—the tastier tuna!” My voiceover ended, and I winced. I’d never sounded so psyched about anything in my life than that can of tuna.
A couple kids in class clapped.
“Great job, Parvin! The stop-motion was effective, as were the selling points. Brava!” Mr. Clarke smiled. For once, I smiled back at him.
Mr. Clarke turned to another student just as Sir passed me a note. What next? A dirty game of tic-tac-toe? I unfolded it.
Will you go to Homecoming with me? —SIR. Jesus Louisus . . . Et tu, Sir? Et tu?
I took a second to think about how I would respond, knowing he was staring at me as I wrote down each word.
Sorry, I’m already going with someone. I passed Sir the note back.
He nodded, then wrote a follow-up message. Who?
I smiled at him and mouthed, It’s a secret.
■ ■ ■ LUNCH 12:00 P.M.
Mrs. Song packed my favorite meal for lunch today. Ruth had probably told her what happened, because she’d sent Ruth to school with kimchi jjigae, or kimchi stew, to give me. It was spicy and sour and just what I needed.
“Thanks, Ruth.” She passed me a spoon. Naomi was eating lunch in the courtyard with us today and gave me a sad smile.
“Sorry to hear about what happened,” she said. She wore a VISIT MARS shirt and those round glasses that made her look like a cool college student.
“Thanks.”
Fabián sauntered up, sporting a jacket with enamel pins and tight black jeans. He kissed my cheek.
“Sorry about your aunt, P,” he said, sitting next to me.
“At least she wasn’t detained too long, or shipped off somewhere she didn’t know,” I whispered back.
Fabián’s brown eyes flickered for a second. “That’s right. Your aunt’s safe.” He wrapped an arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. We were going to get through this. The rest of freshman year was going to be a cakewalk compared to all the challenges we’d already been through.
Ruth took a bite of stew. “So, what is everyone wearing to Homecoming this weekend?”
“Wait, is your mom letting you go?” Fabián asked.
“She says I can’t have a date, but I’m still allowed to go.”
“So, we’re going to meet each other there,” Naomi said, turning to Ruth. I could tell she was squeezing Ruth’s hand under the table.
“Ugh, get a room.” Fabián sighed.
“You two are seriously too cute,” I said. It felt good to see Ruth back to her hopeful self.
“What about you, Parvin? Do you have a dress?” Ruth asked.
I sipped some more kimchi jjigae, chewing a piece of spicy cabbage. “Not yet.” Ameh Sara was supposed to help me shop for a dress in person, but I went online and pulled a bunch of choices to send to her instead. “It’s not like I have to match my outfit with my date’s.” Though that technically wasn’t true. I was rolling up to Homecoming with someone, and I roughly knew what kind of color I should get to match their outfit. They just didn’t know it yet.
Fabián perked up. “So, you’re not going with Matty?” he asked.
I swiveled back to him. “How did you know he asked me?”
Fabián shrugged. “He asked me if everything was okay at rehearsal when you missed school yesterday. I told him what happened, and he said he’d asked you.”
Ruth squealed. “Wait, Operation Matty Fumero was a success?!”
I nodded. It didn’t feel like that much of an accomplishment at this point.
“Hold up—you had a plan for Matty to ask you to Homecoming—and he asked you?” Naomi said, her light brown eyes shocked.
“It wasn’t that hard,” I said miserably into my soup.
Naomi raised her eyebrows. “That is some serious self-actualization! Tell me all
