Darius the Great Deserves Better
Page 26
Were all the guys going to ditch me now?
I didn’t want to go back to being lonely Darius, whose only real friend was half a world away.
I wiped my eyes.
Coach Bentley leaned across the aisle. “You okay, Darius?”
“Yeah.” I sniffed. “Just gonna miss this is all.”
“Me too.” She smiled. “You did great this season. And the next one will be here before you know it.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
* * *
I cleaned out my locker, which was mostly just spare kit, extra deodorant, and a couple crumpled papers I had forgotten about at various points during the season.
(I didn’t really get the point and purpose of paperwork.)
The guys were all bro-hugging each other, the kind where you shake hands, do a one-armed hug with your hands smooshed between you, and slap the other guy’s back. For some, like Gabe and Jaden and Christian, it was their last season at Chapel Hill. I saw Gabe wipe his eyes a couple times, and Jaden actually gave me a regular hug instead of a bro-hug.
“It’s been awesome, man,” he said. “I’m glad we got to be friends.”
“Me too. I’m sad it’s over.”
“Over?” Jaden cocked his head to the side. “You’re stuck with me now. Fractional Bros for life.”
“Does that make us cousins or step-bros?”
“Don’t make me do math after a game.” He jostled my shoulder. “Seriously, though. Let’s hang out. I’ll teach you to actually play Mario Kart instead of driving off the side.”
I almost laughed at that.
Almost.
“I’d like that.”
On our way out, Coach Bentley had us line up, and she shook our hands and congratulated us on a season well played.
We still had our big post season party to look forward to, when we’d all dress up, and Coach would give out awards for Most Valuable Player and Most Improved and announce next year’s captain.
Supposedly, the food was super good, because Coach Bentley was friends with a chef at one of the fancy restaurants downtown, one that was inside a hotel but not run by the hotel, which I guess makes a difference in the world of fancy downtown restaurants.
“Proud of you, Darius,” she said as she shook my hand. “Chin up.”
I blinked away my tears and nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”
* * *
The sun was setting over the Student Lot, painting Chapel Hill’s beige walls in fiery pink. The clouds were rolling in, the air chill with the promise of rain.
Cyprian Cusumano was sitting on the curb, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand.
I flopped onto the ground next to him, tucked my cold hands into the pockets of my hoodie, and stared up at the clouds. I didn’t think I could look Chip in the eye.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Chip laid back and sprawled next to me.
“I think I did.” His voice was low and soft. “That’s the guy I want to be. And I don’t think I have been, very much, before.”
I angled my head a little closer to him. “How come?”
“I don’t know.” He drummed his legs with his fingers. “I’ve known Trent for as long as I can remember. When my parents were going through their divorce, he was the one who let me sleep over at his house so I didn’t have to hear all the fighting. And after Evie was born, he was the one who taught me how to take care of her. To change diapers and stuff. You should see him with her. He’s like a completely different guy.”
Chip thumped the ground with his fist. “He was the only guy who ever saw me cry. Who let me feel like it was okay to cry in front of someone. Until you.”
Trent was Chip’s Sohrab.
“So now what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose him. But you were right. He’s kind of an a-hole. And I want him to be better than that.” Chip blew out a breath. “I want me to be better than that.”
“I think maybe you already are.”
Chip turned to face me. His eyes were misty.
“I really am sorry. I messed everything up.”
“Not everything,” I said.
And then I said, “I really missed being your friend.”
“Me too.” Chip chewed on his lower lip.
He had really nice lips.
“Does that mean we can try again?”
“Yeah.”
“What about . . . what I said?”
My heart thudded. “What do you mean?”
“About . . . you. Me.” Chip’s ears turned pink. “I still think you’re beautiful.”
It was my turn to chew on my lip. Chip’s eyes darted down to my mouth.
I sighed.
“Landon and I broke up. I guess you probably heard.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
“Don’t be. It really wasn’t. But I need some time. You know?”
“Yeah. I get that.”
I finally looked into Chip’s eyes. They were warm and hopeful.
“But I think you’re beautiful too.”
Chip’s grin lit up like a warp core.
“And smart. And brave.”
“I’m not really.”
“I think you are.” I nodded to myself. “But I need you to be my friend first. Okay?”
“Okay.”
* * *
“Hi, Darioush-jan!” Mamou said when I called. “I miss you!”
“I miss you too.”
“How are you doing?”
“Okay. A little sad. We lost our soccer game. It was playoffs.”
“I’m sorry. I know you played your hardest.”
“I quit my job too.”
“Your mom told me.”
As if summoned, Mom appeared in my doorway. She hung back, though.
“Um,” I said, and glanced to Mom and back at my screen. “I talked to Sohrab.”
“I’m so happy!” Mamou’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, maman.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Maybe he can come to Portland someday.”
“That would be amazing.” I cleared my throat. “How are you doing?”
Mamou sighed. “You know. Every day is different. Sometimes sad. Sometimes mad. Sometimes I forget.”
“Me too.”
“Sometimes I think of something and turn to tell him. But he’s not there.”
There were things I wanted to tell Babou too. It was too late for that.
But I knew I had to tell Mamou.
My sternum tightened.
“Mamou? Can I tell you something?”
“Of course, Darioush-jan.”
“I . . . I’m gay.”
“Eh? Gay?”
Mom stepped closer and rested her hand on my head. She played with my hair and said something in Farsi. I chewed on my lips and waited for the fallout.
“Oh!” Mamou said. “Gay. I’m glad you told me, maman. Because I love all of you.”
My chest relaxed.
I wanted to run around the room and laugh.
“Do you have a boyfriend, maman?”
“No,” I said. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry. You are the sweetest boy in the world. And so handsome. You will find someone.”
We talked for a little while longer, but eventually our conversation petered out and we started to say goodbye.
“Okay, talk soon, Darioush. Give my love to your dad and Laleh.”
“I will.”
“I love you, maman. Shirin-jan, khodahafes.”
“Khodahafes, maman.” Mom said something else, something I didn’t recognize.
When Mamou’s picture blinked out, Mom said, “That was ve
ry brave. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
After dinner we all crowded onto the couch: me and Dad in the middle, Mom to Dad’s right and Laleh to my left, with her feet curled up underneath her.
It felt like forever since we’d been a family like this.
While Deep Space Nine’s opening credits played, Mom cracked some tokhmeh between her teeth.
Laleh used the two minutes of music to open her book and read a few paragraphs.
Dad squeezed my shoulder and said, “I missed this.”
“Me too.”
I studied my dad. He had shaved—finally—and gotten a haircut too.
He was sadder than I remembered, but he was solid, and he was home.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Doing better,” he said. “Really.”
He brought my head down to kiss it.
“How about you?”
I took a deep breath and studied my family in the reflection from the television.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Why come back to Darius?
That’s the question I kept asking myself. But the answer ended up being fairly simple: because he had more to say.
Growing up is hard. Talking honestly with people—no matter how much you care about them—is hard. Admitting you’ve made a mistake is hard. But at the end of the day, it’s our connection with others, our ability to open up our hearts, that binds us together as family, as partners, as friends, as community. And I thought that maybe Darius had something to teach me about that.
Whether it’s fear of coming out, or frustration at the walls a family member has put up around their past; whether it’s wonder at the way someone has changed, or frustration at another’s refusal to change; whether it’s a mental health crisis, or a simple desire for help; having these conversations can be difficult, but that’s how we grow. If you need help finding language and information around difficult questions or topics affecting you or people you care about, there are tools available:
National Alliance on Mental Illness: nami.org
Anxiety and Depression Association of America: adaa.org
Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance: dbsalliance.org
Crisis Text Line: crisistextline.org or text HOME to 741741
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: suicidepreventionlifeline.org or call 1-800-273-8255
The Trevor Project (LGBTQ Lifeline): thetrevorproject.org or call 1-866-488-7386
Trans Lifeline: translifeline.org or call 1-877-565-8860
Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network: glsen.org
StopBullying: stopbullying.gov
Teens Against Bullying: pacerteensagainstbullying.org
Love is Respect: loveisrespect.org, text “LOVEIS” to 22522, or call 1-866-331-9474
National Sexual Assault Hotline: rainn.org or call 800-656-4673
Planned Parenthood Chatline: plannedparenthood.org/teens
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Making a book seems like it should be a singular undertaking, but it never is. No idea is born in vacuum, and no book could be written without a support system.
My agent, Molly O’Neill, and the entire Root Literary team—Holly, Taylor, Melanie, and Alyssa—have been champions of me and my career. My film agent, Debbie Deuble-Hill, and the teams at APA and Universal have been amazing, and their faith has gratified me.
My editor, Dana Chidiac, has believed in me and in Darius’s story every step of the way, and this novel would not be what it is without her.
My publicist, Kaitlin Kneafsey, is a superhero and has helped get Darius’s story into the world in so many ways I’ll never even know.
The entire team at Dial Books for Young Readers has been a phenomenal literary home: publisher Lauri Hornik, editorial director Nancy Mercado, managing editor Tabitha Dulla, copyeditor Regina Castillo, designers Mina Chung and Cerise Steel. Samira Iravani has once again designed a stellar cover with illustration by Adams Carvalho and art direction by Theresa Evangelista.
And, at Penguin Young Readers Group: Jen Loja, president and publisher; Jocelyn Schmidt, executive VP and associate publisher; Shanta Newlin and Elyse Marshall, publicity department heads, and their team; Bri Lockhart, Lyana Salcedo, Emily Romero, Christina Colangelo, and the marketing team; the school and library marketing team: Carmela Iaria, Venessa Carson, Summer Ogata, Trevor Ingerson, and Rachel Wease; the Moira Rose to my David, Felicity Vallence, and the social media team, especially James Akinaka; the sales team, led by Debra Polansky; and the production team.
The team at Listening Library has once again produced a stunning audiobook, and I’m grateful for the talents of Aaron Blank, Emily Parliman, and Rebecca Waugh. Michael Levi Harris, I’m so grateful to have you narrating once again.
I’m sure my family was a little nervous (and maybe alarmed) to know I was writing more books about a family like ours, but if they were, they never showed it. Thanks to my mom, dad, and Afsoneh, and to my entire extended family for all the love.
My friends have put up with me so gracefully. Hanging out with an author can be hazardous (you never know when you’re going to end up in a book) but they’ve always been cool about it.
My writing community: where would I be without you? There are too many people to name them all, but I’d be remiss without shouting out Lana Wood Johnson, Nae Kurth, Ronni Davis, Lucie Witt, Mark Thurber, and Julian Winters for always answering my random emails, texts, and DMs. Thank you to my twin Natalie C. Parker and my twin-in-law Tessa Gratton, for welcoming me into the Kansas writing community even though I live in Missouri, and for many excellent hours of Star Trek watching.
Thank you to every blogger, booktuber, bookstagrammer, podcaster, and tweeter who has read and shared Darius. Thank you to all the booksellers, librarians, and teachers who have embraced his story.
And most importantly, thank you to you, the readers. In a very real way, this book would not exist without you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adib Khorram lives in Kansas City, Missouri. When he isn't writing, you can probably find him trying to get his hundred-yard freestyle under a minute, learning to do a Lutz jump, or steeping a cup of oolong. His debut novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay, earned several awards, including the William C. Morris Debut Award, the Asian/Pacific American Award for Young Adult Literature, and a Boston Globe-Horn Book Honor.
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