Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel

by Sara Farizan

“And please don’t be like everyone else and say you understand or it’ll all be okay, because it’s not going to bring him back,” she says.

  “I farted onstage during play auditions today,” I say. Diversion. It’s all I have to work with right now.

  Lisa smiles and shakes her head, so I run with it.

  “I didn’t plan on it happening, of course. I mean, I was totally in the groove, everyone stunned by my acting ability, and it just sputtered out of me.”

  “I didn’t know you were into theater.”

  “I’m not. I just thought anything would be better than soccer.” I say it like I believe it.

  “I hope you’re a better actress than soccer player.”

  She’s still wearing her smile, and it’s nice to see her be a little lighter.

  “Your friends downstairs are grinding up a storm,” I tell her, and then make a fake puking noise. “Why do you hang out with them anyway?”

  “I don’t have to think too much when they’re around. We shop or go to parties, but there’s no heavy stuff.”

  That makes sense. We sit there in silence again.

  “Do you want to be alone?” I ask.

  She doesn’t say anything for what feels like a whole minute. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  I stand up to leave when she drops a bombshell. “I can see why you don’t like Greg. I don’t think he’s your type.”

  Has she figured me out? “What’s my type then?” I ask, like I’m vaguely curious to know.

  She shrugs and picks up her book. “No clue. But hopefully someone who can help you pick out your outfits.” She can’t possibly know what that sounds like to me, can she?

  I leave the balcony only to be greeted by Mrs. Katz, and I turn red, as though she can tell what I’m thinking.

  “Leila. What are you doing up here?”

  “Sorry, I was just using the restroom in there. The downstairs one was occupied.”

  “Oh. Have you seen Lisa?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Mrs. Katz doesn’t even try to make chitchat; she just walks off in the wrong direction to look for her daughter.

  Back downstairs I see Ashley giving Greg a lap dance of sorts, and everyone at the party is surrounding them, laughing and clapping. Greg is looking side to side, as if trying to escape. Sparing him any further embarrassment, I walk over and yank him by his hand. Ashley loses her balance and stumbles to the floor, red-faced and scowling.

  “Bitch!” Clever.

  “Sorry, he’s my ride. I’d better get home,” I say with mock friendliness.

  “Why? Are you missing something on the SyFy channel?”

  I don’t reply but just walk away, pulling Greg behind me.

  We don’t speak on the ride home. I think both of us are embarrassed, for different reasons.

  “I was having a good time you know,” Greg huffs as he turns left.

  “You looked uncomfortable dancing with her. I thought I was helping,” I say. I didn’t even want to go to the party!

  “Well, at least she was interested in me,” Greg mutters. I thought we were over this! Does he think I’ll change my mind about liking him?

  “Greg, you should be with someone who is interested in you.” It’s just not me. We get to the house and Greg leans across me to open the door. “I’ll see you Monday,” he says. He’s not going to walk me to the house, I can see.

  I give him an unenthusiastic salute and walk to the door, remembering why I’ve never been a fan of parties.

  Ten

  Sunday at lunch, Dad continues to compliment Nahal on her day at the hospital, especially how attentive she was during the surgery when she observed him in the operating room. I keep pushing all the saffron-coated rice around the chicken and dried barberries to one side of my plate, saving the best for last.

  “Nahal was so observant!” Dad exclaims. “All the nurses and residents were so impressed!”

  Mom is smiling giddily, no doubt envisioning her daughter in scrubs, rushing around performing complicated, miraculous surgeries and still being home at night to see the perfect kids she’ll have with her perfect husband. They’ll all play board games together on weekends, set up low-key barbecues, maybe have golden retrievers named Rusty and Scout. Whenever I go over to visit my sister and her dashingly handsome and successful husband, they’ll ask me what I’m up to, and I’ll tell them I’m feeling pretty good since I moved into a bigger box off the side of the highway. Much better digs than that dump in the Store 24 parking lot. They’ll offer me something to eat and I will hoard things, stuffing bread and raw hot dogs in my pockets for later, frightening my nephews and nieces.

  The dogs will growl and try to scare me off, but they won’t know the things I’ve seen, won’t know what scrapes I’ve gotten into. That’s when I’ll realize I’m allergic to dogs. My eyes will water, turn fiery red, and my face will break out in hives, blinding me in a puffy, dirty, homeless, lesbionic state. Cowering in the grass of their beautiful backyard, my mother will cry out: “Oh, if only she were good at science like you, Nahal! If only she dated Greg back in high school! My poor, poor Leila!”

  “Leila,” Nahal says.

  I twitch as if I’ve been hit by lightning. “I don’t want to be homeless!” I shout.

  “Jeez. Leila, what’s your problem?” Nahal and our parents stare at me.

  “Nothing. Sorry.” I slump in my chair.

  “What are you talking about, Leila joon?” Dad begins to laugh and everyone else joins in, my spontaneous outburst diverting some attention from Nahal at least, though not for the right reasons.

  “I guess I was just rehearsing for the play. If I get a part,” I say.

  “What play? What about soccer?” Mom is clearly concerned that I will no longer be forced to work out, and will gain weight.

  “I quit soccer and auditioned for the school play instead. I’ll find out this week if I made it.”

  “So you might not even have a part?” says Nahal.

  Why are you even here, Nahal? I think. Don’t you have any friends?

  “No. I just said I don’t know yet,” I say. “I’ll find out this week.”

  “What will you do if you don’t get a part?” Mom chimes in, hoping there will be some other masochistic physical activity after school.

  “I guess I’ll help behind the scenes or something. I thought it might be fun to do something different. Why is everyone giving me a hard time?”

  “Leila, calm down. We just want to know what’s going on in your life,” says Nahal like she’s my mother. Nahal, shut up, and stop condescending to me just because you don’t have a social life.

  “The play is Twelfth Night,” I say. “It’s Shakespeare. So really, it’s educational—and you’re always saying how education is the most important thing,” Hopefully this will shut everybody up.

  “If it’s something you like, Leila joon, then we will support you no matter what. We will sit in the front row every night with flowers.” Mom smiles and puts more salad on my plate.

  “If she gets a part,” my premenstrual sister says. I can’t believe Nahal and I are even related. I’m surprised Dad hasn’t commented on the situation. He usually chimes in about how important school is and how he hopes other activities won’t get in the way of my already mediocre science grades. But he just frowns and chows down more saffron chicken and barberries. Dad and I don’t have much in common, but our few similarities are strong. You can read exactly how we’re feeling from our facial expressions and we can’t hide our emotions at all. Nahal, of course, is the first to mention it.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?” Why does she even call him “Daddy” anymore? She’s not four.

  “I just don’t see why Leila would seriously consider theater. Is this a career path for you?” Dad asks.

  “Uh . . . I don’t know, Dad. It’s just a school play,” I say.

  “I mean, do you want to be an actor? That’s not a real job,” he says with a chuckle.

 
“I wasn’t planning on becoming a professional soccer player but no one complained about that. And if I were considering acting as a job, so what? What’s wrong with that?” I could be a great character actor. Bag lady with crazy hair, Latina maid, terrorist, I could do it all.

  “Only drug addicts and gays are actors. You don’t want to hang out with those people, do you?” the good doctor asks.

  That knocks the wind out of me. I understand it’s a cultural thing, and my father is a traditional, conservative Iranian man, but I’ve never heard him explicitly say something like that. I don’t want to hang out with those people. Imagine if he knew I am one of those people.

  “Daddy, not all actors are gays or drug addicts! What about Clint Eastwood? You love his movies,” Nahal says.

  “That was a different time, and you want to see your sister in a cowboy outfit shooting people? Medicine is a consistent profession. No matter what the economy is like, there is always work. How else do you think I could afford to keep all you women in such comfort?”

  “You’re right, Daddy,” Nahal says with a smile, and sips from her glass of water.

  “I have homework to do. May I be excused?” I ask Mom, who nods. I walk upstairs and lie on my bed, playing a few mind-numbing rounds of Tetris on my laptop, trying to make the pieces fit. I’m always trying to make the pieces fit.

  Mom comes up later with a plate of cut-up watermelon and pears. I don’t pretend that I’m working. I’m just in front of the computer, looking at past high scores.

  “Eat this fruit. It’s good for your skin.” She puts the plate on the table and sits next to me on the bed. “I’m sure you will get a part. I think it’s good for you to try new things. It shows character, and maybe you’ll really learn more about yourself.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Mom takes a slice of pear from the plate and hands it over to me. I chew on it slowly, and I wish this heavy feeling in my stomach would go away.

  “Your father works hard for a living,” Mom says. “He just wants to make sure you have a good life and can support yourself.” I smile a little and take another bite of pear. “I wish you would talk to me more, Leila. These days I feel like you don’t share as much with me as you used to.”

  I’m afraid you and Dad are going to hate me.

  I’m afraid everyone will hate me.

  “If something’s bothering me, I’ll let you know, Mom,” I say.

  “I hope so.” She smiles sadly before walking away, and I start a new game.

  Eleven

  I’m an understudy in the play. Fair enough. I didn’t even finish my audition. But I have to learn all of the main characters’ lines and act as stage manager because I need something to do while the regular cast is rehearsing. Not only does Tess have the lead role of Viola/Cesario, but Saskia is playing Olivia, the character who moons over Cesario. In other words, Saskia has to act like she’s in love with Tess Carr in drag, while I wait in the wings. How could this happen? I should be comforted that I am not the only one who wasn’t cast in the play. Tomas Calvin, who poured his heart into his audition, is also an understudy/stage manager. Of course that means we have to work together. Great.

  Tomas devotes most of our first rehearsal to complaints. “I can’t believe I didn’t get a part. I mean you I can understand, because, well, that was just embarrassing. But me, I have so much talent!” I half listen to him as I look over the binder full of notes and stage-blocking diagrams. I can’t believe I signed on for this.

  “I would be a perfect Sebastian,” Tomas continues. “It doesn’t make sense that they cast Nick Fullerton instead of me! He breathes through his mouth and always scratches his balls like no one will notice. Not that I’ve noticed. Well, okay, maybe I have, but he brings that attention on himself.”

  Having to work with Tomas must be some sort of punishment for my recent negative energy. Now I have all the proof I need that my entire life is a sitcom designed by God for His personal enjoyment. Tomas and I sit in the midsection of the empty auditorium, watching Mr. Kessler get the actors organized in a circle for some stupid bonding activity. Saskia walks in at the last minute and glides over to the stage as though she isn’t late at all, smiling at everyone. As Mr. Kessler leads the group in activity, Tomas continues to whisper to me.

  “I heard the new girl’s parents are loaded.”

  “So what if they are?” I whisper back. “It’s none of our business.”

  It’s the first sentence I’ve said in about half an hour of Tomas’s whining, and of course it’s in defense of Saskia.

  Tomas is ready to move on anyway. “I was thinking there’s going to have to be one stage manager behind stage with props and things, and one in the tech booth. And since I am clearly more of a conversationalist, I think it’s only appropriate that I work with the actors and you work with the techies.”

  “No,” I say emphatically.

  “Why not? Chicken?”

  “Yes. I am. You guessed it.”

  “Leila, don’t be unreasonable. I mean, you know gay men and hard-core lesbians like the tech girls don’t get along.”

  Tomas and I glance behind us where the tech girls are looking over plans for constructing the sets. Simone is knitting absurdly long stockings while Taryn goes over diagrams and Christina bares her fake set of vampire fangs. Christina glances in our direction and bites harshly into her apple. Tomas and I turn back around quickly and in sync.

  “They’ll kill me, Leila! You’re a woman. They’ll take pity on you! Maybe even hit on you!”

  “Shut up, Tomas.”

  Saskia is making the other actors laugh. I wish I could hear what she’s saying.

  “I so want to be friends with her!” Tomas is giddy to a stereotypical T.

  “What happened to Ashley and all of them?”

  “They’re boring. This new girl is so . . . exotic and traveled. Plus she dresses so cosmopolitan chic.” Saskia does a dramatic twirl for her part in the bonding exercise and everyone else in the group has to do the same motion. “What do you think of her?” asks Tomas.

  What a loaded question. I think she’s gorgeous, enigmatic, and unlike anyone I will ever meet, unlike anyone I will inquire or dream about, unlike anyone worth mentioning in magazines and literature.

  “She’s nice,” I murmur.

  “Well, I’m going to be friends with her.” As irritating as I find Tomas, there is one thing that I really admire about him. He is sincerely sure about everything.

  After rehearsal Tomas and I are left to clean up the stage and put the props back in their places, that sort of thing. The role we share is about as important as a calculator during a history exam. Though I will admit this: It’s better than soccer.

  Tomas has wandered off and I’m onstage sweeping up when Saskia walks toward me. My breath quickens.

  “Hi! You look like a Middle Eastern Cinderella!”

  “Hi, Saskia.”

  “I’m sorry we won’t get to act together.”

  “It’s okay. I think I’m doing a good job at this sweeping thing, don’t you?” I smirk and she grins back. I could play this game for years.

  “It’s too bad really. You did have a tremendous audition.”

  “Please, I’m embarrassed enough as it is. There’s no reason for you to rub salt in the wound.”

  “Oh please, everybody farts. The stuff before that was absolutely brilliant.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course! I don’t say something unless I mean it.” That’s a philosophy I could stand to live by. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asks out of the blue.

  “I have a family thing I have to do.” I really don’t want to go to the Zamanfars’. But I suppose if I don’t, I’ll be home watching a Lifetime movie marathon and fantasizing about my first date with Saskia.

  “Are you free next weekend?” she asks casually. “I was wondering if you’d like to come by my place. My parents are hardly ever in town and I could use some company.” M
y stomach takes the express elevator from the basement to the penthouse.

  “I’d love to.”

  “So would I!” Tomas says as he comes bounding toward us.

  “Tomas gave me the idea for all of us to hang out!” Saskia exclaims. “I’m so looking forward to it.”

  I don’t believe it—he’s actually achieving his goal!

  “Well, I better go. See you!” Saskia waves and runs down the ramp, out of the auditorium.

  “We are going to have so much fun, Leila!” says Tomas. “I’m going to bring my cocktail book and everything.” He drops a boxful of props by my feet and smiles. “Would you mind putting these away tonight? I’m just going to go chat with Saskia before she leaves. Bye!”

  “I know. I can’t stand that guy, either,” Taryn says from behind me. I swear she just appeared. She pops out of places like a phantom. She picks up the box of props and puts it in the cabinet backstage while I pretend to sweep some more. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “New girl. You have a crush on her.”

  “I . . . I’m not like that.”

  Taryn’s cold look doesn’t change during all this, but she nods in understanding.

  “Guess I’m just seeing things. My bad.”

  She skulks away and leaves me alone in the auditorium.

  Twelve

  I keep fidgeting with my dress and wish I could just wear pants to this thing. Mom insisted I should wear a purple bebe she found on sale. She doesn’t play around when it’s Persian Party Time, and a Persian designer is a nice plus.

  Dad drives and Mom sits up front while Nahal and I sit in the back. “Zohreh says Farzaneh met her fiancé in dental school.” Mom is gushing as she relays what her friend Zohreh has told her about her future son-in law. “He comes from a good family in Los Angeles. His father is a professor at UC Riverside, and his mother is an electrical engineer.”

  “You know why people become dentists? They can’t get high enough marks to become real doctors—right, Nahal?” Dad says it with fresh conviction, like we haven’t been hearing this joke for years.