by Tahereh Mafi
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Okay.” I tried to smile, even though he couldn’t see me. “Bye.”
After we hung up, I collapsed onto my bed and closed my eyes. This dizziness was in my marrow, in my mind.
I was being stupid.
I knew better, and I’d texted him anyway, and now I was confusing this poor kid who didn’t have a clue what he was wading into. This whole thing probably seemed simple to him: Ocean thought I was pretty and he’d told me so; I hadn’t told him to go to hell, so here we were. He was trying, maybe, to ask me out? Asking out a girl he thought was pretty probably seemed like an obvious move to him, but that just wasn’t something I wanted to happen. That was drama I didn’t want, had no interest in.
Wow, I was stupid.
I’d let my guard down. I did that thing—the thing where I allowed cute boys to get in my head and mess with my common sense—and I’d let my conversation with Jacobi distract me from the bigger picture here.
Nothing had changed.
I’d made a mistake by opening myself up like this. This was a mistake. I had to stop talking to Ocean. I had to dial this back.
Switch gears.
And fast.
14
Fourteen
I bailed on Mr. Jordan’s class four days in a row.
I’d gone to my academic counselor and told her I wanted to withdraw from my Global Perspectives class and she asked why and I said I didn’t like the class, that I didn’t like Mr. Jordan’s teaching methods, and she said it was too late to drop the class, that I’d have a W on my transcript and that colleges didn’t like that, and I shrugged and she frowned and we both stared at each other for a minute. Finally she said she’d have to notify Mr. Jordan that I’d be withdrawing from the class. She said he’d have to approve the action, was I aware of this, and I said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
And I just stopped going to Mr. Jordan’s class. This worked well enough in the beginning, but on the fourth day—it was now Thursday—he found me at my locker.
He said, “Hey. I haven’t seen you in class in a couple of days.”
I glanced at him. Slammed my locker shut; spun the combination. “That’s because I’m not taking your class anymore.”
“I heard.”
“Okay.” I started walking.
He kept up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“You’re talking to me now.”
“Shirin,” he said, “I’m really sorry. I realize I did something wrong, and I’d really like to discuss it with you.”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Turned to face him. I was feeling brave, apparently. “What would you like to discuss?”
“Well, obviously I’ve upset you—”
“Obviously you’ve upset me, yes.” I looked at him. “Why would you pull such a dick move, Mr. Jordan? You knew Travis was going to say something awful about me, and you wanted him to.”
Students were rushing around us, some of them slowing down to stare as they went. Mr. Jordan looked flustered.
“That’s not true,” he said, his neck going red. “I didn’t want him to say anything awful about you. I just wanted us to be able to talk about stereotypes and how harmful they are. How you are more than what he might have assumed about you.”
“Whatever,” I said. “That’s maybe sixty percent true. The other forty percent is that you sacrificed my comfort just to make yourself seem progressive. You put me in that shitty situation because you thought it would be shocking and exciting.”
“Can we please talk about this somewhere else?” he said, pleading with his eyes. “Maybe in my classroom?”
I sighed heavily. “Fine.”
Honestly, I didn’t know why he cared.
I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal to drop his class, but then, I didn’t know anything about being a teacher. Maybe my complaint got Mr. Jordan in trouble. I had no idea.
But he just wasn’t giving this up.
“I’m sorry,” he said for the fifth time. “I really am. I never meant to upset you like this. I really didn’t think it would hurt you.”
“Then you didn’t think,” I said. My voice was shaking a little; some of my bravado had worn off. Here, separated by his desk, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was talking to a teacher, and old, deeply ingrained habits were reminding me that I was just a sixteen-year-old kid very much at the mercy of these random, underpaid adults. “It’s not much of a leap,” I said to him, speaking more calmly now, “to imagine something like that being hurtful. And anyway, this isn’t even about you hurting my feelings.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” I said. “It’s about the fact that you think you’re being helpful. But if you’d stopped to consider for even five seconds what my life was actually like you’d have realized you weren’t doing me a favor. I don’t need to hear any more people say stupid shit to my face, okay? I don’t. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. You don’t get to make an example out of me,” I said. “Not like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. Looked away.
“What can I do to get you to come back to class?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not looking to strike a deal.”
“But we need your voice in the classroom,” he said. “What you just said to me here, right now—I want to hear you say that in class. You’re allowed to tell me when I’m messing up, too, okay? But if you walk away the second it gets hard, how will any of us ever learn? Who will be there to guide us?”
“Maybe you can look it up. Visit a library.”
He laughed. Sighed. Sat back in his chair. “I get it,” he said, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I do. It’s not your job to educate the ignorant.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not. I’m tired as hell, Mr. Jordan. I’ve been trying to educate people for years and it’s exhausting. I’m tired of being patient with bigots. I’m tired of trying to explain why I don’t deserve to be treated like a piece of shit all the time. I’m tired of begging everyone to understand that people of color aren’t all the same, that we don’t all believe the same things or feel the same things or experience the world the same way.” I shook my head, hard. “I’m just—I’m sick and tired of trying to explain to the world why racism is bad, okay? Why is that my job?”
“It’s not.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s not.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
He leaned forward. “Come back to class,” he said. “Please. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Jordan was wearing me down.
I’d never talked to a teacher like this before, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised I was getting away with it. He also seemed—I don’t know? He actually seemed genuine. It made me want to give him another chance.
Still, I said, “Listen, I appreciate your apology, but I don’t know if you’d actually want me back in your class.”
He seemed surprised. “Why not?”
“Because,” I said, “if you pull another stunt like this I’m liable to tell you to go to hell in front of all your students.”
He seemed unfazed. “I can accept these terms.”
Finally, I said, “Fine.”
Mr. Jordan smiled so big I thought it might break his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, whatever.” I stood up.
“It’s going to be a great semester,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mr. Jordan stood up, too. “By the way—I’m really excited to see you guys perform in the talent show. Congratulations.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“The school talent show,” he said. He looked confused. “The breakdancing club—?”
“What about it?”
“Your brother signed you guys up two weeks ago. He didn’t tell you? Your application was accepted
today. It’s a really big deal, actually—”
“Oh, shit,” I said, and groaned.
“Hey—it’ll be great—you guys will do great—”
“Yeah, I have to go,” I said. And I had one foot out the door when Mr. Jordan called my name.
I turned back to look at him.
His eyes were suddenly sad. “I really hope you won’t let this stuff get you down,” he said. “Life gets way better after high school, I swear.”
I wanted to say, Then why are you still here? But I decided to cut him some slack. Instead, I shot him a half smile and bolted.
15
Fifteen
I walked into practice and Navid clapped his hands together, grinned, and said, “Big news.”
“Oh yeah?” I dropped my bag on the ground. I wanted to kill him.
“School talent show,” he said, and smiled wider. “It’s a couple weeks after we get back from winter break, which means we’ve got about three months to prepare. And we’re going to start now.”
“Bullshit, Navid.”
His smile disappeared. “Hey,” he said, “I thought you were going to be nicer now. What happened to that new plan?”
I rolled my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you signed us up for the freaking school talent show?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well I mind, okay? I mind. I have no idea why you’d think I’d want to perform in front of the whole school. I hate this school.”
“Yes, but, to be fair,” he said, pointing at me, “you kind of hate everything.”
“You guys are okay with this?” I said, spinning around. Jacobi, Carlos, and Bijan had been pretending they couldn’t hear our conversation, and they looked up, suddenly. “All three of you want to perform in front of the school?”
Carlos shrugged.
Bijan chose that moment to drink deeply from his water bottle.
Jacobi just laughed at me. “I mean, I’m not mad at it,” he said. “It could be cool.”
Great. So I was overreacting. I was the only one here who thought this was a stupid idea. That was just great.
I sighed, said, “Whatever,” and sat down. I’d changed into my sneakers too quickly today and hadn’t yet tied my shoes.
“Hey, it’ll be fun,” Navid said to me. “I promise.”
“I can barely even hold a pose right now,” I said, and glared at him. “How will that be fun? I’m going to make an ass out of myself.”
“Let me worry about that, okay? You’re getting better every day. We’ve still got time.”
I grumbled something under my breath.
Bijan came over and sat next to me. I looked up at him out of the corner of my eye. “What?” I said.
“Nothing.” He was wearing big, square diamond studs, one in each ear. His eyebrows were perfect. His teeth were super white. I noticed this last bit because he was suddenly smiling at me.
“What?” I said again.
“What is your deal?” he said, and laughed. “Why are you sweatin’ this so much?”
I finished tying my shoelaces. “I’m not. It’s fine.”
“All right,” he said. “Get up.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m going to teach you to do a backflip.”
My eyes widened.
He waved a hand. “Up, please.”
“Why?” I said.
Bijan laughed. “Because it’s fun. You’re small, but you look strong. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”
It was hard.
In fact, I was pretty sure I nearly broke both my arms. And my back. But yeah, it turned out to be fun, too. Bijan had been, in a former life, a gymnast. His moves were so clean and strong I couldn’t help but be surprised he was willing to waste his time here, with our little club. Still, I was grateful. Bijan seemed to feel sorry for me in a way that I found only a little demeaning, so I didn’t mind his company. And it didn’t bother me too much that he spent the rest of the hour basically making fun of me.
After what felt like my hundredth failed attempt at a backflip, I finally fell down and didn’t get back up. I was breathing hard. My arms and legs were shaking. Navid was walking around the dance room on his hands, doing scissor kicks. Jacobi was practicing windmills, a classic power move he’d long ago perfected; he was trying now to turn his windmills into flares in the same routine. Carlos was watching him, hands on his hips, a helmet under his arm. Carlos could do head spins for days; he didn’t even need the helmet. I felt at once excited and inferior as I stared at them. I was, by far, the least talented of the group. Of course they felt more comfortable performing in public. They were already so good.
Me, on the other hand, I needed a lot of work.
“You’ll be fine,” Bijan said to me, and nudged my arm.
I looked up at him.
“And you’re not the only one who hates high school, you know? You didn’t invent that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I didn’t think I did.”
“Good.” He glanced at me. “Just checking.”
“So, hey,” I said to him, “if you’re only eighty percent gay, wouldn’t that make you bisexual?”
Bijan frowned. Faltered a moment. “Huh,” he said. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You don’t know?”
He tilted his head at me and said, “I’m still figuring it out.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Uh.” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”
“I’m guessing no?”
“Yeah, and let’s keep it that way, okay? I’m not interested in having that conversation right now.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe, like, on my deathbed.”
“Whatever you want,” I said, and shrugged. “Your eighty percent is safe with me.”
Bijan laughed. He just looked at me. “You don’t make any sense, you know that?”
“What? Why not?”
He shook his head. Stared out across the room. “You just don’t.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask him another question. Navid was shouting at me to grab my bag, because our time in the dance room was up.
“I’m hungry as hell,” he said, as he jogged over to us. “You guys want to get something to eat?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that there might be something strange about me, a sophomore, hanging out with a bunch of senior guys all the time. I never thought about it that way. Navid was my brother, and these were his friends. This was a familiar habitat for me. Navid had been infesting my personal space—at home, at school—with his many guy friends since forever, and, generally, I didn’t care for it. He and his friends were always eating my food. Messing with my stuff. They’d walk out of my bathroom and say, with zero self-awareness, that they’d cracked a window in there but if I had any interest in self-preservation I might want to use a different toilet for a while.
It was gross.
My brother’s friends always started out vaguely good-looking, but all it took was a single week of focused observation before these dudes made me want to barricade myself in my room.
So it wasn’t until we were leaving the dance studio that I was suddenly reminded that I was in high school, and that, for some reason, Navid and his friends were kind of cool. Cool enough that a cheerleader would be inspired to speak to me.
I’d begun noticing them, all the time now. The cheerleaders. They were always around, after school, and it took me an embarrassing length of time to realize that they were probably around all the time because they were getting together for practice every day. So when we ran into a group of girls as we were leaving, I was no longer surprised. What surprised me was when one of them waved me over.
At first I was confused. I thought she was having a conniption. And I was so certain that this girl was not waving at me that I ignored her for a full fifteen seconds before Navid finally nudged me and said, “Uh, I think that girl is trying to get your attention.”
It was crazy,
but she was.
“That’s nice,” I said. “Can we go?”
“You’re just going to ignore her?” Jacobi looked amazed, and not in a good way.
“There is a one hundred percent chance that she has no good reason to talk to me,” I said. “So, yes. I’m going to ignore her.”
Bijan shook his head at me. He almost—almost—smiled.
Navid shoved me forward. “You said you were going to be nice.”
“No I didn’t.”
But they all looked so disappointed in me that I finally gave in. I loathed myself the entire twenty-five-foot walk over to her, but I did it.
The moment I was close enough, she grabbed my arm.
I stiffened.
“Hey,” she said quickly. She wasn’t even looking at me; she was looking behind me. “Who’s that guy over there?”
Wow, there was little I hated more than this conversation.
“Uh, who are you?” I said.
“What?” She glanced at me. “Oh. I’m Bethany. Hey, how are you even friends with these guys?”
This was it. This, right here. This was why I didn’t talk to people. “Is this why you called me over here? Because you want me to hook you up with one of these dudes?”
“Yeah. That one.” She gestured with her head. “The one with the blue eyes.”
“Who? Carlos?” I frowned. “The guy with the curly black hair?”
She nodded. “His name is Carlos?”
I sighed.
“Carlos,” I shouted. “Will you come over here, please?”
He walked over, confused. But then I introduced him to Bethany, and he looked suddenly delighted.
“Have fun,” I said. “Bye.”
Bethany tried to thank me, but I waved her away. I’d never been so disappointed in my own gender. The quality of this female interaction had been worse than abysmal. And I was just about to leave when I was suddenly distracted by a familiar face.
It was Ocean, exiting the gym.
He had that large gym bag strapped across his chest and he looked like he’d taken a shower; his hair was wet and his cheeks were pink. I saw him for only a second before he crossed the hall into another room and disappeared.