I sighed. Put down the paper. “Let me guess: you’re a serial killer.”
“I’m not! I swear, I just—I promised to do my mom a favor, and I didn’t know exactly how to approach you.”
I straightened. Noah suddenly had my full attention; I was one hundred percent freaked out. “What kind of favor?”
“Nothing weird.”
“Oh my God.”
He spoke in a rush. “Okay, so, my mom was dropping me off at school one day and she saw you on campus and she wanted me to talk to you.”
“Why?” I was suddenly wishing I’d never gone out for lunch. I was suddenly wishing I’d told Noah not to sit next to me.
He sighed. “Because we’re new here, and my parents have been looking for a mosque to go to, and my mom thought you’d—”
“Wait.” I held up a hand, cut him off. “You’re Muslim?”
He frowned. “Did I not mention that?”
I hit him with my newspaper. “What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry!” He jerked out of reach. “I’m sorry. My mom just saw a girl in hijab and sent me on a mission to talk to you like it was normal, and it’s not normal. It’s super awkward.”
I shot him a look. “More awkward than this?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” But his attempt at penitence was belied by his smile. “So? Can you help me out?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Cool.”
“But I swear to God,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, “if you turn out to be an undercover FBI agent I will be so pissed.”
“What?” His smile vanished. “FBI agent?”
My guilt was instantaneous.
Noah looked suddenly freaked out, so different from his lighthearted mien a moment ago, and I didn’t like that I’d put that look on his face. His family had just moved here; I didn’t want to scare him.
“Nothing.” I forced a smile. “I was just giving you a hard time.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” But the wariness in his eyes said he wasn’t sure if he believed me.
I tried to move past it.
“So, there are a couple of different mosques around here,” I explained, “but the one my family goes to has a predominantly Persian congregation. I can give you other—”
“Oh, no, that’s perfect.” Noah’s smile returned in full force. “My mom will love that. I’m half-Persian.”
I went suddenly stupid. I stared at him, slack-jawed. “What?”
He was laughing again. “Damn, the look on your face right now. I wish you could see yourself.”
“You’re half-Persian?”
“I speak a little Farsi, too.” He cleared his throat, made a big show. “Haleh shoma chetoreh?”
“That’s not terrible,” I said, trying not to laugh. “So—your mom is Persian?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s so cool. That makes me so happy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why happy?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitated. “I guess I thought most Persian people were racist.”
Noah froze, his eyes widening. Then he laughed so hard he doubled over. He laughed so hard it attracted notice, passersby pausing to stare at the source of the unbridled sound.
“Hey. Stop.” I pushed at his arm to get his attention. “Why are you laughing?”
He shook his head, wiped tears from his eyes. “I’m just—” He shrugged, shook his head again, his shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. “Just, damn, Shadi. Wow.”
“What?”
“I’m just glad you said it and not me.” He took a sharp breath, held it, let it go as he stared into the distance. “Man, my mom is going to love that. You don’t even know the shit my parents have had to deal with.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Well, you’d be the first to try. People never want to admit we have problems like that in our own communities.” He sighed, shook his head, jumped to his feet. “All right, we should go. We’re going to be late.”
I realized then that I didn’t even know what time it was. It had been too long since I’d spent my lunch break focused on anything but the fractures in my heart, and when I got to my feet, I felt a little lighter.
Noah and I tossed our plates, walked back to campus. I told him the name of our mosque. Gave him a phone number his mom could call. We were nearly back at school when I remembered—
“Oh, hey, I’ll be there this weekend, actually. My sister and I volunteer on Saturday nights to help people learn how to use computers, set up email addresses, that sort of thing. If your parents want to stop by, I can introduce them to some people.”
Noah raised his eyebrows. “Saturday night computer classes at the mosque. Nice.”
My smiles were coming more easily now. “We have a lot of refugees in our community,” I explained. “People who fled Afghanistan, ran for their lives from the Taliban. There are a few people at our mosque whose entire families were beheaded by Saddam Hussein. Most of them came here with nothing, and they need help getting started again.”
“Jesus,” he said, sobering quickly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Their stories are insane.”
“Insane how?”
A sharp breeze stole into my jacket then, and I struggled, for a moment, to pull the zipper closed.
“I don’t know,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Like, you know what a burqa is? Those gross tent things the Taliban forces women to wear in Afghanistan?”
He nodded.
“Well, apparently they’re really good for hiding people. Imagine disguising your entire family—men, women, children—in those burqas, and running for your life through the mountains and deserts of Afghanistan, hoping at every turn not to be found out and executed.”
“Holy shit.” We’d come to an abrupt stop at an intersection. Noah turned to look at me, his eyes wide. “You actually know people who did that? Went through that?”
“Yeah,” I said, hitting the button for the crosswalk. “They go to our mosque.”
“That’s . . . crazy.”
Noah’s solemn tone—and his proceeding silence—made me aware, a beat too late, of the dark tension I’d just carried into the conversation. We were still waiting at the crosswalk, quietly watching the seconds tick down until the light would change.
I tried to salvage the moment.
“Hey,” I said, pasting a smile on my face, “you’re welcome to join us on Saturday night. We might even order pizza.”
Noah laughed, raised his eyebrows at me. “That’s quite an offer.”
“It’s also worth noting,” I said, “that it will be extremely boring.”
“Amazing.” He shook his head slowly, his smile growing impossibly wider. “I mean, I’m going to pass? But thanks.”
“Honestly, if you’d said yes I would’ve judged you.”
He laughed.
Noah and I had classes in different directions, so we split up when we got back to the campus parking lot. He was already several feet away when he turned back and shouted, “Hey, I’ll find you at lunch tomorrow.” He pointed at me. “I’ll even bring my own newspaper.”