I bit my lip and waited.
The damn computer had finally turned on. It took like ten minutes. It took another ten to click around and get the internet to work, because sometimes my computer was just, I don’t know, obstinate. I was weirdly nervous. I didn’t even know what I was doing. Why I was doing it. Not exactly.
My AIM account logged in automatically, and my short list of buddies were all offline. Except one.
My heart did something weird and I stood up too fast, feeling suddenly stupid and embarrassed. I didn’t even know this guy. He was not—would never be—even remotely interested in someone like me and I knew this. I already knew this and I was still standing here, being an idiot.
I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t going to make an ass out of myself.
I turned back to my computer, ready to hit the power switch and shut this whole thing down when—
double ding
double ding
double ding
riversandoceans04: Hey
riversandoceans04: You’re online
riversandoceans04: You’re never online
I stared, finger frozen over the power switch.
double ding
riversandoceans04: Hello?
I sat down at my desk.
jujehpolo: Hey
riversandoceans04: Hey
riversandoceans04: What are you doing up so late?
I started typing, I don’t know, before I realized my answer might be way too obvious. So I tried for something generic.
jujehpolo: I couldn’t sleep.
riversandoceans04: Oh
riversandoceans04: Hey, can I ask you a question?
I stared at the messaging window. Felt a little scared.
jujehpolo: Sure
riversandoceans04: What does jujehpolo mean?
I was so relieved he hadn’t asked me something super offensive I almost laughed out loud.
jujehpolo: It’s, like, a Persian thing. Jujeh means small, but it’s also the word for a baby chicken.
jujehpolo: And polo means rice.
jujehpolo: I realize as I’m typing this that that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s just, like, an inside joke, I guess. My family calls me jujeh, because I’m small, and jujeh kabab and rice is, like, a kind of food . . .
jujehpolo: Anyway
jujehpolo: It’s just a nickname.
riversandoceans04: No, I get it. That’s nice.
riversandoceans04: So you’re Persian?
jujehpolo: Yeah
riversandoceans04: That’s so cool. I really like Persian food.
My eyebrows shot up my forehead. Surprised.
jujehpolo: You do?
riversandoceans04: Yeah. I really like hummus.
riversandoceans04: And falafel.
Ah. Yeah. Okay.
jujehpolo: Neither one of those things is Persian.
riversandoceans04: They’re not?
jujehpolo: No
riversandoceans04: Oh
I dropped my head in my hands. I suddenly hated myself. What the hell was I doing? This conversation was so stupid. I was so stupid. I couldn’t believe I turned on my computer for this.
jujehpolo: Anyway, I should probably go to bed.
riversandoceans04: Oh, okay
I’d already typed the word Bye, was just about to hit enter—
riversandoceans04: Hey, before you go
I hesitated. Deleted. Rewrote.
jujehpolo: Yeah?
riversandoceans04: Maybe some day you can show me what Persian food is.
I stared at my screen for too long. I was confused. My first instinct told me he was asking me out; my second, wiser instinct told me that he would never, ever be stupid enough to do something like that, that he was almost certainly aware of the fact that nice white boys did not presume to ask weird Muslim girls out on dates, but then, barring that, I was mystified.
Did he want me to, like, educate him on Persian food? Teach him about the ways of my people? What the hell?
So I decided to be honest.
jujehpolo: I don’t think I understand what you mean.
riversandoceans04: I want to try Persian food
riversandoceans04: Are there any Persian restaurants around here?
jujehpolo: Lol
jujehpolo: Around here? No
jujehpolo: Not unless you count my mom’s kitchen
riversandoceans04: Oh
riversandoceans04: Then maybe I can come over for dinner
I nearly fell out of my chair. The balls on this kid, holy shit.
jujehpolo: You want to come into my house and have dinner with my family?
riversandoceans04: Is that weird?
jujehpolo: Um, a little
riversandoceans04: Oh
riversandoceans04: So is that a no?
jujehpolo: I don’t know
I frowned at my computer.
jujehpolo: I guess I can ask my parents.
riversandoceans04: Cool
riversandoceans04: Okay, goodnight
jujehpolo: Uh
jujehpolo: Goodnight
I had no idea what the actual hell had just happened.
8
Eight
I spent the weekend ignoring my computer.
It was the middle of October, I’d been in school for a couple of months, and I was still trying to wrap my head around it. I hadn’t made any of my own friends, but I wasn’t feeling lonely, which was new. Plus, I was busy—also new—and bonus, I suddenly had plans. In fact, I was getting ready to head out.
Tonight, I had a breakdancing battle to attend.
We were just going to be in the audience, but the prospect still excited me. We wanted to join the breaking scene in this new city and see where it would take us. Maybe, once we were good enough, we’d start battling other crews. Maybe one day, we dreamed, we’d enter regional and state and maybe, maybe international competitions.
We had big dreams. And they had been parent-approved.
My parents were a little conservative, a little traditional, and, in some ways, surprisingly progressive. Generally, they were pretty cool. Still, they had massive double standards. They were terrified that the world would hurt me, as a young girl, far more than it would my brother, and so they were stricter with me, with my curfews, with what I could and could not do. They never tried to cut me off, socially, but they always wanted to know everything about where I was going and who I was going with and exactly when I would be back and on and on and on and they almost never did this with Navid. When Navid came home late they’d only be mildly irritated. Once, I came home an hour late after watching the first Harry Potter movie—I had no idea the thing would be three hours long—and my mom was so upset she couldn’t decide whether to cry or kill me. This reaction baffled me because my social activities were so mild as to be almost nonexistent. I wasn’t out late partying, ever. I wasn’t sitting around getting drunk somewhere. I’d do stupid shit with my friends like wander around Target and buy the cheapest stuff we could find and use it to decorate the cars in the parking lot.
My mom did not approve of this.
The upside of breakdancing with my brother was that my parents worried less when they knew he was with me, ready to punch an unsuspecting harasser in the face if necessary. But my brother and I had also learned a long time ago how to game the system; when I wanted to go out somewhere, and I knew my parents wouldn’t approve, he’d vouch for me. I’d do the same for him.
But Navid had just turned eighteen. He was older and, as a result, freer. He’d been working odd jobs everywhere we’d lived since he was younger than even me, and he’d saved up long enough to buy himself an iPod and a car. It was the teenage dream. He was currently the proud owner of a 1988 Nissan Sentra he would one day use to run over my foot. Until then, my ass was still walking to school every day. Sometimes I’d catch a ride with him, but he had that zero period in the mornings and he usually ditched me after practice to do something with his friends.