I let out a deep sigh. And then I watched through the rearview mirror as my house shrank smaller and smaller, until it disappeared.
Interrogation Room 37
Amir
THAT WAS THE original plan. I just wanted to go to New York. NYU and Columbia were two of my dream schools, and I thought I would get away while Jake hijacked my coming out. You have to understand that I was imagining the worst, and if my parents didn’t want me back home, then I would create a new life for myself in New York.
Rome was never part of the original plan.
Have I been in touch with Jackson since I left America? Yes and no. It’s complicated. I can’t believe I’m about to say this to you in here, but I keep wondering if I loved Jackson. I don’t know. We tiptoed around that word a lot. We tiptoed around a lot of things. All I know is that neither of us ever believed we would end up together. We didn’t believe in a future for “us” as much as we believed in a future where, someday, I could be Amir . . . and he could be himself, too.
You’re looking at me like none of this is relevant to the outburst on the plane, but it is. It’s the baggage. I thought you people were all about inspecting baggage.
Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was just trying to emphasize, with my long-winded story, that it really all comes back to Jackson. If I’d never met Jackson, I wouldn’t be in here. I can draw a clear line connecting that first moment we kissed to right now, sitting in this chair, absolutely terrified to see the people on the other side of this wall. More terrified to talk to them than to you, if I’m being honest.
Interrogation Room 38
Soraya
MY NAME IS Soraya Azadi. I’m thirteen years old.
My brother, Amir, has been missing for a month. He disappeared the morning of his high school graduation.
Did I notice anything different or off about Amir before he disappeared? Was he talking to anyone suspicious? Well—
Mom, don’t give me that look. Amir is in the room next door, and I’m sure he’s telling the truth. He has nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sorry, Officer. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just a little annoyed, that’s all. I don’t think it’s fair how my family got pulled into these rooms. I really don’t think it’s fair. I tried to record the whole thing back in the waiting room, but my mom made me put my phone away.
It has been a big misunderstanding. I’m so glad you can see that.
Sure. I can tell you everything. How long do you think this is going to take? I’ve already missed two rehearsals for the summer musical, and if I miss tonight’s, I . . . My mom is giving me that look again. She thinks I’m saying too much. It’s funny, I knew she would be like this when you asked to talk to me first. You see her face, right? I’ll read it for you: Soraya, be careful what you say. Soraya, we are Iranian. We deal with these matters privately, Soraya. If she were answering your question, she’d say no, we didn’t notice any signs that Amir was going to run away. And she’d be telling the truth. From her perspective, nothing was wrong. Nothing is ever wrong in her mind.
No, Mom, let me talk! What her face should be saying is, Soraya, thank you. Soraya, you saved the day. Soraya, it’s because of you we found your brother and brought him back.
Let me explain.
Interrogation Room 39
Afshin Azadi
BEFORE WE GO any further, let me get this straight. You are questioning my son in one room, correct? And my daughter and wife are together in another room. And you have me alone here in this room—and I think I know why you have put me in this separate room. I know it in my bones. The way you are looking at me, I think you know, too. That this is not my first time alone in a small room, just like this one.
Very well.
No, I don’t have anything more to say.
Thirty-One Days Ago
WHEN I LANDED at JFK Airport, the morning of my graduation, I felt safe. I was a world away from the nightmare of my senior spring. Most of all, I was away from Jake and the trouble he was about to cause for my family.
I made myself check my phone. Graduation would be over by now. I imagined this whole scenario like I had thrown a grenade, sprinted away, and now I was looking back to see if it had actually exploded, or if it was a dud.
I sat there in my cramped airplane seat. I wasn’t even connected to the cell network yet. I shook my phone. Held it up in the air.
Finally, the bars popped up in the corner of my phone screen. I had service. And there they were: fifteen texts, all from my mother, father, and sister. I checked my call log. Five new voicemails. I went back to the texts and started reading. Amir, where are you? Amir, is everything all right? Amir, why aren’t you answering your phone? Amir why aren’t you home? Where have you gone? Please answer and tell us you’re all right.
I texted back immediately. I’m fine. I can explain. And then I held my breath. Because at this point, my family knew. They had to know. Last week, Jake had made it very clear that if I didn’t get him the money, he would out me during the ceremony. He had even suggested texting the picture to my parents before they started reading out names. The thought of walking across that stage, hearing silence from where my mom, dad, and sister were sitting—it had made me want to throw up.
My phone buzzed. It was Mom: Good. We love you.
I must have stared at the text for a solid minute before looking back up and around the plane. All the other passengers had deplaned.
My heart rate slowed down as I took in the words.
My family still loved me.
I took my duffel bag from the overhead compartment and held it close to my chest. All spring, I had wondered how they would react to Jake’s news. Would they think he was lying? Would they tell themselves that it was photoshopped?
Whatever they believed—they loved me.
I felt giddy as I shuffled off the plane. I thought about the rainbow scoreboard, all the positives that I had clearly discounted. I thought about how my parents had in fact raised me to treat people equally, how they didn’t subscribe to every single little piece of our religion and culture. They were complicated. They could surprise me. I should have expected better of them.
When I was finally off the plane, I called them back.
“Amir?” my mom said frantically. “Oh, Amir. We were worried sick!”
“What were you thinking?” my dad chimed in. “Where were you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can explain.” I was walking down the long hall of the airport, past Cinnabon and Hudson News. “I was just scared . . .”
“Scared of what?” my dad asked.