“Nothing,” I said. “My brain just makes the wrong chemicals is all.”
“Probably your diet,” Customs Officer II said. He looked me up and down. “Too many sweets.”
I swallowed away the sand in my throat. My ears burned hotter than a matter/antimatter reaction chamber.
Customs Officer II pointed at the Kellner & Newton logo stitched onto the corner of my messenger bag’s front flap. “What is this?”
“Um. My dad’s company. He and his partner are architects.”
Customs Officer II’s eyebrows shot up. “Architects?”
“Yes.”
And then he smiled, a smile so big and bright, it was like the room really did have five lights.
It was the most stunning (and alarming) transformation I had ever witnessed.
“We have lots of architecture in my country,” he said. “You must see the Azadi Tower.”
“Um.” I had seen pictures of the Azadi Tower, and it was stunning—gleaming white angles intertwining into a tall edifice, with intricate latticework that made me think ofThe Lord of the Rings.
Only Elves could have wrought something so delicate and fantastic.
“And the Tehran Museum.”
I didn’t know that one.
“And the Shah Cheragh in Shiraz.”
That one I had heard of. It was a mosque covered with mirrors on the inside, and the reflected light turned the whole thing into a shimmering jewel box.
“Okay.”
“Here.” He shoved my papers and medicine back into the Kellner & Newton Messenger Bag. I slung it over my shoulder.
“You can go,” he said. “Welcome to Iran.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I said thank you and backed out of the room.
Part of me wanted to shout, “THERE! ARE! FOUR! LIGHTS!” as I left, the way Captain Picard did when he was finally released, but Customs Officer II seemed to have decided he liked me, and I didn’t want to ruin it with a reference he probably wouldn’t understand.
Besides.
I didn’t want to cause an international incident.
Mom kept a Level Seven Death Grip on my arm the rest of the way through the airport.
I wanted to pull away, to tell Dad about my interrogation and how there really were four lights.
I wanted to tell him about the Azadi Tower and the other places Customs Officer II mentioned.
I wanted to tell him how impressed Customs Officer II was that he was an architect.
But Dad walked ahead of us, fighting a losing battle to keep Laleh upright and walking on a relatively direct heading.
My sister was on the verge of collapse. “I’ll take her,” I said.
Mom released me so I could take Laleh piggyback, and we walked through the sliding glass doors into the cool Tehran night.
