“Um. Yeah. Mom gets it from the Persian bakery sometimes.”
“You don’t make it at home?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll make some for you. You can put it in the freezer and take it home with you.”
“Maman!” Sohrab had reappeared in the doorway, dressed in real pants and a white polo shirt. He said something to his mom in Farsi, something about dinner, but it was too quick. “Come on, Darioush. Let’s go.”
“Um. Thank you,” I said to his mom. I followed Sohrab to the door and laced up my Vans.
There was something he wanted to show me.
THE KHAKI KINGDOM
We headed down Sohrab’s street, away from Mamou’s. A breeze had picked up, and the air smelled crisp and a little bit dusty.
As we passed an intersection, Sohrab pointed to our right.
“My school is about five kilometers that way.”
He put the accent on thekiinkilometers,instead of thelo,which was cool.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I have class with Ali-Reza and Hossein there.”
“Oh.”
No matter where you went to school, Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy were unavoidable.
We passed a long white wall, the backside of a row of shops. The sun shone off it.
I sneezed.
“But you have friends there too. Right?”
“Some. Not as good as you, Darioush.”
I smiled, but it turned into another sneeze.
“Sorry. Are they all Bahá’ís?”
“No. Only a few.” He chuckled. “Most people are not like Ali-Reza, Darioush. They aren’t so prejudiced.”
“Sorry.” My ears burned. “Your school is all boys. Right?”
“Yes.”
We reached a crosswalk. Sohrab chewed his cheek and looked at me while we waited for the cars to pass.
“So you don’t have a girlfriend, Darioush?”
I swallowed. “No.”
I tried to keep my voice neutral, but no matter how you answer that question, people will always read too much into it. The fire in my ears spread to my cheeks.
“How come?”
