“One of Laleh’s classmates called her a terrorist,” I said. “And some of them have been calling her Lolly.”
Mom shook her head and looked toward the stairs.
I swallowed.
“She said it’s been happening ever since we went to Iran.”
Mom snapped back to me.
“What are you saying? We shouldn’t have gone?”
I didn’t know why she was so angry.
I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.
“I’m not saying that.”
Mom huffed.
“Really.” I twisted the hem of my shirt around my finger. “If we hadn’t gone to see Babou? I think we would have regretted it forever.”
I watched the anger drain from Mom’s face.
“It’s just. Well, Laleh never stood out before that. She got treated like all the white kids. But now...”
“Iranians are white, though.”
I bit my lip.
Just because that’s the blank we fill out on forms at the doctor’s office doesn’t make it true. No one at school ever treated me like I was white once they found out my mom was from Iran.
Laleh’s classmates weren’t treating her like she was white.
So I said, “Laleh is getting singled out. And the teacher is punishing her instead of the kids teasing her.”
“You’re right.” Mom pursed her lips. “But I don’t know what to do. I have a meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. Grandma is going with Laleh instead.”
I thought about Melanie Kellner, trying to explain racism to Laleh’s teacher.
I thought about how none of my own teachers ever got what it was like. How they never protected me from being a Target.
“Want me to go with them?”
“You don’t have to do that, sweetie. Don’t you have practice?”
“Coach Bentley will understand,” I said. “I want to. Really. I’m the only one who knows what it’s like.”
Mom started running her fingers through my hair.
“Was school like that for you too?”
“Sometimes.” It still was, kind of. “Sometimes people just don’t like Iranians. Or anyone from the Middle East, really.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Mom stared out the kitchen window.
