“Sometimes people think they’re doing a good thing, and so they ignore that they’re doing a bad thing too. Miss Hawn and Grandma were excited about the gifted program, so they just ignored all the microaggressions and stuff.”
Laleh frowned.
“I deal with stuff like that too. You know people call me names sometimes?”
I couldn’t get too specific with my sister. I didn’t want to explain why D-Cheese was an insult.
I never wanted to discuss anything penis-related with Laleh Kellner.
“I can’t always make them stop. But I can find better friends. And better teachers. And better places.”
“Like Sohrab?”
“Yeah. And like soccer too. My coach and my teammates. Maybe this gifted program isn’t all bad. Maybe it’s a chance for you to find a new place. Make some new friends.”
“But I don’t want to be in a different class.”
I got it. Really, I did.
Laleh didn’t want to be different.
Being different made you a Target.
But if my sister was going to be a Target, at least it could be for something good. Something special.
“Will you at least think about it some? For me?”
Laleh looked up at me through her eyelashes. She had long dark eyelashes like me. Like Mom.
“All right.”
“You need some more tea?”
“Yes please.”
FAMILY BUSINESS
That night, Landon came over and made dinner for us again: Mom’s recipe for khoresh-e-karafs, or celery stew.
“Smells good,” I said, and kissed him on the temple.
He was wearing Dad’sStar Trekapron and stirring in another handful of fresh parsley.
“Thanks. Am I doing the rice right?”
Next to the khoresh, a pot of rice steamed underneath one of Mom’s tea towels.
“I think so. I’ve never made it myself.” I went to lift the lid, but Landon put his hand on my arm.
“It says to leave the lid on until it’s ready.”
“How do you know it’s ready if you can’t take the lid off?”
Landon shrugged. “The recipe is a little vague on that point.”
Like I said, Landon Edwards was magic.
The rice turned out perfectly—a resplendent golden disc—and he upended the pot onto a platter right as Mom got home.
