“Thanks.” And you mean it. You’re grateful Coach Nico has your back.
He looks past you at the clock on the wall. “Crap, we’re out of time. Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got to head out. Got a suit fitting.”
“Suit fitting?”
“Yeah. My sister and her girlfriend are finally getting married.”
You didn’t know Coach Nico had a sister.
You didn’t know she was queer, either.
But your chest relaxes, as much as it can at least, when all the fibers of your muscles feel like they’ve superglued themselves to each other in a permanent clench.
You don’t know how to tell him about yourself, though. Even thinking about it makes you feel like you’ve swallowed a dumbbell and it’s lodged in your throat.
So you just say, “Cool.”
It’s hard practicing cello when it feels like your arms are going to fall out of their sockets, but you’ve got to if you want to keep second chair, or maybe even challenge for first.
You’re still shaky, even after your post-workout shake. Dinner’s not for another hour; the minty-sweet smell of Maman’s khoresh karafs fills the house. You can’t have rice with it, but the stew itself you can eat, since it’s basically just beef and celery and herbs.
Two sharp taps on your door make you look up from your music. You’re doing Holst’sThe Planets, the orchestra and the band all together, for the spring concert.
“Yeah?”
You set down your bow and push your hair off your forehead. It’s getting kind of long, almost to your eyes, and Maman asked if you wanted to go for a haircut last weekend. You kind of did, but you’d been fighting with her that day about your chores and how it’s not fair you got so many of Nadeem’s old ones while Jina’s are more or less the same, so you said no, because you didn’t want to be stuck in a car with her, and she doesn’t get to tell you how long to keep your hair anyway.
You hear Jina muttering outside your room, a few high-pitched giggles, but the door stays shut. You roll your eyes.
“Yeah?” you say louder.
This time the door swings open, revealing your sister and her two best friends, Audrey and Celeste. They’re both juniors like Jina. Audrey’s short and Desi, with rich brown skin and silky black hair and hazel eyes. Celeste’s family is Chinese. She’s taller and curvier, with her reddish-brown hair (dyed, you think) in a pixie cut. She wears sparkly eyeliner.
Much like you and Nour, Jina has found it easier to be friends with other immigrant kids. Or immigrants’ kids’ kids. Or whatever. You’re not sure what generation they are, just that the three of them have been a unit since Jina was in eighth grade and you were in sixth and everyone asked if you were Jina’s brother and she kept telling everyonenoto protect her reputation.
From what, you never really found out.
Audrey giggles again and elbows Jina, who rolls her eyes but looks at you.
“Hey, Farshid. You going to the dance?”
You shake your head warily. No one’s asked you, and you don’t think you want to go anyway, because you’re not sure you even like the idea of a dance. Why is Jina suddenly so invested anyway?
“How come?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow. It’s perfectly shaped. She got her brows threaded last week, her and Maman both, even though Baba’s the one with the hint of a unibrow.
“I dunno,” you say.No one asked mewould sound pathetic.I don’t want towould sound suspicious.
You’re trapped.
Jina looks to Celeste. They somehow manage to have an entire conversation consisting of eye contact, a few eyebrow lifts, and an occasional jerk of the head in your direction.
Finally, Audrey takes matters into her own hands, pushing Celeste forward so she stumbles into your room.
Celeste clears her throat. “You know my sister, Hope?”
You nod. She’s in orchestra with you. She plays the viola, which is probably the best instrument after cello, though you’d never tell Cooper that.
Celeste waits, like you’re supposed to say something.
