Darius the Great Is Not Okay(31)

“Why are you crying, baba?”

“I’m not.”

“You know, in Iran, boys don’t worry about these things so much.”

“Okay.”

“You can’t let these things bother you.”

I sniffed. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

I hadn’t really finished back at the soccer field. I was still covered in grass and I hadn’t actually washed my hair.

Being humiliated was very distracting.

“Okay. Don’t worry, Darioush. Everything will be fine.”

It was easy for Ardeshir Bahrami to say that.

He didn’t know what it was like to be a target.



* * *





In the privacy of my shower, I scrubbed off the last bits of green and washed my hair. I stayed in there as long as I could. I didn’t want anyone to hear me sniffling.

When the water started to cool off, I decided I was done. I wrapped myself in one of Mamou’s towels. It felt much warmer and softer than Sohrab’s scratchy one.

I sniffled, turned on the Dancing Fan, and hid in my bed.

I didn’t actually sleep. I couldn’t. Sohrab’s laughter kept dancing around in my skull. And the way he had said “Ayatollah Darioush.”

I was so sure Sohrab was like me. That he knew what it was like to be different.

I was convinced we were destined to be friends.

But Sohrab Rezaei was just another Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy.



* * *





Someone knocked on my door.

I was on my side, studying the tiny imperfections in the lemon rind texture of the wall. “Uh. Yeah?”

After a second, the door creaked open. “Darioush?” Mamou asked. “Do you want a snack? Something to drink?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“You sure? We have tea. And cookies.”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just tired,” I said. “We played a long time.”

Mamou slipped into my room and maneuvered around the Dancing Fan. I gripped my covers a little tighter, because I hadn’t actually gotten dressed after my shower. Mamou leaned over me and kissed me on the forehead. She played with my hair, which had air dried into a curly mess. “Okay, maman. Get some rest.”

I didn’t, though. A few minutes later Dad came to check on me too.

“Darius?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to get up?”

“No.”

“We’re waiting on you for tea.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“You have to come have tea with us,” Laleh complained from the door.

I was not in the mood for tea.

It was the first time in my life I had ever not wanted tea.

“I don’t feel like it.”

Dad dodged the Dancing Fan and sat beside me on the edge of the bed, generating a gravity well to try and pull me out.

Standard Parental Maneuver Alpha.

“You need to get back on a proper sleep schedule. Come on. Get up.”

“I will. In a little while.”

“Now, Darius.”

“Dad . . .”

“I’m serious. Let’s go.”

Dad grabbed my blankets, but I clenched them harder to stop him.

“Dad,” I whispered, “I’m, uh, naked.”

I did not think I could survive any more penile humiliation today.

Dad cleared his throat. “Laleh, why don’t you go on?”

“Secrets don’t make friends!” she said.

Sometimes my sister was very nosy.

“It’s not a secret, Laleh. It’s just none of your business.”

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“So?”

Dad interrupted us before we could devolve into an argument.

“Go on, Laleh,” Dad said. He glared at me to be quiet. “We’ll be right there.”

I waited for the flap-flap-flap of Laleh’s bare feet on the hallway floor to recede.

And then Dad said, “Better not pick a fight if you’re not dressed for one.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”

“I wouldn’t make a habit of sleeping naked in your grandmother’s house, though.”

“I didn’t mean to. I showered and then I just got in bed without thinking.”

I mean, I usually slept naked at home, where there was a door I could lock, but I had no intention of doing that in my grandmother’s house.

I had no intention of going number three in Mamou’s house, either. Not under any circumstances.

It would have been too weird.

Dad shook his head. “I understand. I used to sleep naked all the time. Up until you were born.” He got this sly grin.

“Uh.”

“How do you think you got made?”

“Dad. Gross.”

Dad laughed at me—laughed!—and I kind of laughed too. It was an uncomfortable laughter, but still better than Sohrab’s and Ali-Reza’s and Hossein’s laughter.

It was deeply awkward.

“Okay. Come on. I know you’re tired, but you’ve got to stay awake until bedtime.”