You Asked for Perfect(58)

“So.” Mom unties her hair, her curls falling around her shoulders. “Bloopers and highlights. Who’s going first?”

*

“This was the perfect suggestion,” Amir says as we walk down the block to Elaine’s. I’m all nerves. I want to take his hand, but mine is probably clammy, and he might get suspicious. “I haven’t been here for a couple weeks. I miss it.”

“Good,” I say.

“I’m surprised your parents let you out of your grounding for the night. That was nice of them. The soup was delicious, by the way, but I think the matzo balls could’ve used more time to soften.”

I laugh. “What? Suddenly you’re an expert?”

“Look, I now know what heaven tastes like. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming over for Shabbat dinner every week.”

“Only if I can come over whenever your dad cooks chicken karahi.”

“Deal,” Amir says.

We make it to the gallery doors. My heart tries to beat its way out of my rib cage. I swear I can actually feel it pounding against the bones. Sook was originally going to do a guest spot on a podcast tonight, but she volunteered to finish set up instead. I felt bad about her missing the opportunity, but she squeezed my hand and said, hey, best friend tops music career.

“Before we go in,” I say, turning to Amir. “I want to apologize again. I know your photography show was important to you, and I’m sorry I missed it. School had me—” I give a short sigh.

Amir takes my hand. “You know, Ariel, you’re not the only one stressed about school. I struggle in AP Chem and Bio, and I want to be a doctor. I should be passing those courses with flying colors. But I shouldn’t have to rethink my entire future because AP classes force us to rush through the material.” He sighs. “They make us think the grade is more important than the learning, and that’s messed up. We’re all overwhelmed. You’re not alone.”

I think of all my classmates, bent over textbooks, shoulders strained under heavy backpacks, eyes hooded from lack of sleep. We’re all in it together, whether we want to be or not.

I step forward and kiss Amir’s cheek, hesitant about the show of affection in our mending relationship. But he smiles and squeezes my hand. “C’mon. Let’s go in.”

We pull open the gallery doors. At first, everything looks normal. There are photographs on the walls. Music plays from the speakers. People in skinny jeans and glasses drink wine and beer.

“Where should we start?” Amir asks.

“Hmm.” I hope my voice sounds level. “Maybe the spotlight corner? I loved that artist last time.”

“All right.” We walk toward the back of the gallery, and when we’re close enough to see the photos, Amir freezes. “Ariel, what’s going on?”

I turn to him, heart pounding. “I know how much Elaine’s means to you,” I say. “And I know how much you mean to me. And I wanted to make sure you knew it, too.”

“Ariel…” His eyes are wide as he stares at the wall of photos.

“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s look.”

We step closer. On the wall, in black decal lettering is his name: Amir Naeem. It took a lot to make this happen, but thankfully Amir is well-loved. The owner, Elaine, said she’d be honored to showcase his work.

There’s my favorite, the photo of his parents laughing in the kitchen. There’s a photo of Sara and Rachel, their hands clasped as they meet Disney’s Jasmine at a birthday party, joy in their eyes.

And I’ve added something special. On the walls, there are cursive decals with quotes from Harry Potter books. Earlier this week, I was freaking out they wouldn’t print in time, but it all came together.

Next to a picture of Sara playing piano, sun streaming in through the window, it says: “Ah, music… A magic beyond all we do here!”

Amir turns to me. “Isn’t that from Sorcerer’s Stone?”

I smile. “Yes.”

There’s a photo of Rasha, microphone in front of her, with a look so serene it’s startling. The quote next to it reads: “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.”

Amir turns to me, eyes shining. “Ariel, I can’t…how…my work is in Elaine’s.” His grin is so big, it breaks my heart open. He rubs a hand against his neck. “How did you do this? Why did you do this?”

“Well, I had a little help.” I nod behind us, and Amir turns to find Sook and Malka waving. There are other friends here, too—Pari and Isaac and Amir’s older friends from their art scene.

“As for why,” I say, Amir turning back to me. “It’s because I’m so truly, deeply sorry that I missed your show. You’ve been so forgiving. So amazing. More than I deserve. And I needed to show you how much I care.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You must care a lot. I can’t believe I have an exhibit in Elaine’s. I have an exhibit in Elaine’s, and it’s Harry Potter–themed.”

I grin. “Oh, that reminds me!” I pull an envelope from my back pocket and pass it to him.

“There’s more?” he asks. “What is it?”

“Open it!”

He does, and his eyes widen in excitement. Two tickets to the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra’s presentation of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. “They’re going to play the score while showing the first movie,” I say.