by Adib Khorram
We were breaking new ground.
Mom got up early to make a big frittata. I cut my run short so I could help her segment some oranges and slice a few apples. I made a big pot of Persian tea, and Mom set out a plate of Tagalongs she’d gotten from the annual office Girl Scout Cookies sale.
As we ate, Dad announced that he was going to take one more trip to Los Angeles, just for two days, to pass the project off. And he was going to step aside from his Arkansas job.
I told everyone about Landon and me.
“But I liked Landon!” Laleh said.
“Me too,” I said. “But . . . well, sometimes things don’t work out.”
“Who’s going to be your boyfriend, then?”
“No one, I guess. I’m going to finish off the soccer season. Hopefully by then I’ll have a new job. And I’ll be able to work more hours, to help out.”
“Just for a little while,” Dad said. “And then you’re going to save for your future. Whether that’s college or something else. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Laleh told everyone about her constellations project. She’d gotten a gold star on it—the highest ranking Miss Shah awarded—and made a new friend too.
“Avan’s grandpa is from India,” she explained. “That’s almost like Iran’s neighbor. He visits there every summer.”
I was glad Laleh was making friends.
I loved my sister’s smile.
Grandma and Oma announced they were going to head back home.
“We’ve been in your hair long enough,” Grandma said.
And Mom said, “We’ve loved having you,” which was a high-level taarof if there ever was one.
There was a strange energy, a vibration humming through the entire Kellner house.
A new future was being born.
* * *
I helped Grandma with her and Oma’s laundry, folding pants and sweatshirts and matching socks, while she dealt with their “unmentionables.”
Seriously.
She said, “I’ll take care of our unmentionables,” like that was a thing people really called their underwear and bras.
Maybe Grandma called them “brassieres.”
I grinned.
“Glad to see us go?” Grandma asked.
“No. Just thinking something funny.”
She studied me, her eyebrow arched.
“I think it’s for the best, you know. I think your dad is better off when he doesn’t see us so much.”
“Why do you say that?”
Grandma did this weird flip-fold thing that got her underwear into a tiny triangle. “He won’t say it, but I think being around us depresses him.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, even though I was pretty sure it was.
“You don’t have to lie, Darius.” Grandma grimaced. “I think it was hard for him, going through Oma’s transition. Having to rearrange his whole life.”
“I think sometimes he’s just depressed because that’s how the disease works. It doesn’t need a reason. Least of all Oma’s transition. Isn’t she happier now?”
“So much happier.”
“Then that’s good. For Dad too.”
“Hm.”
Grandma dropped her last unmentionable into the laundry basket and started to lift it.
“I can get that.”
She swatted me away and lifted it. But then she looked at me and put it back down.
“It wasn’t easy, you know. Going through it all. I think it was harder on me than on your dad.”
“Why?”
“Your dad and I both had to let go of our picture of who Oma was, and make a whole new one. But I also had to make a new picture of myself. I’d spent my life thinking I was a straight woman. But I was still in love with Oma. So what did that make me? A lesbian? Bisexual? Queer?”
“Oh.”
“But you know what? Even though it was hard, we’re closer now than ever. When you go through something like that, you come out stronger.” She lifted her basket again. “I’m sorry about Landon. Breakups are hard.”
It still surprised me to hear her say that. Like sometimes I forgot it had happened. Like I could go hours without remembering the hole in my heart where Landon’s smile used to live.
“Yeah.”
“But you’re going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Grandma took my shoulders in her hands.
“You are.” She smiled at me. An actual smile.
“I’m glad we got to be here, with you.”
“Me too.”
“Let us know about Pride. Maybe we can go together. If the weather is nice.”
“Really?”
“We’ll see.”
It was the softest of maybes.
But it felt like something more. Like maybe Grandma had left the door between us open a crack.
It felt like love.
* * *
I helped load the luggage into Oma’s Camry while she and Grandma said their goodbyes.
It was weird, saying goodbye like it was a big thing, when they lived a few hours away. When we would see them again over winter break.
Oma surprised me by gathering me into a hug. A real one.
“You’ve grown up,” she said.
“I have?”
“Take care of your dad for us. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “I love you, Oma.”
“I love you too, Darius.”
GRAVITON DENSITY
Our first playoff was against Riker High School, about an hour south of Portland.
Even though I knew it wasn’t named after Commander William T. Riker, I hoped the Star Trek reference was a good sign for our chances of victory.
The tension between me and Chip had resulted in a gravitational shift in the team: not in how we played, but in who talked to who, who stood where in Circle, who jogged next to each other during warm-ups.
Chip had started jogging alone, keeping his head down, and though he still played as hard as ever, he didn’t have that grin of his anymore.
I did that.
I took away Chip’s smile.
I wondered if I was hurting him or me more, not trying to mend our friendship. But the longer it went, the harder it became to even bring up the subject. There was a shield between us, building in graviton density with each passing day.
I had taken to jogging next to James during warm-ups. It turned out that, in addition to being into technical theater, he was also into Dungeons & Dragons and Star Wars.
I wasn’t really a fan of Star Wars. I didn’t not-like it, but it didn’t do anything for me. Not really.
Still, it was nice talking with another nerd. James was a cool guy, though he had the absolute worst luck in dating, which he told me all about when he wasn’t debating means of faster-than-light travel, and whether hyperdrive or warp drive was faster.
(Given that the theoretical limit of warp drive was infinite velocity—something that was only achieved once, in this weird episode of Voyager where Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Paris ended up mutating into weird salamander things after breaking the transwarp threshold—I didn’t see how hyperdrive could possibly be faster.)
“Hey,” James said as we stretched our calves before the game. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You and your boyfriend were together for like three months, right?”
“Four.”
“Did you two ever . . . uh . . .”
James had really pale skin, so when he blushed, it was super obvious.
My own face reddened in sympathy.
“Dude.”
“It’s just, I don’t know . . . when’s the right time?”
&
nbsp; I shrugged.
“Don’t ask me. We never did anything other than kissing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed the frog trying to hop its way out of my esophagus. “Landon wanted to. But I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry I can’t help.”
“No!” He smiled, and his shoulders unclenched. “That actually helps a lot. Me and Katie, we haven’t done anything yet either. Except kissing. I was just worried, I guess.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just seemed like we were supposed to want it.”
I nodded. “As long as you talk about it. You have to communicate.”
James clapped me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. How come we were never friends before this year?”
We had known each other since middle school.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t good at making friends, I guess.”
“That’s on me too.” He glanced at his watch, which he wore on his left wrist even though he was left-handed. “Crap, gotta take a PGP.”
I snorted.
“Good luck.”
“Don’t need it,” he said, and patted his stomach.
PGP was code for Pre-Game Poop. A lot of guys did that. I wasn’t sure if it was because of running during warm-ups, or nerves, or too much food, or what. I had never experienced the phenomenon.
I retied my shoelaces and nearly bumped into Chip when I stood.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s cool,” Chip said. “James going for a PGP?”
“Yeah.”
Chip chuckled.
For a second, it was like we were friends again.
I missed that ease.
I missed being friends with Chip.
“Well.” He swallowed.
“Yeah.”
* * *
It turns out, having your opponents named after a Star Trek character wasn’t as much of a good luck charm as I had hoped.
Their offense was devastating, but we managed to hold them off and keep them from scoring. Gabe and James didn’t have any luck getting through, and we ended up in another shoot-out.
By that point, Christian and Diego were both exhausted. We all were. So were the Riker Wombats (a Level Ten Mascot Choice, to be sure).
They won the coin toss and shot first. Christian saved the first four but, to the wild cheers of the home crowd, the fifth one scored.
We hadn’t made any goals, and Chip was our last chance.
He didn’t grin as he approached the ball. His jaw was set. Sweat drenched his jersey, highlighting the valley his spine made between his back muscles.
He took a deep breath and made his move: a tricky inside shot to the goalie’s left. It would’ve gone in too, if it hadn’t just barely glanced off the goalpost.
Our team didn’t make a sound—we were all still holding our breath, even as the whistle sounded—but the Riker stands exploded.
We lost.
* * *
I think we were all too tired to be sad. We shook hands, bumped fists, congratulated the other team. We trudged back to the stands in silence, some guys with their arms across each other’s shoulders, others in Surrender Cobra.
Chip was staring at his toes, sort of kicking the ground with each step. His shoulders were slumped.
I hated seeing him like that.
I wasn’t sure why I did it—really, I wasn’t—but I hung back and, when he came close, I put my arm over his shoulder.
It was the kind of thing Sohrab did to me, when I was upset. Or when I was happy, for that matter.
Sohrab just did that kind of thing whenever. Like it was a thing guys could do.
And I supposed, if Chip really did like me, maybe it was weird and unfair to do that to him.
To touch him like that.
But in that moment, I really did want to be his friend.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he mumbled.
“Tough game.”
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t say anything else, and after a moment I got to feeling really weird.
Also, we were both super sweaty, and hot, and that made me feel a lot of things that I wasn’t ready to feel.
So I let Chip go and angled toward the stands, where Mom, Dad, and Laleh were waiting for me.
“You were awesome out there,” Dad said.
“We still lost, though.”
“Doesn’t matter. You played your hardest.”
“Thanks.”
“Gold star,” Laleh said.
I knelt down.
“Really? A gold star? Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, Laleh.”
Mom rested her hand on my shoulder.
“We’re so proud of you.”
“I guess.”
I ran a hand through my hair, which accidentally sprayed my family with sweat.
Laleh squealed.
“Sorry! Sorry. I better go clean off.”
“We’ll see you at home,” Mom said. Despite my sweatiness, she pulled me down to kiss my messy forehead. Dad did too. He held on to my neck and said, “Really, Darius. We’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I held his eyes, and he smiled and nodded at me.
He wasn’t back to normal yet, but he was getting better. The bags under his eyes had shrunk, small gray crescents instead of giant blue saucers.
“Love you,” I said.
“Love you, son,” he said back.
At the corner of the stands, Chip was talking to Trent, who was bouncing Evie on his lap.
I knew he was her uncle, but it was still deeply disturbing to see firsthand.
Next to them, a woman with light brown skin and dark wavy hair pulled Chip in for a hug.
Was that Chip’s mom?
Suddenly Evie’s complexion made sense.
I always thought Chip’s mom was white. I always thought Chip was white too. I didn’t realize he was Fractional like me.
I don’t know why finding that out made me so happy.
(I knew why that made me happy.)
Chip waved me over.
“Darius,” he said, “this is my mom. Sofia.”
“Hi,” I said. “Thank you for all the Gatorades.”
Sofia’s laugh was like a waterfall. She grinned at me.
She had her son’s grin.
“Thanks for keeping Cyprian out of trouble.”
“Sure.”
From Trent’s lap, Evie waved at me. I waved back and avoided Trent’s eyes.
“I better go get my stuff,” I said. “Nice meeting you.”
“Don’t be a stranger. Come for empanadas sometime. We’ve got more Gatorades.”
“Thanks.”
I was nearly off the field when I heard someone behind me.
“Where’s your boy toy, Dairy Queen?”
I shook my head and kept walking, but Trent jogged into my field of view. He must’ve passed Evie off.
“Hey. Which one of you is which?”
“Which what?” I said, because I couldn’t make any sense of his question/insult.
I knew I should have kept my mouth closed, but it was an automatic thing, and I couldn’t take it back.
“Which one’s the goal and which one’s the post?”
I shook my head and didn’t respond.
“Which one’s the plug and which one’s the socket?”
My face burned as Trent followed me, offering suggestion after ridiculous suggestion.
My neck prickled, and the sweat felt cold against my skin. Trent kept getting louder and louder until—
“Hey!” I paused and looked back. Chip had his arm o
ut, blocking Trent from following me. “What the heck, dude?”
There it was again: heck. Like that was a word guys used.
“What?”
“Why are you always such a jerk to him? What did he ever do to you?”
“Nothing. I’m just teasing.”
“No you’re not. You’re being awful. And it’s gotten worse since I told you I liked him.”
Chip glanced back at me for a second.
I was frozen.
But then he turned around and said, “You’re supposed to be my best friend. Why don’t you act like you’re worth it?”
Trent’s mouth opened and closed. He looked from Chip, to me, and then to Gabe and Jaden, who had slowed down to wait for us and were watching the scene with their arms folded across their chests.
His face reddened.
I never noticed how much he looked like an angry baby with his face all red.
His overlarge nostrils flared.
“Whatever.” He tried to push past Chip’s arm, but Chip didn’t budge, so he turned and slouched back toward the stands.
Chip lowered his arm and let out his breath. His whole body depressurized in front of me.
Jaden and Gabe murmured to each other, but I couldn’t make anything out. I just stared at Chip, who nodded to himself, and then caught me looking.
He had this look in his eyes. I don’t know how to describe it.
It was like he was utterly lost.
But then he shrugged, and looked down at his feet, and walked past me toward the locker room.
What just happened?
ALL OF YOU
It was a quiet bus ride back to Chapel Hill High School, but at least it was a short one. Everyone was on their phones, or watching the traffic go by, or leaning against the windows with their eyes closed and their bags as pillows.
I sat toward the back, watching Chip as he stared out the window.
Something had happened.
Something I’d hoped for. Something I’d never actually expected.
What was I supposed to do now? What was I supposed to say?
Would I even see Chip anymore? Soccer season was over now, and soon enough wrestling would consume all his time.
