‘We’re a private school.’
Claire had gone to a senior prom this year with her boyfriend, Terrance, who attended public school. She, Terrance, and her friends ducked out early to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which was playing at some theater in the East Village. She told me that Terrance’s friend, Seth, whom everyone called Moses, wanted to ask me to the prom, which would be great because then we could go together. I stayed home that night instead and played solitaire on my bedroom floor. ‘Proms are lame,’ I mumbled.
‘How about you, Steven?’ Crystal asked.
‘Um, I’m in college.’
Pete pointed a breadstick at us. ‘You’ve got the right idea, Summer. Proms are capitalist nightmares.’
Crystal snapped her fingers. ‘You know who would be perfect for Summer? That Philip kid from down the street.’
Samantha choked up beer.
‘He’s very thoughtful,’ Crystal added.
‘I’ve…’ I began, about to say, I’ve met him. But then Stella piped up, ‘The Arab kid?’
I shut my mouth. Steven looked up, his eyes wide.
‘Half-Arab,’ Crystal corrected. ‘His father’s from…oh…’
‘India,’ Samantha said.
‘That’s not Arab,’ Pete scolded.
‘His father wears one of those towels on his head.’ Stella shrugged. ‘Isn’t that Arab?’
That speed limit sign, on my way home: Sand Niggers Go Home.
‘The boy doesn’t wear a towel,’ Crystal said, now distracted and subdued. She had an uncomfortable look, as if she’d just realized she had no idea who our family really were. ‘Just his father. Philip seems nice. Quiet.’
‘Quiet doesn’t necessarily mean good.’
Everyone jumped at the volume of Steven’s voice. His face had a galvanized glow. ‘And India definitely isn’t innocent,’ he went on. ‘There was an explosion just last year in Bombay’s Stock Exchange building. And tons more bombs that same day. There are all kinds of religious terrorist cells in India, and the father’s turban might mean he’s Muslim. How old did you say this boy was?’
‘Nice,’ Samantha whispered, excited.
And Stella said, ‘Crystal, I can’t wait to eat those muffins!’
‘He’s about Summer’s age,’ Crystal said, not getting it.
‘You guys should watch him.’ Steven grew a few inches in his seat.
‘Watch him?’ Pete repeated.
‘Absolutely. We’re all caught up in this OJ thing, but OJ is the least of our problems. There are a lot more dangerous people in this country right now-a lot of them impressionable teenagers.’ Steven stood up halfway. ‘In fact, if you want me to—’
‘Steven.’ My father put his hand on Steven’s arm. ‘Stop.’
Steven bent his shoulder away from him. His eyes were glassy. ‘Nobody’s paying enough attention. You guys probably don’t even remember that the World Trade Center was bombed. Or, it probably was just something in the news, Oh, that’s too bad, and that was it. You had no connection to it.’
‘Steven,’ my father warned.
He kept going, his voice arcing higher and higher. ‘People want to blow themselves up for crazy ideas. They walk into a market square with people they don’t even know and just…do it. And here we are, watching OJ, la la la.’
‘Why would anyone want to blow themselves up?’ Crystal looked so lost.
‘That’s not something that’s going to happen here.’ Stella made a tsk sound. ‘It’s something that happens in those crazy countries. The ones where people are still riding camels.’
‘It did happen here,’ Steven interrupted sharply, and Stella cowered back. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. You just don’t know.’ Steven groaned painfully, scraped back his chair, and stomped to the living room.
There was a long, tense pause. Outside, two squirrels rolled around in the grass, then chased each other up the tree. Finally, Stella said, ‘Well!’ with a flourish, but nothing else. I poked my tongue into the gap in my mouth where an adult tooth never came in.
‘Meredith worked in the World Trade tower that was bombed,’ my father explained in a low voice. ‘She resigned long before it happened, but I think that’s why he’s worried about—’
‘That’s not why!’ Steven screamed from around the corner. ‘That’s not why at all!’
He stomped up the stairs and slammed a door. Pete’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Everyone looked at us with sympathy, as if they absolutely understood what we were going through.
‘Not that it matters,’ I said loudly, breaking the silence, ‘but I don’t want to go out with that boy down the street, anyway.’
8