All Over the Map

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

By the time Leila comes back, I’ve seen enough videos to know that her truths and dares are mostly just goofy fun.

I smile at her when she steps out of the house until I realize she’s carrying a pile of makeup and Gabe is following her. I am now fifty percent less certain about doing this, but I’m stuck.

“Arya usually films, but Gabe’s volunteered to do it,” she says. “Just say and do whatever feels natural, okay? I always edit to make my guests look good.”

“Sounds great.” I hope I don’t sound nervous.

She positions me in the best spot to catch the light. After a quick look through the screen, she hands her phone to Gabe and takes her place next to me.

“You can start recording, Gabe.” He nods for her to start. She smiles at the camera. “Hey, guys. You’ll never guess who I found: my sister!” I tilt my head toward hers and she loops an arm around my shoulder and rests her head against mine, grinning. “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

I know our dissimilar faces are an unexpected image of sisterhood, but I want a screenshot of this moment to use as my wallpaper. I love how it feels, standing there, leaning into each other.

“This is Kendall. She’s seventeen, and we’ve known each other for two whole hours now. Here’s what I’ve learned about her.” This is the way she started the three videos I watched, with a quick summary of the most interesting facts about her guest. She runs through my highlights—my love of cheese, some of my likes and dislikes. “But the most important thing I’ve learned so far is that just like me, Kendall loves adventure, so let’s play Truth or Dare! So happy I get to share it with you,” she says, and squeezes me tight around the neck. It’s the same easy hugging the Sandovals do. I want to soak this up, drawing in all the words and warmth, but I smile and keep the segment going.

“Now for the main attraction.” She holds up one finger. “Dare: you let me make up your face like Nasim Pedrad in the live action Aladdin and you do her tutting breakdown in the movie credits. She’s Persian.”

“Why do you say Persian instead of Iranian?” I ask.

“Revolution, baby. Iran had a revolution in 1979. It was chaotic. My grandparents are Zoroastrian, and it didn’t feel safe to them, so they came here when it started. My mom was only five. I guess my mom says Persian when she talks about culture stuff, but if it’s politics, she says Iran, maybe?” She shrugs. “We mostly say Persian and claim every famous Persian we can find.”

“Sometimes I feel really dumb about how much I don’t know,” I say. “It’s why I hate Adobe. It’s the same size as Bend, but it feels like a small town with people always doing small-town things, saying small-town stuff, and I bet we don’t have a single Persian in the whole stupid city.”

“Go easy on small towns,” Leila says. “We lived in a tiny one before we moved here when I was in middle school. There’s the same amount of smart and backwards in any size of town. And I promise you have Persians in Adobe, but if you don’t, I’ll come visit, and then you will.”

I love the idea of her coming to visit me. I love even more that it’s her idea. “You want to come see me?”

“Of course. We’re sisters. You can’t shake me.” The warmth of that barely has a chance to wash over me when she sends me her mischievous grin again. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this truth or dare.”

“Okay, dare, make an idiot of myself. What’s the truth?” But I’m sure I’ll take it. In biology, we watched a BBC documentary about a bird called a sandhill crane whose mating dance looks like a drunk on stilts. That’s about how I dance.

“Truth, you tell me what’s really up with you and Hot Gabe.”

No. This is not happening. Why would she even bring that up? “I . . . what? There’s nothing—”

“Uh-uh, the truth is sacred.” She grins at the camera. “Kendall came on this trip with her best friend and best friend’s brother, and there’s a major vibe. So the truth is telling us what’s up.”

As much as I know I need to look into the camera right now, I can’t look in Gabe’s direction. I try to smile at Leila, hoping it doesn’t look like I’m hiding a freakout. Because I’m trying to hide a freakout. I have two choices: humiliate myself or humiliate myself.

“Tell her to flip a quarter,” Gabe says when I stay frozen.

“What?” Leila says.

“No, that’s not—”

“It’s a thing,” Gabe explains. “She’s supposed to do it when she can’t decide between two things.”

“I love it,” Leila squeals, digging into her pocket, but Gabe holds up a quarter and tosses it to her. “So great. Let’s do it. Heads, you take the dare. Tails, you tell the truth.”

She sends the quarter up. Heads, heads, heads . I’d rather dance like one of those birds than answer her question. What would I even say if I have to answer her truthfully?

The coin lands and she covers it. “Ready?”

“Ready,” I answer. Gabe leans forward.

“Heads,” she says. I give her a real smile and relief stretches it wider. Finally came through for me, George.

“Guess I’m doing a dance.”

“But first I paint!” She draws me over to the table and sits me down, Gabe following the shot the whole time. She settles across from me to outline my eyes with a liquid liner.

“Guys,” Gabe says after a few minutes of watching us and listening to the chatter. “I think you need to see something.”

“Gabe, don’t talk. You’re going to give her more editing to do,” I complain.

“This is important. Hang on.” He pulls his own phone out. I’m able to face Gabe now, but he keeps his eyes steady on the screen. “Read this, Barrows. Like you mean it, like you’re trying to convince the city council or something.”

He hands me the phone. It’s a quote about protecting street art.

“Why? This is dumb. Just keep filming,” I order him.

“Kendall,” he says softly. “Trust me.”

I exchange a look with Leila whose eyebrows go up, like, Why not?

I start reading. “Street art doesn’t get its proper—”

“No,” he interrupts. “I mean like a speech. Like you mean it.”

“Are you punking me?”

“I promise you I’m not.”

I sigh and stand up, but I play along, giving the quote more intensity. “Street art doesn’t get its proper due in the art establishment, but it’s the most vital indicator of the heart of our urban cultures.” I finish the quote, then look at him, back to my regular voice. “What’s the point?”

“Can you hand that to Leila and let her do the same thing?” He gives her a questioning look.

She takes his phone and stands. “Ready?”

“Not yet,” Gabe says. “Barrows, come watch this while she does it.” He messes with her phone for a second and I see he’s stopped the recording and backed it up to where I started the quote. “Okay, go,” he nods to Leila.

He hits “play” as soon she starts, keeping the volume low so it doesn’t distract her.

Leila reads the same quote while I watch the video of myself and her live at the same time.

I see it immediately.

I move the way she moves. It’s in the sharp, jerky motions of my wrist for emphasis. In the angle I hold my hands. And our voices . . .

“We’re the same. We even sound the same,” I say, interrupting her and shoving her phone at Gabe.

Her smile is soft. “Yeah?”

It’s like finding the combo to an intricate lock, but suddenly the dial clicks, and I get it. The girl standing in front of me is my sister. I am her sister . It’s a cosmic validation that the sense of restlessness I’ve been feeling for the last few years as Mom and I grow further apart is a fair way to feel. This proves that there is a part of me that can only be explained by my DNA.

“Leila?” I say, grinning.

“Yes, Kendall?”

“I think I love you.”

She grins back. “Catch up, sis, because I already know I love you.”

We fly across the small gap between us, and she throws her arms around me again. I hug her back, hard. When we let go, we still stand there, grinning at each other.

“That’s going to look great on YouTube,” Gabe says.

Leila turns to him, looking disoriented, like she forgot he was filming. “That’s good. You can shut it off now.”

“What about the Aladdin thing?” I ask.

“I don’t want to share the content. This moment is all mine.” She hugs me again. I love it. It’s warm and easy.

Gabe lowers the phone and taps it against his palm, studying the deck for a second. “Okay, so I’m going to see if I can talk Fereshteh into giving me seconds.”

“The problem will be talking her out of giving you thirds,” Leila says.

“Thanks for helping.” I hold out his phone. He holds onto it for a second, his fingers resting against mine.

“What’s the answer,” he says, his voice low. “To Leila’s truth? What’s going on with us?”

I push the phone toward him, a hot rush of adrenaline making my pulse pound. “You know as well as I do. Nothing.”

“Not sure that’s what I know.” Then he finally trades phones and disappears into the house.