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In Lahore, that was the breeze . You actually had to close the windows to keep the wind out. You had to keep the house dark in the daytime.
    It was so hot, when she went outside Leila could feel her brain cooking inside her skull, like a boiled egg. It was so hot that the idea of a long-sleeved shirt seemednuts. Then again, Leila didn’t want to stand out as “The American Weirdo.” This is a strange fact: in the United States, people thought of Leila as Pakistani. But here, people thought of her as American. With a white mother and a Pakistani father, Leila used to think that she was both. But Leila was beginning to realize that, in some ways, she was also neither. In other people’s minds, at least.
    Anyway, Leila really didn’t care about the sleeves, so she finally just said, “Long-sleeved is fine with me,” and Jamila Tai smiled smugly. From the expression on her face, Rabeea obviously wished she could strangle Leila.
    So, here Leila was, in her long-sleeved kameez, with Rabeea still clearly outraged by the situation, but not saying so, at least not directly.
    Well, maybe The Sleeveless Debate could be Blog Two, Leila mused.
    The doorbell rang, but nobody at the table stood up. They just waited for Chirragh or one of the other servants to answer it. After a moment, a fat woman with an enormous, beaming smile walked in. The silk of her bejeweled kameez (sleeveless, by the way, which showed her dimpled arms) fluttered as she walked. She was beyond glamorous,and Leila liked her right away. But she only thought about her for a short moment, because right behind the glamourpuss was the handsomest boy that Leila had ever seen. The minute he walked in, she knew he was the One. She knew it the way Elizabeth Dear knew it the moment she saw the stableboy in Dreams of England . And the way Elizabeth knew it when she shook hands with the editor of her school paper, Roland Whiting, in Paper Tigers . Oh! And the way Elizabeth knew it when she met the mysterious new barista—Alex James—in Latte Love .
    He had thick, dark hair that spiked up, like it was thinking mischievous thoughts and might run off at any moment. His long black eyelashes fringed around inky eyes. They were eyes like a night sky—dark, with stars. Oh boy, he was handsome. And he cooked Leila’s brain just as good as the hot Pakistani sun, I can tell you. Her brain went straight from hard-boiled to scrambled.
    â€œAs-salaam alaikum!” the fat lady sang out, and then everyone got up and salaamed and the women kissed each other on the cheeks.
    â€œMrs. Haq, I’d like to introduce you to my niece,” Babar Taya said, gesturing to Leila. “This is Leila. Leila,this is Mrs. Haq and her son, Zain.”
    â€œSalaam, salaam.” Peace, peace . Leila could speak this much, at least.
    â€œAp kitne den Lahore me henh?” Mrs. Haq’s heavily mascaraed eyelashes batted a friendly wave.
    â€œShe doesn’t speak Urdu.” Jamila Tai wore the same tight smile that Rabeea had worn earlier, when Leila had described out-of-date fashions.
    â€œOh! Your parents never taught you?” Mrs. Haq’s face was all smug innocence. “What a shame. And your father is such a brilliant man, mashallah .”
    Jamila Tai muttered something, but the only word Leila caught was Amrikan . It was the word that made Zain step forward.
    â€œYou’re the American!” Zain said, as if being American were wonderful, thrilling, fantastic!
    â€œYes, but she’s still dressed more conservatively than a fundo,” Rabeea put in.
    Her mother shot her a look that could have melted lead.
    Zain laughed. “Not quite a burka,” he said, referring to Leila’s outfit. Leila wished Rabeea would let it go. Leilathought her clothes were pretty. Hot pink cotton with lovely little beads at the neckline and hem of the kameez, this was easily one of the nicest outfits she had ever owned. And she had three