Published in 2026 by Red Comet Press, LLC, Brooklyn, NY
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2025935204
ISBN (HB): 978-1-63655-144-9
ISBN (EBOOK): 978-1-63655-145-6
First Edition
Manufactured in China
Red Comet Press is distributed by ABRAMS, New York
RedCometPress.com
TARANEH MATLOOB KRISTEN BALOUCH
RED COMET PRESS
BROOKLYN
My full name is Afsaneh, but everyone here calls me
AFSI.
Afsaneh means FAIRY TALE.
A fairy tale is happily ever after. Whimsical. It means in a land far, far away.
Like far, far away where I was born.
Grandma says life is not a fairy tale. It is only in fairy tales, not in real life, that magic happens.
I WISH magic could make my English better.
Every day, English words are lining up in front of my eyes like floating
SPIDERWEBS.
I am their prey, trapped helplessly in the air.
Learning English is like crossing an INVISIBLE RIVER where there is no beginning and no end.
Am I expected to jump or paddle my way across? Are there any paths or bridges?
Is the riverbed flat with sand that creeps between your toes?
Or is it full of STONES to stumble over and mucky mud that wants to hold you there?
In class, my teacher calls my name.
I JUMP in my seat, then try to SHRINK DOWN. I can feel her eyes on me. What does she want? IT IS NOT FAIR. How should I answer when I don’t understand the question?
Heat spreads across my cheeks until they’re the color of Grandma’s face after a hot shower.
My eyes, wide open. My eyebrows, knit together. My fists, clenched.
Everyone in class looks like a giant.
ENGLISH-SPEAKING
I feel so small.
I feel a tap-tap on my shoulder.
A boy with a kind face passes me a box of CO LO R E D pencils and a pad of paper.
I look around and see everyone else is drawing.
Is this what my teacher was trying to tell me?
Before, when I drew our family portrait, my portrait was huge. Grandma in the center. Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, and everyone else all around her.
Since then, our family portrait has shrunk.
I draw it again. Grandma, my parents, and me. I decide to add my aunts and uncles and their children.
This way I feel closer to them.
While drawing, I hear something. It is the rippling sound of a peaceful river.
Even though I cannot see it, I can hear it
HUMMING.
I hum along with it as it flows past the rough, rocky land and into the calm forest.
The river’s humming is strong, not angry. My humming is strong, not angry.
The silky sound of the water tells me that everything is constantly changing. Nothing can stop the river on its way to the ocean.
The refreshing sound of water makes my near-exploding volcano dormant.
My name is Afsi, and I just learned a new word: DRAW, D-R-A-W.
DRAW means to make a picture of something or someone. DRAW means to hum with the invisible river. I’ve never been to this river before.
DRAW means I am on my way to cross it.
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The silky sound of the water tells me that everything is constantly changing . . .
