The next day, Grandpa gives me my last driving lesson. He’s cranky and bossy as usual. I sneeze at one point and feel the tires veer toward a curb, but I straighten the car out immediately. Grandpa looks really mad, yet he lets it slide. He yells at a woman who cuts me off—prostitute!—and I grip the steering wheel tightly, willing myself not to crash. The rest of the lesson goes smoothly. I’m going to take the driving test after my sixteenth birthday. I’m fully ready to celebrate my sixteenth birthday, which is at Lisa’s place on Monday.

Lisa makes sure that the timing is right and that the invitations have the start time right before sunset, so that I won’t starve at my own party. I break fast by blowing out the candles on top of a large, square chocolate cake that I eat a slice of immediately. Dozens of my friends are there, there’s a DJ, and I dance with Peter. It’s the bestest party that’s ever been thrown in my honor.

Lisa’s house is festooned with flowers and party banners. Maria approaches me with a slice of cake in her hand. Her harsh red lips, wavy black hair, and sharply drawn eyebrows contradict the warm smile she gives me. “Here’s some more cake,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Your dress is pretty. You look good, baby girl.”

“Thanks.”

“Look at Lisa being a hot mama over there with Gabriel.”

“Tell me about it. She looks like she’s having the most fun.”

“And Shakira makes such a cute couple with Luis,” she says.

“And I saw you hugging her the other day,” I say. “I didn’t know you could be such a softie.”

“I’m not a softie,” Maria says. She lightly punches me in the arm, and my tricep tingles with pain. “I’m sorry for tempting you when you were fasting, but I thought you couldn’t do it. I wanted to see if you were for real or not.”

“I’m for real, and I did it!” I say.

“You’re pretty strong,” Maria says with a smile. “I wouldn’t last ten minutes without eating. Go ahead and eat that cake, and it’s better than anything that comes in a plastic wrapper.”

“It sure beats the Twinkies you’re addicted to,” I say. I look at the cake in my hand. I stab it with a fork and eat it. The end of Ramadan is this week and I know it’ll feel great to eat all day again. No more obsessing about food. No more obsessing about whether or not I’m boyfriendless. No more wondering if Lisa will be mad at me for loving Peter when she’s gotten over it. Lisa dances with Gabriel. She drapes her body over his as she dances. Yes, she definitely doesn’t want Peter anymore. What a relief.

I dance with Peter. We make sure to be nowhere near Maria, who’s bumping and grinding against a boy she just met, her arms and legs everywhere. She accidentally hit me in the eye earlier, and I’ll probably wake up with a bruise on my upper cheek. People will ask me where I got the black eye from and I’ll say, “You know that Maria.”

“Maria’s pretty wild,” Peter says.

“I’ve known her forever,” I say. “She’s always been like that.”

“She’s feisty.”

“That’s one word for her.”

“Do your parents like me?” he asks.

“So far, but they don’t know you’re my boyfriend,” I say in his ear.

“Will you ever tell them?”

“I don’t think so. I feel really bad about keeping this from them, but I think I have to. They have girls my age stoned in their country for having a boyfriend.”

“Wow!”

“I know! Like, they really throw stones at them and kill them.”

“Okay, then don’t tell them, because I don’t want you to get stoned,” he says.

“Okay,” I say. Yeah, who wants to get stoned? Not me. I don’t think it’s in my parents to hurt me, but Grandpa might have a totally different reaction, a really bad one. He definitely can never ever know that I have a secret boyfriend. I’ll sneak out with Peter whenever I can, while I show my parents a goody-two-shoes façade that will be impenetrable. I can keep this secret. I don’t want to be barraged with shame because of something that’s totally against my upbringing.

We stop dancing and Peter leads me over to the table that holds all of my presents. “Can I give this to you?” he asks, handing me a wrapped present.

He doesn’t need to ask. I love presents. I open the small box and inside is a slender ring that has a ruby-centered flower. It’s loose on my ring finger. Yay, even my fingers are skinnier. It fits perfectly on my index finger instead. Then he hands me another box. I open it, tearing into the ribbon and tape, and it’s a Ferrero Rocher gift box. It’s like he’s given me a box of gold coins. The foil wrapping glistens under the strobe lights.

“It’s nighttime, so don’t get mad at me,” Peter says.

“I love it,” I say. Now that we know how much we like each other, he can give me chocolate out in the open.

I vow not to eat all of the chocolates in one sitting. After fasting for a month, my appetite isn’t what it used to be and I have a greater appreciation of food. I realize that food is more about tasting good than eating large amounts until my stomach feels like bursting. Dad, who’s always been trim, eats desserts very slowly, never taking seconds. He says that it’s the taste that counts, so he doesn’t have to eat a lot. He’s right.

I tear one of the chocolates open and nibble on it, tasting how delicious it is. My favorite part is the middle, where the nuts are. It’s like yum, yum, then yummy. When I get home, I know that Mom will ask me who gave me which presents, and I can’t tell her that the chocolates are from a boy I really like. She was kind enough to accept my desktop and screensavers, but this isn’t something she’s going to be okay with. It’s one thing to slobber over men on my computer screen, but to have a real-life boy to hug and kiss is totally different. And Dad had been mean about erasing Robert Pattinson from my computer. If he knew about Peter, he’d try to erase him from my life just as easily. Instead of clickety click, it would be you’re grounded, you can’t look at boys, you can’t touch boys, you can’t do anything.