“Honey, there’s no one way to be Arab.” He laughs again, and I feel totally stupid. I stare down at the table.

“What I mean is you know how to speak Arabic. And you know things about the culture. And I, like, well, I don’t know anything.” I tug at one of my curls. “The only thing I have is that people think I look like I should know those things.”

He gives me a sympathetic glance. “I didn’t realize you were so curious about these things.” He unscrews the cap of his water bottle. “I guess I always wanted you to feel like you belonged here. Especially because of . . .”

“Because of Mom leaving?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to feel and your sister to feel like Americans.”

“But can’t we be Arab and American? Like you.”

He smiles. “You’re right. You can.” He balls a napkin up in his hand. “And that was my mistake for thinking that you couldn’t. So what do you want to know?”

“Mabel and I wanted to know everything.”

His eyes go cloudy. “I’m really sorry, Cora. I didn’t know your sister had those questions . . .” His voice drifts off.

I hang my head. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m not saying that to make you feel bad.”

“Oh, I know, kiddo. But, hey, at least I can make it up to you, right? That has to be something.”

I stare down at my half-eaten sandwich. I promise myself that once I’ve found the wormhole and saved Mabel, I’m going to make Dad answer all our questions. My sister and I will both get our answers.

“Hey, Corrie?”

I look up at him. “What?”

“Was this all a distraction technique to not have to talk about you hanging out with Quinn again?”

I shrug and pick at my sandwich, pinching the pita bread with my fingers. “Maybe a little. But I do really want to know things about being Arab.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll start to tell you more things about Lebanon and your family there, but I need you to talk to me about Quinn.”

I’m scared to look at his face and find disappointment. Using the trick that Mabel once taught me, I keep my eyes glued to the space between his eyebrows. “Are you mad that I’m hanging out with her?”

“No! Definitely not!” The register of his voice makes me jump a little.

He reaches out to grab my hand. “Cora, kiddo, I’m so happy you’re hanging out with Quinn again. I think that’s very important.”

My grip is weak, but I don’t pull away from his touch. “Are you sure? Don’t you blame Quinn at all for what . . . happened?”

Dad shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

He answers with so much certainty that, for a moment, I think that it’s okay that I’m friends with Quinn again. That it’s not a profound betrayal of Mabel. But then I quickly remind myself that I’m not really friends with Quinn again. I’m only working with her to save Mabel.