“I’ve been working on it, though, and I would like to make an appeal for an extension.”
She flips through the pages of notes with all my scribbling down the margins and looks up. “All right. You have until the end of the week, Samar. But I will still have to deduct one letter grade.”
I groan.
“Or we could go back to deducting one letter grade per day….”
“End of the week it is.” I slink back to my desk.
For the rest of the hour, we talk about how Gatsby tries to reconcile decadence in the elite circles of New York, how Daisy Buchanan’s voice is “full of money,” and what that means.
At the end of class, Balvir walks over and sits in the empty seat next to me. “Hey, did you get to check out SikhOut?” I notice she pronounces it as “seek out.”
I gather my books and give her a lopsided smile. “Yeah…it was pretty cool.”
She grins. “There are some real wackos on there, but most of the people seem pretty cool, right? I’m UltraBrownDiva.”
I smile. “Cool handle.”
“You?”
I’m not sure I want her to know my online name yet. I might choose to post something someday, and I don’t know if I’d want Balvir to have access to some of my innermost thoughts.
“I haven’t got one yet. I might, but right now I’m enjoying surfing the posts.” We walk out of class together. “You know, I never really grew up Sikh. My mom sort of jumped ship after she got married.”
“I don’t blame her. It’s not an easy road for any of us, obviously.” She points to her hair and the makeup she applied this morning at school. Then she walks me to my locker. I throw my books in and grab my lunch, then we walk to her locker.
“My mom cut off all ties to her family,” I add.
She nods. “That is pretty drastic.” She grabs her lunch and we walk to the same spot we sat in last week, opposite the football field.
“How do you deal with it?” I don’t specify what “it” is, but I don’t have to.
“My folks?” She shrugs, taking a bite out of her bagel. “I guess I do what I want anyway. What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”
My plan to visit Mom’s parents behind her back flashes through my mind. I stare out at the thick, dark clouds above the empty field. “What if it’s not something you can hide? My mom wanted to marry someone her parents didn’t approve of. Then she got really pissed off and wanted to have nothing to do with any of her family.” I take a bite of my banana.
“Sounds like either your mom’s parents were really strict, or she’s a true rebel—‘Give me freedom or give me death!’” She grins. “I can’t remember who said that…some revolutionary.” Then her voice goes serious again. “My parents are really strict too, but I’m the youngest of three girls. Your mom sounds like my oldest sister. She took off and married a white guy, so my parents had to mellow out with me and my other sister.” A light rain begins to drizzle. “They said that as long as my other sister and I marry Indian guys, they’re happy…but God forbid if they’re Muslim or Hindu.” She pauses and raises her eyebrows in surrender. “I have a whole checklist for potential boyfriends…and I still have to come to school early to change.”
“My mom married an Indian guy…but he wasn’t the right Indian guy,” I say into the falling drops.
The rain comes down harder. Balvir gets up, laughing, and holds a hand out to help me up. “See? We just can’t get it right, can we?”
After school, Molly meets me at my locker. With Bobbi. I give her a look that is at once questioning and dagger-ish. When Bobbi turns to chat with a friend, Molly grabs my elbow and leads me away a few steps.
“Just do it for me, Sammy,” she says through a clenched smile. “It’s in our social best interest to be seen with her.” The three of us walk out of the school together, with Molly in the middle.
“I’m on the committee for the Midwinter Dance,” Bobbi babbles. “It’s the third week of January this year.”
She natters on. When she finishes, I start up about my paper for Lesiak. For the next fifteen minutes, Bobbi and I take turns talking only to Molly. Finally she gets annoyed.
“Look, you two, you have a lot in common. Can we cut the crap and just hang like regular people? What’s your problem with each other, anyway?”
I look at Molly in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind, MacFadden,” I say, and walk faster, breaking away from them both.
“Sammy!” she says, catching up with me. She goes on in a low voice, “Sure, we’ve both had problems with Bobbi in the past, but…just talk to her. She’s not bad—she’s actually kind of cool.”
I stop walking. Bobbi walks several feet behind me and Molly. “Look, Moll. I don’t know about you, but I happen to recall, quite clearly, some of the names Miss Bobbi Lewis called people all throughout grade school…mean, nasty, hurtful names! And if I remember correctly, you were right there with me when we used to talk about how mean she is! Now, all of a sudden, you want her for a friend. Okay, MacFadden, you got her. I’m good.” I keep walking, and Molly stops to wait for Bobbi.
I walk for the next several minutes without looking back, but I know Molly and Bobbi are not close behind because I can’t hear either of their voices. I slow down when I round a bend, fuming at Molly’s notion of a great idea. What would make her think I want to be friends with Bobbi Lewis? We both hated her in grade school. Her stuck-up, snotty attitude, flashing all the latest trends, looking like she just stepped off a European runway, and now, driving her own powder pink Lexus to school. We were two of a handful of brown—or at least brownish—girls in our school, and she never gave me the time of day. She would walk past me like I wasn’t even there.
I glance over my shoulder. Still no sign of them. I keep walking but slow down just a bit more. Molly has gone completely bonkers. What could she possibly think we have in common? Bobbi Lewis and I couldn’t be more different!
A car rolls up alongside me and slows to my pace. A black Honda Civic. My insides contract and icy fingers take hold of my throat.
Mike leans toward the passenger side, yelling out of the open window. “Hey, Sammy! Can we talk?”
The whole world is going nuts. “After those messages you left on my voice mail? No way.”
“Sam, c’mon…I was wasted, I didn’t know what I was saying!”
“You called me a…” I walk faster. “Forget it, Mike. I am not getting in the car with you.” Feet pound behind me. I whip my head around, and Molly and Bobbi almost knock me over.
“Sammy, are you okay?” Molly says, out of breath.
“She’s fine,” says Mike, rolling his eyes.
“I didn’t ask you,” she fires back.
“This is between me and Sammy,” he says heatedly. Then to me, “Sammy, just get in. I’ll take you home.”
“I’m almost there. Leave me alone, Mike. You didn’t leave us much room to talk after those messages.”
“Oh, come on! I told you I didn’t know what I was saying.”
Suddenly Bobbi turns to him. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She said NO. Now buzz off!”
“Yeah, Mike,” Molly adds. “You said what you had to say…we all heard it.”
Mike’s face flushes cherry red. He clenches his jaw and looks me dead in the eye. But he says nothing. Instead he peels away, leaving black dashes in the road where his wheels were.
Molly shakes her head. “Un-freaking-believable.”
The three of us walk in silence until we reach my driveway. I hug my books to my chest and look at the ground. “Thanks.”
Molly gives me a tight squeeze. “Thanks for what? If that was me, you would’ve done the same, except you probably would’ve been more violent.” She grins.
I nod. “True.” I turn to Bobbi and mumble, “Thanks.”
She smiles sympathetically. “I went on two dates with Simon Monroe early this year, and he didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’ either.”
&nbs
p; “Simon Monroe?”
She shrugs. “He’s hot and smooth, but get in a dark room alone with him and it’s octopus city.”
I give her a slight nod and say good-bye before turning to walk up my driveway. Bobbi misunderstood my surprise about Simon. I’m not surprised he’s a jerk. I’m surprised she didn’t know it before she went out with him. I thought it was obvious to everyone. But then, there’s a whole lot about Mike I never saw before too.
I look back at Bobbi and Molly walking down the street. A girl like Bobbi could have anything she wants. She grew up in the wealthy part of Linton, her father’s one of the only African-American golf players in the area, and her mom is the director at the Institute for Jewish Research and Studies.
She has always been surrounded by pretty, expensive things, and pretty, expensive people. Molly, on the other hand, buys most of her clothes from thrift shops and has one trusty, loyal friend—yours truly.
I can see why Bobbi would want to hang with Molly. And after the way Bobbi stood up for me with Mike, I’m starting to wonder if I should do like Molly says and give Bobbi the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that’s why Uncle Sandeep tries so hard to be understanding all the time.
If we give them a chance, people could surprise us. Maybe if we didn’t make up our minds right away, based on a few familiar clues, we’d leave room for people to show us a bunch of little, important layers that we never would have expected to see.
Chapter 13
The rest of the week I go straight to my computer after school and work on the assignment for Lesiak. Somehow, after I get past the first part—remembering that day—the rest of it sort of tumbles out. Like it has been sitting there all along, just waiting for me to get it.
I do the title last: “American Heartbreak: A Personal Account of a National Tragedy.” When I print out the final, clean copy, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment and relief. I have a finished paper that I’m actually proud of, despite losing a letter grade and taking forever to get to it.
I read the first sentences over again:
Is it possible to feel completely American as well as completely un-American? After September eleventh, I never felt more un-American in my whole life, yet at the same time, I felt the most American I’ve ever felt too. I never knew it, but really, this has been a recurring theme throughout my life and it seemed to get shoved into my face after the attacks on the World Trade Center.
I catch a snippet of Mom’s telephone conversation downstairs and stop reading to listen.
“Sandeep, where Sammy is concerned, you have to respect my rules….”
I tiptoe to the top of the stairs and strain to hear more.
“Mm-hmm…mm-hmm. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that…. I know you don’t…. No, no, you’re absolutely right, that wasn’t fair of me….”
She mumbles a few words, so I go down a couple of steps. “You ought to know me better than that, Sandeep. I want my daughter to be proud of who she is. It was never my intention to keep her from getting to know her history….” She turns on the exhaust fan and it swallows the rest of her sentence.
I sigh and go back to my room, little acid bursts going off in my stomach. A moment later Mom calls me downstairs. I take the steps two at a time.
“Sammy,” she says, leaning against the counter, “I had a conversation with Sandeep.”
As if I didn’t know. Aaaaand?
She bends to pick up a cookie crumb. “We decided the best time to take you to visit…your grandparents…is when everyone is off from work and school. That puts us into the Christmas break. It’ll give me, and you, a little time to prepare, as well as work out anything that comes up. Plus, I need to work myself up to call them and arrange everything.” She walks stiffly to the trash can to throw the cookie crumb out.
I swallow hard. As nervous as I am, I know Mom’s got to be freaking out. Suddenly it feels like there’s not enough room for both of us in this house.
“Can I go to Molly’s to finish my homework?”
She gives me a nod, and I turn to sprint up the stairs. “Sammy?” I look back at her.
She hesitates, then says quietly, “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I say, dashing upstairs to call Molly.
As I race to Molly’s house, scenes of disaster play through my mind. Mom screaming at her parents, Uncle Sandeep and Mom embroiled in a shouting match, Nani and Nana discovering how un-Indian I am and throwing both me and Mom out…My stomach knots up and I move faster, trying to outwalk the adrenaline. Every so often a car rolls past, and I whip my head around, thinking it might be Mike. It doesn’t help that there are so many black cars on the road. The very thought of Mike makes me cramp up.
“We have the whole place to ourselves,” Molly says when I get there.
I shrug out of my coat and drop my backpack. “I’m totally freaking, Moll.”
“Wanna drink?” she says, grinning mischievously.
“A drink? Are you kidding? I have to get this homework done, I’m already way behind as it is.”
“So, this’ll help you relax. Come on, Sam, how’re you going to focus on doing any work if you don’t relax a bit?” She goes to her parents’ liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Cuervo Gold and two shot glasses. She raises her eyebrows, eyes sparkling underneath.
She’s right. A tiny bit might help me loosen up a little. “Okay, but just a teeny bit.”
She smiles and flits off to the kitchen. When she comes back, she has a salt shaker and a couple of pieces of lime. We sit cross-legged on the living room rug, and she hands me the salt shaker. “Lick the back of your hand.” She licks her own, takes the salt shaker from me and sprinkles salt on the wet spot.
I stare at her in amazement. “Where did you learn this?”
“I have cool cousins.” She takes a piece of lime in one hand, licks the salt from the back of the other, grabs the shot glass, downs it, then immediately sucks on the lime.
“Wow…Impressive.” I take a deep breath and mimic her movements. I immediately see why the lime and salt are necessary. My throat feels like it’s been seared.
She nods. “I know, right? Should we do another one?”
“Um, I think I’m okay.” My voice comes out raspy.
She gets up to put the tequila bottle away and comes back with a bag of Oreos and a pint of Häagen-Dazs ice cream.
“Maybe this’ll help our throats,” she says.
I giggle. “Good plan.” I lean back against the sofa and close my eyes. Molly’s house feels warm.
She plops down on a cushion next to me and hands me a spoon. “Still freaking out about your mom…and visiting your grandparents?”
My stomach immediately makes a fist. “Crap. Yeah.” I dig into the dulce de leche.
“Don’t worry, Wally. It’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, at least it’s something.”
“I guess.” Molly was right: The ice cream feels good sliding down my throat. Before I know it, my spoon is scraping the bottom of the container.
Molly smacks her lips. “Should we have some more?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
We polish off another pint of ice cream, the Oreo cookies, and a bag of Cheez Doodles before watching a couple of episodes of Project Runway on DVD.
As the credits roll, I glance over at the untouched textbooks on Molly’s dining table. “Crap, Moll, we haven’t done any homework.”
She pushes herself up against the sofa and groans. “I know. I guess we’ll have to get up early and do it.”
Somehow, now that my paper for Lesiak is done and I won’t lose any more letter grades over it, I don’t feel as worried about the textbooks we never got to.
By the time I pull on my boots, there’s not a trace of our drinking “adventure”/pig-out session in sight. The empty ice-cream containers and bags of snacks are in a trash bin behind the house, the shot glasses are washed, dried, and placed back in the liquor cabinet, the bottle is back behind a bu
nch of other bottles, and the lime pieces are in a plastic sandwich bag in my backpack.
“Sorry I wasn’t much help, Sam. I know you’re freaking out. Maybe we should go shopping this weekend?”
I give her a hug. “Hanging out and watching Project Runway was a big help. Got my mind off all the big stuff. Plus, ice cream is always a bonus.” I flash her a grin. “But nothing helps like shopping.”
I step out into the chilly air. A black car at the corner catches my eye, and I go rigid.
“What’s up?” Molly asks, face wrinkling in concern.
“I thought I saw…” I shake my head. I must be seeing things. What would Mike be doing sitting on the corner by Molly’s house?
“Never mind, it’s nothing,” I say, and hug her good-bye.
The air feels good on my face as I begin walking. I breathe deep to shake the eerie feeling from my bones.
After a couple of blocks, I hear a car slow down behind me. This time I avoid the impulse to turn, and keep walking. But it doesn’t drive past. I turn around and Mike’s Civic pulls up.
“Hey, babe,” he says, rolling down his window. His words are slurred.
I halt, gripping the straps of my backpack.
“Want a ride?” he asks, smiling. But it’s not a smile I’ve seen from him before. It’s more…mocking.
I pull my zipper up to my chin and shove my hands into my pockets. I turn to keep walking, and quicken my pace. “Mike, I said leave me alone.”
“I can’t leave you alone. You’re my girlfriend.”
“Was your girlfriend.”
“What the hell were the two of you doing in there?”
I keep walking briskly. Mike is creeping me out, and my legs are ready to sprint. “The two of who? What are you talking about?”
“You and your girlfriend. What the hell were you two doing for all that time, all alone?”
My heart lurches into my throat. I stop and turn slowly to look at him. “That was you at the corner. Were you watching us, Mike? How long were you sitting out there?”
He ignores my questions and stops the car. “What else am I s’posed to do? I gotta do something. You won’t call me back, you won’t get in my car—you’re my girlfriend, what d’you think that makes me look like?”
Shine, Coconut Moon Page 12