“Ready?” Molly asks.
I nod and heave my backpack onto my shoulder as we start walking.
Bobbi starts in right away. “So the Midwinter Dance committee met again today. I think it’s going to be an amazing dance. You’re both coming, right?”
Molly says, “Sure,” while I give a half nod, half shrug.
“The music is gonna be banging,” she continues. “We’ve booked DJ Funkalicious already!”
“Wow, she’s hard to book,” Molly says, impressed.
Bobbi looks pleased. “Not when you have connections.”
I roll my eyes, out of her line of vision.
Bobbi continues, “Have you decided what you’re going to wear? I think I’m going to do the glittery jeans thing….”
I tune out as they discuss the dance. I can’t stop last night from replaying in my mind: Uncle Sandeep telling me about my father; the gurdwara walls blackening in flames; the fingernail moon shining through the sunroof; sleeping muni with her Winnie the Pooh stars and moon blanket…me, with my yum-yum.
“Sammy? You still with us?”
I pull myself together and look at Bobbi. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Is your ex still harassing you?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t heard from him since Mom talked to Mrs. B.”
She smiles. “Funny how much influence a boy’s mama can have.”
When I get home, Mom’s at the kitchen table sorting bills. She looks up as I walk through the door. “Hi, honey. How are you doing?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” I get out of my winter gear and sit down next to her. “Guess it’s a little much.”
She nods, folding her hands in front of her and resting her chin on top. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. At first I thought Sandeep had taken you to the gurdwara again. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” She takes a breath and stops to stroke my upper arm.
I look at her face, brimming with concern, fear, and…relief. At one time a comment like that might’ve made me feel smothered. But now I take her hand and hold it between mine. We’re almost the exact same shade of brown, the color of warm maple syrup and cinnamon over waffles.
“I’m okay, Mom,” I say softly.
She slides her hand out and cups my face before planting a big, sloppy kiss on my mouth. She grins, still holding on to my face. “Remember when I used to give you puppy kisses?”
I yank my head away before she can lick the entire length of my face. “Ewww, Mom!”
She laughs. “Don’t worry, that was before acne and gym class.” She looks back down at her bills. “A lot of homework tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, not making a move to go upstairs.
She looks up after a moment, eyebrows raised. “Something else?”
“About Naniji and Nanaji.”
She stiffens but waits quietly.
“Mom, don’t you think that grandparents, in general, are just set in their ways? Like, they might change their views, but most likely they won’t, because they grew up a certain way during a certain time and that’s when they got set in their beliefs?”
Mom sets her pen down gently but firmly. She sighs before looking up again at me. “That’s true, Sammy,” she says. “Most older adults aren’t likely to change their worldviews as readily as younger adults. But the issues I have with my parents are more than simply age-related. Valuing lighter complexions runs across the board in Indian culture. It’s not just my parents, it’s really a phenomenon…and it usually goes hand in hand with valuing materialism, social status, and a whole host of other things that I’ve spent years teaching you to challenge.”
“Well maybe that’s the point,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “That it’s not just your parents. And the light-skin, materialism values are more of a cultural thing. Maybe everything you’ve been trying to teach me about is something that’s not only about Naniji and Nanaji, but a lot bigger.”
She chews on her bottom lip. The faintest hint of doubt flits like a shadow across her face. After a moment, she looks into my eyes. “You may be right,” she says slowly. “I wanted my parents to challenge the way things were, not accept them. I needed that from them…and I might have felt that they failed me by not doing that.” She runs her finger along the edge of an envelope.
“My mother, especially,” she continues. “I suppose I expected more from her because she was the same gender parent.” She looks out the window, as if lost in a memory. “I kept them away from you because I was afraid they would fail you in some way, the way they failed me. I couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling that same sense of betrayal.”
“They couldn’t fail me the same way. They’re not my parents; you are…and you’ve never failed me that way.”
She looks at me as if she’s focusing on my features for the very first time. “Huh,” she says, like an answer to a deeply perplexing, long-held riddle finally surfaces in her head.
“Yes, I am your mother.” She shakes her head and mumbles, “Come to think of it, I was probably protecting myself more than anyone else by keeping us both away from my parents.” She continues to shake her head, lost in her own thoughts. “I guess we’re most blind to our own issues.”
After a long and silent pause where we’re both contemplating different things on our own little islands, she sighs deeply.
I snap my head up.
She looks at me for a long moment, and a look of extreme satisfaction creeps onto her face. She nods once and says, “I have to finish these bills, Sammy-beans.”
Chapter 18
Two weeks go by pretty fast when you’ve got quizzes and papers coming out the wazoo. I don’t know what these teachers think they’re preparing us for, but I’ve become one homework machine. By the time Bobbi’s Midwinter Dance rolls around, I am ready to party.
After much pleading and promising to be home by midnight, Molly manages to snag her parents’ car for the evening. I hear her bouncing up the stairs before she swooshes into my room and grabs my arm.
“Diego said he’ll be there a bit later with Ajay,” she says. She’s been jittery ever since she decided that Diego was the Real Deal. “You know that Ajay’s father is Nigerian and his mother’s from Bangladesh?”
I roll my eyes. “Please, Moll. I’ve had enough guy drama for a while.”
She drops my arm. “Sorry, just thought I’d mention it.”
I look at her closely. “So…is tonight the night?”
“I don’t know!” She squeezes my forearm, leaving fading yellow fingerprints behind. “What if it is? God! Makes me so nervous I can’t even think straight!”
I wriggle into my black jeans and suck my gut in to pull up the zipper.
I give Molly an appreciative glance. She has on fuzzy tights and a skintight leopard-skin dress. “Wow, cashmere and animal print—looove it. Only you could pull that off, Moll. Nobody else could make fuzzy kitty look sexy.” I slip a stretchy black lace V-neck over my head.
“Talk about sexy, Wally.”
I look at my reflection in the mirror. “Well, thaink ya.”
“We are gonna knock ’em on their asses tonight.”
I slide Diva Red across my lips before we head for the door. Mom’s on the couch, watching As Good as It Gets on DVD for the third time.
“Bye, Mom.” I leave a Diva Red mouth print on her cheek.
“Have fun, girls! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“We promise,” Molly says merrily.
Once in the car, Molly blasts the music as loud as we can handle. When we pull into the school lot, people are slowly trickling in.
“Can I leave my bag in here?” I ask, pulling my lipstick out.
“Sure, I’ll leave mine, too. We can put them in the trunk.”
We throw our bags in the back and walk into the gym.
DJ Funkalicious is set up at the front with a dry ice machine next to her. There are two disco balls spraying diamond-shaped lights all over the floor. We
drop our jackets behind the DJ booth. Molly was right, knowing Bobbi Lewis does have some perks.
“Let’s dance!” I yell, pulling Molly onto the dance floor. Several people are already there, and Molly and I join them.
The music thrums through my spiky-heeled boots and straight up my legs. The songs meld together into one throbbing beat. It’s just me and the vibrations from the floor, the flashing lights, and the occasional clouds of dry ice. Before I know it, I’m in the middle of a huge throng of people.
I feel warm inside and out. Bodies rub and bump against me from all sides. Everyone knows that being in the middle of the dance floor almost guarantees you’ll get felt up. If you don’t want it, stay on the outskirts, where the chaperones can keep an eye on things.
I stay put. I like the heat, the pulsing of rhythms, breath, and limbs all around me. It’s the perfect place to submerge and zone out. Exactly what I need.
When Funkalicious slows down the pace, I realize how parched I am. I walk over to the DJ booth and lean against the wall to scour the room for Molly. I find her, superglued to Diego, barely moving in time to the slow song. Next to them is Diego’s friend, Ajay.
I look him over with some interest. Not bad, not bad at all. But not now. The space that Mike left behind is still raw and jumbled. I need time to sort that out before I venture back out onto the guy minefield.
I sigh and head toward the door. Outside the gym, fluorescent lights beam daytime into the halls. Students line up against the window ledge, looking out onto the courtyard, chatting and flirting. I walk straight to the water fountain and suck until the person behind me starts to complain.
“Hey, leave some for the rest of us!”
I roll my eyes, take a few more gulps, and turn to go back into the gym. The slow song is still playing, so I lean against the DJ booth where it’s darkest and pretend to go through my jacket pockets in search of something.
Finally the pace picks up with a Puffy-turned-P. Diddy tune. I take a couple of steps toward the dance floor, then stop to stare at the gym entrance.
There’s Mike, sauntering in like he still goes here. Star of Melville High. He’s followed by the Three Jerk-a-teers—Rick Taylor, Simon Monroe, Chuck Banfield—and a couple of guys I don’t recognize. My heart quickens as I look away. I sidle up to Molly, who’s now got at least an inch between herself and Diego.
“Moll…” I lean in close to be heard above the bass.
She turns to me, eyes blissfully glazed. “Hey, Sammy!”
I shout into her ear. “Mike just walked in!” Her expression changes in an instant and she looks around, disentangling from Mr. Real Deal.
When she spots Mike, her face hardens. “Don’t worry, Sam. He wouldn’t do anything here.”
I nod and do a two-step next to her. A few minutes later Bobbi prances over with a couple of her sidekicks. “I just saw Mr. X,” she says, shouting into my ear. “Are you all right?”
I nod and keep dancing. We’re pretty close to the outer edge of the dance floor, so I know Mike has spotted me, but I avoid looking in the direction where he and his friends have set up camp.
After a while, I almost loosen up a little. When Funkalicious slows down the tempo again, I walk to the back near the booth. I see Martin Shaheen grab Bobbi’s hand just as she’s reaching for her cup of water, and her sidekicks are already plastered against guys. Molly’s snuggled up against Diego, but she throws me an apologetic look over her shoulder.
I pick up my coat to start my searching-through-the-pockets routine, when I see Ajay walking toward me. I toss my coat aside in relief and get ready to go out on the dance floor. But before Ajay makes it anywhere close, Mike steps in front of him.
“Hey, Sammy.” My heart leaps into my throat.
Ajay stops and leans against the wall.
In a flash, Molly is at my side, hands on hips. “Buzz off, creep!” Diego and Ajay have come together and now hover nearby, watching closely.
“If there’s a problem, I’ll have security over here in ten seconds flat,” Molly says.
Bobbi and her sidekicks have found a prime viewing spot off to one side.
“Relax,” Mike says sharply. “This is between me and Sammy.” He looks directly at me. “Sammy, can we please talk? Just for a sec?”
In that moment, something in his eyes reminds me of the Mike I fell for: the Mike in high school who used to be happy, before he had to start working full-time and taking care of his mom; the Mike who loved to draw and laugh and drive to the lake. The Mike who saw lots of possibility for himself in the world and thought it was a good place. I can tell he’s not drunk, and my insides begin to mush up.
“It’s okay,” I say to Molly.
“Are you sure?” says Molly, looking suspiciously at Mike, then over his shoulder at the guys he came in with.
I nod. “I won’t leave the building.”
She walks away slowly, casting looks back at me as she makes her way to Diego and Ajay.
“Good friend,” he says to me.
I slide down onto our heap of jackets. “What do you want, Mike?”
He crouches down in front of me. “I miss you, Sam.”
“Shoulda thought of that before you left those messages on my voice mail.” We’re still yelling over the music.
“Yeah, about that.” He looks around the room. “Can we go somewhere quieter?”
I look at him like, Why should I?
“I’m sorry!” he says.
I chew on my bottom lip for a minute. What the hell. We could go out into the hallway where everything’s lit up like a stadium. I get up. He holds his hand out, but I ignore it and walk past him. We go to a spot that’s relatively vacant and lean against the window ledge.
“Listen,” he says, prying open a window. “I’m sorry about being an asswipe. There’s no excuse for what I said and how I acted. I was way outta line.”
I take a deep breath in. Being this warm, having just left a room that was throbbing with music and bodies, then standing this close to Mike, is not easy. And he knows it.
He takes my hand and traces the lines on it before bringing it to his lips. His mouth lightly grazes the center of my palm, warm breath radiating to my fingertips and up my arms.
I jerk my hand away. “Cut it out, Mike.”
He flashes a lopsided smile. The one that makes me forget how to form words into sentences. He tilts his head to give me a once-over. “You look great, Sam.”
I can’t help the tremor that races through my body. At one time I thought Mike would be my Real Deal. And even though every inch of me wants to plaster up against him on the dance floor, those voice mail messages keep replaying in my head.
I turn toward the gym entrance. “I’m going back in.”
He grabs my hand again. “C’mon, Sam.”
“See you later, Mike,” I say softly, and pull my hand out of his.
I feel like a pinball in a machine as I walk back through the crowd, not only because I’m being jostled, but because of the million thoughts pinging through my brain. The place is packed now, and almost everyone is dancing. Molly has melted back into Diego in a darkened part of the room. I glance at the giant wall clock, and it is in its usual broken state. I reach for my cell to check the time and remember that I left it in my bag in the trunk of the MacFaddens’ car. Given Molly’s swoony state, I figure I should probably be the one to keep an eye on the time.
I weave my way toward her and lightly tap her shoulder. “Hey, Moll—sorry, Diego—I need to get my bag out of the car!”
She fishes her keys out of a pocket, still mostly melded to Diego. I take them, stop by the booth for my jacket, and walk out to the parking lot.
It’s freezing out now, and I’m wishing I had decided on flannels and fleece. The parking lot is dark, shadowy, and deserted, except for a group of guys hanging out near a red Ford Mustang. I quicken my pace as I walk past them.
I snatch my bag out of the trunk and shove my phone into my jacket pocket. I
slam the trunk shut and start walking back to the building.
As I walk past the Mustang, I notice that the voices have died down. I hear shuffling and the clinking of bottles. And then a figure steps in front of me.
“Look who it is.”
My blood runs cold as Chuck’s voice slivers into me. I can’t see his face because of the light behind him. He sways in front of me, holding a bottle in a paper bag. He reeks of booze.
“Buzz off, Banfield,” I mutter. I turn to walk around him and slam into Simon.
Simon moves toward me and I back away. “Saw you dancing in there, Ali-ali-ali,” he says, moving toward me. “Looked to me like you like being rubbed up.”
Blood pounds in my ears. They’re standing between me and the entrance to the building. There doesn’t seem to be a soul in sight. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and grip my cell phone. I wonder if I could hit Molly’s number by randomly pressing keys. No, they’ll hear the beeps.
Rick’s voice comes out of the shadows to my right. I gasp and take a step back. “Remember when we used to chase you in the schoolyard, Ali-ali?” He starts laughing. “Hey, Chuck, remember when you put that worm on Ali-ali’s head?”
Chuck laughs.
My throat is closing. A storm swirls in my belly.
His voice is smooth, his breath coming out in puffs laced with alcohol. “I got somethin’ else for ya, and it ain’t no worm.”
“Yeah,” says Simon, moving closer. “Let’s see what’s got Mike all worked up.”
I edge farther back. Think, think, think, Sammy! Behind me are trees and hedges. If I scream, no one will hear me above the music inside.
No sudden movements. I take a deep breath, twitch my head to look over Chuck’s shoulder, at a point on the brick school wall behind him. Then I yell as loud as I can, “Mike!”
The three of them jerk their heads around, and I bolt in the opposite direction. Mom told me that in third grade when I came home muddy and bruised: If you can’t outfight them, baby, RUN.
And I run. I don’t stop to look back. I don’t feel the cold. I don’t feel my nose dripping. I don’t feel my toes pinched in pointy, spike-heeled boots. I don’t feel nausea.
Shine, Coconut Moon Page 17