by Jasmin Kaur
“I’m ready to throw this canvas in a dumpster. And then set the dumpster on fire.” Marisol placed their paint tray on their stool and stretched their freckled, tan arms into a graceful yoga pose. The volume of Mr. Kim’s Jorja Smith album suddenly increased a notch: his reminder that it was quiet work time.
My pocket vibrated. I awkwardly attempted to pivot my body away from the teacher so he wouldn’t confiscate my phone again. After months of begging in eleventh grade, Mom had begrudgingly allowed me to have Maasi’s old smart-phone. Sans data, but still. What do you need data for? Mom had said. The phone’s just for calling home.
Sunny: What u doing tonight?
Sahaara: Not working today. Sooooo . . . homework. ☺
Sunny: Damn. Living on the edge lol
Sahaara: In class. Will msg u after.
Sunny: Wanna go to Mani’s house tonight?
Sahaara: No lol
Sunny: He’s having a Halloween party
Sahaara: Definitely no. Even if I wanted to, my mom would say no. Wanna come over n watch scary movies tho?
Sunny: To your house? 0_0 Would your mom be cool with that?
Sahaara: Possibly lol. Cuz Jeevan’s coming over and she’s cool with him.
Sunny: Oh. Lol. Got it.
Sahaara: So is that a yes or . . .
I watched as Sunny’s typing bubble appeared, disappeared, and reappeared once more. At the sound of Mr. Kim’s heels clacking in my direction, I hastily pocketed my cell.
“Sahaara, you done texting?” He raised a precisely filled-in brow.
“Oh—um—sorry—I was just—I got a message,” I floundered. “Won’t do it again. I promise.”
“You know the policy.” He extended an open palm. “Come grab it from me at the end of the day.” I shut my gaping mouth and passed him the phone. With a curt nod, he turned his attention to my easel. “Talk to me about your piece. You’re combining your portrait with your mom’s, yes?”
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna paint a swirling night sky on my side and a sunrise gradient on Mom’s to highlight how we’re different, but we’re also connected.”
“Interesting use of contrast.” He adjusted the cuff of his floral blazer as he studied my painting-in-progress. “And how does this connect back to the question of self? How does this give me an honest portrait of you?”
I blinked. How was I supposed to explain the weird-ass relationship I had with my face, with all the confusion it represented? “My mom raised me as a single parent and . . .” My voice lowered to a murmur only Mr. Kim could hear. “I don’t know much about my father. Never seen a picture of him or anything so . . . sometimes my features make me wonder about where I came from.”
Mr. Kim, a totalitarian when it came to his art studio but a softie at heart, lightly clasped his hands together. “You know, Sahaara, art can be a place of illumination, but sometimes it’ll draw us through a dark tunnel first.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get the sense that you have more digging to do with this painting. Don’t get me wrong—your night sky and sunrise concept sounds spectacularly aesthetic, as you kids would say. But our inward journeys aren’t always sunshine and cosmic skies, are they?”
“I suppose not . . .” I shrugged.
“Just sit with this one a little longer, kiddo. Let your ideas bloom and sprout wings and don’t be afraid of where they take you. We have your mom in the portrait. And you. But what about all those unseen bits? The tricky stuff. The grim unspoken.”
I knew what Mr. Kim was edging toward: the artwork needed more vulnerability. I could do it, but there was no way I’d be showing this painting to Mom.
No sooner had I walked into the house than my phone lit up with a text from Jeevan.
Jeevan: Can’t make it tonight
Sahaara: WHYYYYYYY D:
Jeevan: My dad. Sorry. I’ll explain later.
Sahaara: Is everything ok?
Jeevan: Yeah I’m handling it
Well, there go our plans, I thought, taking a seat at the bottom of the stairs.
Sahaara: Jeevan can’t come over tonight so we can’t do the movie thing ☹
Sunny: LOL shit. Tbh I wasn’t tryna third wheel with u guys anyways
Sahaara: Third wheel?
The front door flew open and Joti Maasi stepped inside wearing her favorite lilac scrubs.
“Hey! I thought you were at the hospital today.”
“Had to go home early and I couldn’t drive all the way to my place,” Maasi murmured. “I feel like shit . . . pretty sure I’ve got a fever.” Ever since my aunt moved into her own apartment, things were quieter around the house. I missed our gossip sessions over warm cha and tense rounds of bhabhi. She was a ray of light and living without her sucked.
I touched two fingers to her forehead. Maasi’s skin was a furnace radiating heat. “Yeah, you’re burning up. Should I make you something?”
“Nah.” She slowly undid her sneakers, each movement labored. “Sleep is the antidote.”
My phone glowed once again. Another message from Sunny.
Sunny: Like . . . I just wanted to chill with u alone
As I read and reread the text, my whole body blushed. Be chill, Sahaara.
“Oooh, why you smiling, huh? Is it Jeevan?”
“Maasi, please,” I groaned at her willful ignorance. “You know we aren’t like that.”
“Well, I ship it.”
“Ship it?! Seriously?”
“What? Is that not what you kids say?” She slipped off her driving glasses and dropped them in her purse.
“It is . . . it’s just not something that should ever come outta your mouth.”
“Look at you with that attitude. As if I didn’t wipe your nasty ass for two years.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. This was what I appreciated about our relationship: we could joke around without getting offended.
In the kitchen, Maasi plunked her purse on the counter and scoured the medicine drawer for Tylenol. As she knocked back a tablet with a swish of water, I wondered whether I should tell her about this thing sprouting within me for Sunny. She was nothing like Mom. She’d be excited that I liked someone—happy for me, in fact. Cheeks stitched with a grin I couldn’t help, I threw caution to the wind. “On another note, there is a boy.”
“Whaaaaat?!” she gasped. “Details, please. Come with me . . . I’m gonna lie down.” I followed her down the hallway, carrying her purse to help her aching arms. The lights were out in Bibi Jee’s bedroom, but sunlight still combed through thin, yellowing curtains.
“I love that smell,” Maasi murmured. “It makes me miss Mom.” Wispy notes of sandalwood incense hung in the air, although Bibi Jee had left for her Punjab trip two weeks prior. Something between a grunt and a loud exhale escaped Maasi’s lips as she eased herself onto the spongy mattress. “Okay. I’m ready. Drop all the juicy deets, please.”
I shook my head at her endearing corniness as I took a seat at the edge of Bibi’s bed. “So, his name is Sunny. He’s always been around—like, floating in the vicinity because he’s Jeevan’s buddy from basketball—but we only got to know each other this summer. He’s the furthest thing from what I expected.”
“Acha? How so?”
“Like, at school, people see him as a Jack—”
“What’s a Jack?”
“You’ve never heard of Surrey Jacks?”
She scoffed loudly. “You do remember I immigrated here from Jallandhar, right?”
“Okay, valid. They’re this stereotype of brown guys from Surrey. People assume they fight and drink and sell drugs.”
“So basically, the general stereotype that white people have of brown men?” Maasi rubbed her temples in exhaustion.
“Essentially.”
“But this Sunny guy . . . is he doing that stuff? Drinking? Fighting? Selling drugs?”
“Okay, he doesn’t fight or sell drugs. And I don’t think he drinks much.”
“But he d
rinks?!” Her eyes narrowed.
“Maasi. We’re in twelfth grade. People do a lotta stuff.” I carefully crossed my legs on the bed, toying with a loose thread in the gray wool blanket below me. “Drinking is minor compared to some of the shit that happens.”
“Do you?”
“Do I drink? I mean . . . not really.” I stared deliberately at the fraying thread, twirling it between my fingers to avoid eye contact. “I’ve tried beer a few times with Jeevan but it’s not really my thing. Tastes like piss, to be honest.” Last winter, Jeevan and I broke into his dad’s beer stash while he was at work. It was a no from both of us, even after a few more attempts to acquire a taste.
“Sahaara . . .” she began in a lecture-y voice eerily similar to Mom’s.
“Please don’t. The reason I tell you stuff is ’cause you don’t get all preachy and parental. We’re getting sidetracked here.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “Sunny. Go on. People see him as a Surrey Jack.” Maasi air-quoted Surrey Jack as she turned onto her side.
I lay down beside her and rested my hands on my stomach, one on top of the other.
“He has that rep ’cause of his friends. But he’s the typa guy who doesn’t open up easily. Almost like Mom, I guess. He comes to life when he gets comfortable. He’s funny and quirky and thoughtful. Really thoughtful. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m good. Last week, I was feeling down and he skipped class to read Rumi poems with me.”
“He skipped class for you? Sounds like Prince Charming.”
“What! It was cute, okay?!” I giggled. “But in class he’s, like, terminally chill. Too cool for everything.” The gray ceiling fan slid away as I recalled his ink-black eyes and broom-thick lashes. He hid them beneath his purple Raptors hat whenever he could help it and I had no idea why.
“So, are you two dating or what’s the deal?”
“Not dating . . . yet,” I said, reaching instinctually for my cell. “But he’s been flirting with me in class. And texting me. And I invited him over for a movie night with Jeevan—”
“Wait. Wait. WAIT.” Her gasp dissolved into a phlegmy cough. “You invited him over to the house?”
“With Jeevan as well!”
“For a date monitored by Jeevan?!” She completely cracked up, the wool blanket trembling with her full-body laughter like my boy drama had cured her fever.
“Noooo! It was just supposed to be, like, a friend hangout. And if Jeevan wasn’t there, Mom would never be okay with him coming over.” When Jeevan and I met in the fifth grade, Mom was adamant about insisting that I only play with girls. Eventually, she realized that he was harmless. Me chilling with a boy like Sunny, though? A boy whose eyes twinkled even in my dreams? It wasn’t a question. She’d absolutely lose her shit. “Sunny, um, invited me to a house party tonight.”
“Are you going?”
“She’d never let me.”
“Have you asked?”
“Don’t need to.” I gulped. “I already know the answer.”
Maasi’s cheek rested on her pillow. Her caramel eyes melted into me. “You’re a good kid, Sahaara. And your mom really does just want the best for you. You need to give her a chance to open up, though.”
I snorted. “Maasi, no offense, but it’s easy for you to say that when your mom is ridiculously chill about everything.” Bibi Jee was my biggest advocate, always encouraging Mom to be easier on me, telling her that I deserved to be trusted.
“Please. You were, like, six months old when I came out to Mom. She’s chill now but back then, she planned an entire akhand paat to pray away my gay.”
“But my mom’s never gonna chill out,” I argued. “She doesn’t even listen before she says no. Maybe she’ll loosen up when I’m in university or something but I’m not holding my breath. I’m not even excited to get my license ’cause I know she’s not gonna let me use it.”
“Baby steps are key. Show her you can be responsible at this party. And with Sunny. With time, she’ll slowly start to relax. Trust me.”
I offered her a skeptical look. Maasi had lived with Mom for years and witnessed her naatak-level excessiveness close up. She, of all people, should’ve understood that there was nothing I could do to get her to stop treating me like a kid. With a sigh, I decided to call Mom just to prove my point. The phone rang and rang but she didn’t answer. “Guess she already started work—”
“Hello?”
At the unexpected sound of her voice, nerves kicked me hard in the throat. “Oh, hey. I wanted to ask you something. . . .”
“What? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“Yeah, sorry, everything’s fine. But, um, there’s this party tonight at my friend’s house and I was wondering—”
“A party? What kind of party?”
“Like, a Halloween party. I was wondering if I could go. I’ll be with my friend—”
“No.”
“Wait, but you don’t even—”
“Are there going to be boys there? Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Mom! You know I’m responsible. I just wanna go there to see my friend.”
“Who? Jeevan?”
“No. Someone else.”
“Sahaara, no. You’re not going.”
“Mom . . .” I began, my groan puppy-dog sad and pathetic. Swallowing the disappointment I should’ve been prepared for, I quickly regrouped. Begging would get me nowhere. “Okay. Well, can I go trick-or-treating with Jeevan?”
“Do you have homework?”
“Yeah, but I’m gonna finish it now.”
“I want you back home by nine, theek aa?”
“Hanji,” I agreed, knowing she wouldn’t be home until at least eleven thirty.
“I’ll see you at home.” She cut the call.
“Trick-or-treating? Really?” Maasi said.
The corners of my lips knotted into a sheepish smile and I tilted my phone away from her as I texted Sunny.
Sahaara: I’ll see you at 9. Mani’s house.
the house party
“Sunny, what the hell is this?!” Mani stumbled over, clearly already drunk.
Sunny looked offended. “It’s grime. Skepta—hey!”
Mani yanked the aux cord from Sunny’s cell and plugged it into his own. “You’re not DJing anymore. Skepta? Can you just play Six Nine like a normal person?”
“Mani, you’re the only person on earth who still listens to Six Nine. And I’d rather listen to good music,” Sunny retorted. “Not snitches who slap little girls’ asses.”
“That’s just a rumor,” Mani murmured as he scrolled through Spotify.
Drake began to sing over the giant speakers and to Mani’s disappointment, no one rushed to dance. “Watch my phone, okay?” Mani disappeared into a circle of guys by the pool table across the room.
My eyes drifted across Sunny’s “costume.” “You know, if I knew you weren’t gonna dress up, I wouldn’t have bothered, either.” Sunny’s purple Raptors hat was in place, as usual. In what I was quickly realizing was typical Sunny fashion, he’d come to a Halloween party dressed as himself.
“Relax, bud. You just threw on raccoon eyeliner and gave yourself a nosebleed.” He leaned back on the sofa and chucked a pillow at me.
I caught it in my hands and smoothed the hem of my punk Eleven blazer. “Friends don’t lie.”
The Stranger Things reference flew over his head. “Whatever you say.”
“So, Mani’s parents are cool with him throwing a house party?”
“They’re in Punjab.”
“Ah.” I nodded.
“You hungry? Should I get you a snack? Or a drink?” He rose from the sofa, motioning toward the coffee table. It was a chessboard of Crown and Coke.
“Nah, I’m good. Not hungry and I don’t like drinking, to be honest.”
“Oh. That’s cool.” He sank back into the cushiony sofa and his leg brushed up against mine, a little closer than before.
“I mean, you can drink if you want. Don’t mind
me.”
“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t really drink either but . . . everyone else does. And Mani guys don’t take no for an answer. My dad drinks way too much so I’ve never really, like, been into it.”
“Yeah?” I sat up a little straighter, surprised by his honesty. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s whatever.” He shrugged. “I’m not gonna sit here and cry about it. But drinking loses its appeal after your dad pukes on you a few times.”
“Shit. Jeevan’s dad’s kinda like that, too.”
“Hey, why didn’t he come? Isn’t Jeevan, like, your chaper-one?”
“Oh, shut up,” I laughed, throwing the pillow back at him. “I texted him, but he didn’t reply. I think he’s dealing with family stuff.” I checked WhatsApp again, worry beginning to bubble up in my stomach. He hadn’t read my last few messages. “And he’s not really into house parties and shit. Don’t think I am, either, to be honest. We don’t even talk to half these people at school. Why sit around with them?”
“So, why’d you come, then?” He smirked.
I couldn’t help the smile that grew across my face. We held each other’s gaze for just a moment too long. When I broke away, the heat of his eyes still lingered.
“And how the hell did you get outta the house?” he asked, hand grazing the edge of my dark jeans.
“Mom’s at work. Told her I was going trick-or-treating with Jeevan. Maasi’s knocked out cold with a fever. Bibi’s in Punjab.”
“Damn. You? Being dishonest with your parent like the rest of us normal humans?!”
Mani’s playlist bounced from Drake and Posty to Fateh as people finally began to dance. Across the room, a guy I didn’t recognize accidentally spilled his drink on the white carpet and shouted, “Yo, my bad, bro!” to Mani. Seemingly too drunk to care, Mani simply laughed it off.
“Could we get some fresh air?” I asked. “Crowds kinda stress me out.”
“You read my mind.”
I didn’t realize how stuffy the basement was until the crisp outdoor breeze hit me.
“Dude, do you want my jacket? Why didn’t you wear something warm?”
“I’m okay.” I smiled through chattering teeth. “The blazer’s thicker than it looks.”