Rani Patel In Full Effect

by Sonia Patel

  The DJ transitions to Poison and immediately I feel better. My elbows are resting on my thighs and I’m leaning forward, head down. I can’t stop my upper body and head from moving to the beat, even though I’m still sitting. Remaining stationary to Bell Biv Devoe is impossible. And BBD’s hook gets me in a different way today. Because instantly I think of Mark. Fully in my Mark zone, I don’t notice Pono making his way up the bleachers. He sits down next to me and starts moving his upper body and head synchronously with mine. I look over and give him a chin-up. You don’t need words when you’re hopping to this hip beat.

  The DJ spins The KLF’s 3 A.M. Eternal. I’m thinking about how cool it is that the DJ’s playing a British acid house band, when Pono says, “Our hard work paid off, right? This place is packed!”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna have one classy senior luau now,” I say, determined to put Pono in the friend zone.

  We watch the crowd for a few minutes. Then Pono asks, “How’re you doing, Rani?”

  “I’m ok. How are you?” I ask back, feeling proud that I’m actually keeping the butterflies away.

  “I’m good,” he says. He bumps my knee with his. “I meant, how’re you doing with your family stuff?”

  I give him a thumbs down. And a half smile. “But let’s not go there. Don’t wanna kill your Emily dirty dancing vibe.”

  He chuckles, then gets quiet. He stares at his black and white British Knight high tops. “It’s not like that,” he says. “But anyway, I’m here if you wanna talk. Ok?”

  “Ok. Thanks.” I’m not sure what to make of the it’s not like that comment.

  Pono taps his BK’s to the beat and leans his head on his hand. He drums his fingers on his knee. His eyes dart around. I’m about to ask him what’s up, when he opens his mouth. “After the audition you ran out. I saw Mark follow you. What happened?”

  Something I can’t stop thinking about, Pono.

  But there’s no way I’m telling Pono about Mark’s XO. Hey, it’s about time I put my own skeletons in my closet. How boring to have only family skeletons, right? Luckily I see Emily because it lets me steer clear of Pono’s question. I stop for a second shocked that the words “luckily” and “Emily” were in my mind at the same time. Emily’s standing on the first bleacher, her hands on her hips, throwing daggers at me with her eyes. I turn to Pono and say, “Hey, you better go check yo’ girl, she about to go postal,” motioning in her direction with my chin. Her stink eye shifts to him.

  Pono looks down at her and rolls his eyes. “Sometimes I feel like I’m Emily’s he-bitch.”

  I snicker but quickly cover my mouth with my palm, for fear that she’ll think I’m laughing at her. Which I am. Pono gets up and starts down the bleachers. Looking back at me, he flashes a killer smile and says, “See ya around.”

  After a few more songs, I conclude I’ve done my duty and that I can go home guilt free. I stand, stretch, and head down the bleachers. This time I stay on the edge of the dance floor, to avoid brushing up against sweaty bodies. When I reach the hallway I see Omar rushing in.

  “Yo, Rani. What’s up, girl?”

  “Not much. Just heading out. You’re fashionably late,” I say, raising my eyebrow and crossing my arms.

  “Yeah, you know me. Gots to handle my biz. It ain’t easy bein’ MC Irraz. I don’t get no rest from da game.”

  As usual neither of us can keep a straight face. Almost immediately we burst out laughing. Omar says, “Naw. I helped my mom clean the rooms at Kaluakoi so she could finish work early.”

  “You’re such a good son!”

  “True dat,” he says holding out his fist.

  I bump it with my fist and say, “Well, have a good time. I’m outta here.”

  “No way, Jose! You gotta dance with me once,” he says, grabbing my hands. “I just got here!” He drags me back into the gym. Bust a Move comes on and Omar turns his head back as he pulls me, nodding and smiling, because we both love us some Young MC. I let him tow me into the thick of the moving bodies. I’m diggin’ on the sights and the sounds of being on the dance floor with the sole purpose of shakin’ my thang. For the first time.

  As it turns out, we’re next to Pono and Emily. I risk a peek at Emily and she gives me another hostile stare. I frown and resolve to show her how it’s done. Young MC raps and I follow his advice.

  That’s when Pono’s eyes widen.

  And Emily’s jaw drops.

  ROYAL ELEVATION

  “Rani?” Mark gives me that electrified Danny Zuko look. The one Danny gave Sandy at the carnival the first time he saw her after Frenchie’s makeover.

  I tilt my head up. “Hi, Mark!”

  “I like it,” he says, nodding. “Oh. And a pack of Salem Lights and some matches por favor, Blondie.”

  I can’t wipe the sappy grin off my face. I search for his smokes through the open cartons of cigarettes that I’d been in the middle of loading. With his poison pack in my hand, I resist the urge to jump up, like one of those bouncy, yippy little dogs that go all bonkers when their master gets home. Instead I buy myself some time to calm down by pretending to search for the matches.

  “Where oh where did I put those matches?” I ask myself out loud to add credibility to my act. I fake forage the shelf below the counter for a bit. When I’m composed, I grab a book of matches from the box that’s exactly where it should be, and stand up. I slide the cigarettes and matches across the counter towards him.

  He takes a step back and crosses his arms. “Turn around. Let me see the back.”

  I turn and rub my palm over the soft, newly bleached stubble. “Yeah, after all that drama with my dad on Thursday…” I pause. Then I decide not to mention that later that night when I told my mom about Dad’s combative behavior, she didn’t bat an eye. I asked her what she thought, trying to get her to commiserate. But she didn’t say one word. She didn’t even look at me. She kept her eyes anchored on the thali as she scanned the urad dal one by one for tiny pebbles. There was a small pile of pebbles and misfit urad dal in a bowl next to her. Maybe I could have picked a better time to get her attention. But surely Dad’s physical violence surpassed me shaving my head. Surely she’d put down the thali and talk.

  Nope.

  The victory I’d felt at cutting the cord with Dad turned into a bitter, lonely defeat with Mom. And my hair paid the price again. It came down to either re-shaving my head clean or bleaching it. Bleaching won. After the dance last night I stayed up late to do it. Secretly, I hoped my bleached head would have the same effect on Mom that my shaved head did.

  It didn’t.

  Leaving all that out, I face Mark again. All racy I say, “If I’ve only one life, let me live it as a blonde.”

  “Gentlemen prefer blondes.” He hands me ten bucks.

  I giggle. “Thanks again for rescuing me the other day.” I stretch my hand out with his change.

  “No problem.” He grabs the change. And my hand. “Come hang out on the porch.”

  The touch of Mr. Thunder God’s hand sends a pulse-quickening thunderbolt through me.

  “Ok, sounds good,” I say, trying not to give away that I’m having flashes of us strutting through the “danger ahead” tunnel in Grease singing You’re the One That I Want. I also hope he won’t notice that the jolt of his touch hurtled down my spine and came to a screeching halt in my yoni. I have to walk kinda bowlegged around the counter. He follows me onto the porch. He’s staring at me. I fidget and tug at my fitting tank top and short shorts, wishing they’d somehow miraculously convert into a turtleneck and jeans.

  Get off it, Rani. There’s no way he’s checking you out. A guy like that—only in your dreams.

  It’s time to come clean. To myself. I’ve reassigned my crush from Pono to Mark. Mark’s hot. He’s single. He’s community-minded. And, of course, he’s my new hero. When we did the Greek unit in AP lit, I remember we learned that the word heros can mean demi-god. Hmm. Mark is like…Krishna. Yep. Definitely Krishna. And I’m a young gopi
following him around, unconditionally devoted. Suddenly, I’m Sandy again. Hopelessly Devoted to You, Mark. I ignore the little voice in my head that screams, “But he’s at least ten years older than you!”

  “How old are you anyway?” I ask.

  “Old enough to smoke and drink.” He laughs.

  “No, really, how old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re officially the oldest friend I have,” I say.

  “Well, you’re the only blonde burr-skinny-beautiful-smart-rapper-Indian friend I have.”

  Beautiful?

  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. But I think you might need to eat more. Looks like all that hard Ranch work is taking its toll.”

  “You think?” He stands up, stretches his arms out, and inspects himself. He pulls at the waist of his cargo shorts and there’s a lot of room. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Rani. I’ll get chowing.” He sits down close to me. So close that my bare thigh and knee lightly press up against his.

  Holy crap! Am I up to bat? I let out a long, slow breath.

  Mark pivots on the bench to face me, but the touch of his leg is gone.

  Come back, my burly leg!

  With a businesslike expression, he asks, “So what’d you think about the audition?”

  “It was unreal. Never thought I’d perform a rap in front of people. And with a beat,” I say putting a lid on my urge to get to first base.

  Keep your cool, Rani. Gotta keep your cool.

  He nods his head and lights up. “Smoke?”

  “Me? Cancer sticks? No way. I’ve never even tried alcohol.” I shove my palms under my thighs. “Bet you think I’m a total loser, right?”

  “Nope. Just makes you smarter than me.” He takes a long drag then exhales a ring of smoke.

  I zero in on his carcinogenic smoke magic.

  Why is that like the sexist thing ever?

  “What was it like performing?”

  “A rush,” I report. I press my thighs down hard. Now there’s something I could get addicted to.

  “Bingo,” he says, with a satisfied look.

  “Pono told me you got into rhyming because of personal stuff.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Suddenly Mark’s golden demi-god aura is gone. A shadowy gloom replaces it. He stares at the porch floorboards. “It’s kind of intense.” He wavers. Then he raises his head and smiles. “I’ll tell you some other time, ok?”

  “Ok, no worries.” I try to get things back on a flirty note. I catch his eyes and grin from ear to ear. “By the way when will I get to hear you rap, DVus?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Haven’t had much time to write these days, with work and planning 4eva Flowin’.”

  “A girl can hope.”

  He grins. “Maybe.” Then he moves his head close to mine. His smoky mouth skims my ear and he whispers, “Sutra, the 4eva Flowin’ crew thinks you’ve got it goin’ on.”

  Afraid I might turn my head towards him and hit his lips with mine, I let my head drift slightly away from his tantalizing face. With my index finger I push my glasses up and say, “Nah, nah. They’re just being nice. Anyway, Stan Lee wasn’t happy I was there.”

  He sits upright. “He’s stressed about his mom. Her boyfriend beat her up again. I’m sure that’s why he’s been trippin’.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Don’t worry. His mom’s ok. I’m sure things will work out between you two,” Mark says. He pauses, clears his throat. In an official voice he announces, “MC Sutra, it’s my pleasure to inform you that you’ve been accepted as a member of the 4eva Flowin’ crew.”

  He changes his voice back to regular and gifts me his sexy smile as an added bonus. Then in a sweet almost shy way that surprises me, he says, “If you want it, that is. You in?”

  “Heck yeah. All in,” I say, beaming.

  “Cool, my rap queen. Start preppin’ for your first performance at Mo’omomi.” He gets up and crams the cigarette pack and matches in his back pocket. He turns and heads down the porch steps.

  Queen?

  A few weeks ago, I would never, ever, ever, ever have imagined this double whammy jackpot. I don’t know what to feel more excited about—being a member of the 4eva Flowin’ crew or getting my royalty status elevated from Dad’s princess to Mark’s queen.

  Stop frontin’, Rani! You know what you’re more stoked about!

  Queen beats crew by a landslide. And my oh my oh my how I’ve missed this feeling. It’s as if Mark injected my vein with a needle full of praise and it went straight to my brain. And unleashed all my feel-good neurotransmitters in one shot. Exactly like what my dad’s words used to do. Who needs scary drugs when you can get naturally high on a man’s attention?

  I don’t need you, Dad.

  I got a new man. Sort of.

  Mark stops on the bottom step and looks back at me. “Oh and Sutra, let’s hang out tonight.”

  Methinks me just OD’d.

  LOVE DRUG JUNKIE

  I’m home. My skin, muscles, and bones feel it. My beating heart feels it. Every single individual neuron and blood cell in my body feels it. Inside and out, every part of me is being swaddled by a downy blanket of happiness. Comfort. Safety. I’m snug as a bug in a rug gaping at the richest confections. My salivary glands exude excitement and desire.

  This is how I felt with Dad for as long as I can remember. He was my home. Then he left me and found a new home. With Wendy. I’ve been lost since then. Drifting aimlessly among people. Searching for a someone I can call home.

  I’ve found home again.

  It’s a clear, lovely Kaunakakai night. Hotel Moloka’i is jam-packed mostly with tourists getting their drink on. And they’ll be boisterous in no time. I watch the coconut trees slow dance in the breeze. Guilt about hanging out with a man in his thirties tries to lure me out of my home. But in a flash I slam the door shut on guilt. What’s the big deal? When home was my dad he was obviously older than me. Dad and I used to hang out here at Hotel Moloka’i all the time. In fact, we’ve sat at this same table overlooking the ocean. I take a look at Mark. His eyes are on the ocean.

  As far as I’m concerned, this is all legit.

  “A tequila for the lady?” Mark asks with his deep and confident voice.

  It crosses my mind that Mark’s probably sat here with many girls before. I’m sure he’s asked them the same question in the same alluring way. But I don’t care. Because right about now he’s making me feel like I’m the only girl on the island. No, wait. The only girl in the world.

  I open my mouth ready to say sure because I’m ready and willing to do almost anything he asks. But then I realize what he actually asked. I panic inside. Alcohol hasn’t been part of home for me before. Plus I took D.A.R.E. very seriously in school. So I turn it into a joke because I don’t want to come across as too nerdy. Or difficult. “What? Me?” I shake my head. “No way. I’m not twenty-one and I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

  I guess if we’re getting technical there was alcohol in the chocolate rum cake that Auntie Maile made a few months ago for Mom’s birthday. But I’m pretty sure most of the actual alcohol got burned off in the baking process.

  Mark holds his stomach and leans forward a bit, cracking up like he’s vomiting laughter. “Ok, ok, Officer,” showing me a vertical palm in acknowledgement. He orders a shot of tequila with a beer back. I’m not sure what a “beer back” is, but I’m too embarrassed to ask. I order a Sprite.

  Our drinks arrive. I take a sip of my Sprite and attempt to hide how easily I’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm with Mark. That I’d be overjoyed to continue this. Forever. “It would be cool to hang out with Omar and Pono next time.”

  I totally don’t mean that! I want to hang out with you alone all the time!

  “Not Stan Lee?”

  “I wish. If we got to know each other, maybe he wouldn’t hate me. I wish he would give me a chance.”
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  “He doesn’t hate you, Rani. Like I said, he’s stressed out. And yesterday he told me…” He stops and downs his tequila shot. Then he takes a swig of beer.

  “What?”

  “He likes me.”

  “Likes you?”

  “Yeah, you know. Likes me. As in he likes me, likes me.”

  “Oh.” What are you talking about?

  “He says he hates that I talk about you all the time.”

  “Oh.” Mark talks about me all the time?

  “I told him I’m straight as an arrow.”

  “Oh.” OH! Duh. I get it. I let it sink in, taking another sip of Sprite. “Poor Stan. Now I feel bad for him. Unrequited love. That sucks…” My voice and eyes drift off.

  “Yeah, give him some time. He’s only been on Moloka’i for six months. And he doesn’t have any friends besides me and a couple of the 4eva crew.” Mark takes a gulp of beer. “He’ll warm up to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  “He will. By the way, keep all that info on the low. Moloka’i’s so small.”

  I nod.

  The waitress asks if we want another round.

  “I’m ok, thanks.”

  “I’ll have another shot of Cuervo. Oh, and can I get a Kahlúa on the rocks?”

  Right when Marks gives his order, there’s a boom of laughter from the group of tourists sitting behind him. I tilt my head to the side to sneak a peek at what’s so funny. Eight middle-aged guys are sitting around a table covered with beer bottles. They’re all wearing the same tacky aloha shirts. Navy blue and white. The design—coconut trees with the word aloha. One of the guys stands up and makes a toast. Something about “the good ole’ fraternity house days.” I roll my eyes, because if they’re the Alpha Betas, I’m Gilbert.

  The waitress says, “Try say ‘em again.”

  He repeats the order to her.

  I’m confused. “You drink Kahlúa, tequila, and beer at the same time?”

  He chuckles. “No, silly. The Kahlúa is for you. You gotta try it. It tastes really good.”