No. I can’t read it, I can’t. It’ll make me so … conspicuous. Even if the others don’t get mad, they’ll think I’m—Indian; it’ll just be falling in with Tolly’s labels, letting them push me out further.
I look down at the pages in front of me.
Black and white. I’ve written it.
She lived through it.
In a way, I have to read it.
But Jeff—how will he take it? He’s close to his grandfather, thinks he’s great.…
I give myself a hard shake.
It’ll be all right—Jeff and the others, they’re not responsible for what their ancestors did. It’s not supposed to be about sides, is it? Not here.
Except, inside me, something’s changed. There’s something sharp that wasn’t there before. It’s a bit like after Samantha. No one understood then. No one can now.
I wrap my arms around myself. Erin’s my best friend. She’ll understand—won’t she?
I pick up my violin and try to play, to reach that place of release, but somehow I can’t get the notes right, and the violin wails with pain. It’s early, only nine-forty-five, but I’m exhausted. I manage to change into my PJs and stumble into bed.
Just before I wake, I have a dream. I can’t remember what’s happened, but suddenly my whole class is there. Erin’s beside me and Jeff, too, and we’re all, even me, laughing and laughing. I can feel my belly shaking with deep, loosening laughter, and I feel weak and wonderful. I don’t know what we’re laughing at, but we’re together, one, the whole group … in the middle of it the alarm goes. As I wake up, I’m still warm with laughter.
I sit up in bed, grinning.
Last night comes flooding back. My smile fades. How could I have laughed like that after last night?
Jeff. Blue eyes—no. I won’t think about it. I get up and shower before Nina hogs the bathroom, then run down to breakfast.
It’s just Naniji and me, and Mom and Maya. I eat in silence.
Mom looks at me penetratingly. “So how did you get on with your assignment?”
I swallow. “Fine. I finished it.”
Naniji’s face lights up—her smile is so much like Maya’s. “May I see it, Tara, what you wrote?”
“Yes, I’d love to see it, too,” says Mom quickly.
“Sure, maybe when I’ve tidied it up.”
I finish my cereal and put my bowl in the sink. Mom comes up behind me and gives me a long hug.
I lean into her and kiss her cheek. I can feel how her body is tense, and I know it has to do with Naniji being here, and unfinished business, but it’s not my problem. I have my own stuff to sort out.
Erin’s early for once. I grab my bag and we set out.
It’s a gorgeous sunny day, the kind only the fall brings, with vivid blue sky. It’s at that perfect stage where the ground is radiant with fallen leaves, but there are still enough on the branches—red, yellow, orange—to make a glowing canopy. Not the kind of day to bring up … stuff.
“Hey.” Erin digs me with her elbow. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, just, you know, looking at the leaves and…”
“Yeah?” Her eyes narrow. “Jeff? Did you call him yesterday?”
I shake my head. Talking to him, everything from before, it seems so trivial, somehow.
Erin frowns. “Then what? Oh. Your grandmother, right? What happened?” Her eyes are alert.
My heart starts to hammer. I don’t want to talk about it, and yet maybe this is my chance. I mean, if Erin doesn’t get it, if she looks at me weird, I can write up something else for class.…
It’s hard to bring that old story, the way Naniji told it, to this clear sunny day. It’s like a rock, a boulder on top of a mountain. Slowly, I start to push it out, and then it picks up speed. Erin listens. She’s my best friend, there’s not a trace of racism in her. I watch for signs of the shutter coming down, but it doesn’t. Her face is open, horrified, and then I’m not holding back anymore, and Naniji’s story comes crashing out.
We stop at the park corner near the school as I finish telling her. Somehow, it makes it more real, saying it out loud, but also more distant, and I can’t quite explain it, but by the time I’m done, I’m here in the present again, not lost back there.
“Oh my God!” says Erin.
I nod.
Erin shakes her head. “I mean, it’s—awful. I sure as heck didn’t know things like that happened.” She looks at me sharply. “What did you feel like when she told you? I mean, what do you feel about her?”
I shrug. “I’m sort of okay with her. I mean, I still don’t want her, you know, to change my life around or anything, but…” I pause. Should I try and explain that other thing? About feeling different, and wondering about the class, about Jeff and his grandfather?
Just as I open my mouth, we hear the bell ring.
“Oh jeez! Come on.” Erin starts running towards school.
I manage to overtake her, and she comes puffing behind me.
“No fair,” she pants. “You’ve got longer legs.”
I laugh. “Barely.”
Then we’re in the school, and there are kids everywhere, noisy, laughing, and it’s like it’s always been, only it isn’t quite. I’m not sure just what has changed, but something has.
In the hallway, I see Lesley, whose locker is two down from mine. She has blond hair. It’s pretty. I’ve never really thought much about it, but Samantha, she had brownish-blond hair. What color was that officer’s? Blond and blue go together sometimes, only Jeff’s hair is dark, but that’s irrelevant. It’s just, Lesley’s in my history class, too, and … what’s she really like?
I shake myself. Leela’s just started to go out with Phil, even though her parents and grandmother don’t know about it, and he’s white and she isn’t, and it’s no big deal. And Trev’s going out with Jennifer—things here aren’t the way they are in inner-city schools, with all that unrest and racial violence. We all mix together, we always have.
Except for the kids who’ve just come here. I notice Fatima and Ifran, together as usual, with the other Somali kids. And the Vietnamese kids, they hang out together. It’s language, it must be.
But what if it isn’t? Do they hang out together because they want to, or because we’ve pushed them out? I never bother talking to them much. Is it because they dress differently, because they don’t look like us?
I flush. Who’s us? And if I read Naniji’s story, will it make me one of them, not us?
Then I see Jeff.
He pauses as he goes by.
“Tara…” he starts.
Blue eyes. Stick smashing down.
“Hi,” he says lamely.
Tomorrow. I’m reading it tomorrow.
I can’t meet his eyes. I manage an abrupt “Hi.”
Jeff flushes, then goes slowly down the corridor. I turn back to my locker, my heart hammering painfully.
All through English, I have a tough time concentrating. I sit up front, and I know Jeff’s sitting at the back. He’s well out of my peripheral vision. Jessie’s sitting next to him. Stop it, Tara. He never really liked me, and even if he did, once he hears what I’m reading tomorrow, he’ll hate me. I force myself to listen to Ms. Gelder.
When the class is over, I gather my books casually and turn around. Jeff’s already out of the room. I can’t make out if Jessie’s with him. Not that it matters.
Erin and I hang out at lunchtime with all the others, and I try not to look around the cafeteria for Jeff. But I can’t help noticing again how it’s mostly white faces, and I hate it, this being all cut up, strangled by lines.
“Tara.” Erin shakes my arm. “What’s with you?”
I force a smile. I’ve never bothered with the white–not-white thing before, it’s totally nuts. I get caught up in the conversation going on at the table, but throughout the day, at odd times, it comes flashing back.
CHAPTER 20
I have a hard time falling asleep, and when I get up the next mor
ning, I have a dull, heavy ache in my head. Thursday. I start to put my history folder in my bag, then stop. I could forget it at home. Tolly will be miffed, he might even take off marks, but …
I shove in my folder angrily. It’s going to be fine.
In the kitchen, Mom’s all concerned because I hardly eat any breakfast. She touches my forehead briefly. I could play sick so easily. But then I see Naniji’s face, how she smiles at me, and I just can’t.
It’s a crappy day at school. I can’t concentrate on math and I haven’t a clue what the lesson is about—I’m going to have to call Nadia later to find out.
During English, Nadia and I sit together, and I do my best to look attentive so Gelder won’t pounce on me again, but my mind keeps wandering and that cloudy feeling in my head gets worse. Maybe I am coming down with something. Jeff’s sitting near the back, but I don’t bother to look his way at all.
At lunchtime, I take a few bites of my sandwich and give the rest to Kim. Lesley and her crowd are right in my line of vision, Lesley with her blond hair and ditzy smile. She and her group, all white. I swallow hard. Fatima and Ifran are going by and I say hi brightly. They look surprised but say hi back.
Someone pokes me, and I try to concentrate on what we’re talking about—some concert coming up.
History isn’t till the last period today. Nadia and I get there early and sit near the back. Nadia’s still going on about the concert, how she just has to go, and needing only another thirty-two dollars, and the chores she’s doing to get it. I listen like I’m totally absorbed in her, but I’m hoping wildly that somehow Jeff won’t show—a dentist appointment, anything—even though he was here this morning.
Jeff comes in and sits at the opposite end of the room from me. If I turn my head slightly, I see him. I should’ve sat up front again, and, boy, does Nadia ever go on and on about this dumb group.
Then Tolly’s rapping on the desk. He looks even scruffier than usual, with his tight jeans and his wispy, frizzy hair dropping dandruff on his shoulders. Why the heck does he have to wear pointy shoes?
“All right, people, let’s get this show on the road.” He checks his list. “Guy, Jennifer, Rebecca, and Tara, you’re on today. How did you get along?”
Guy, of course, sits up straight and says, Great, just great. Nadia nudges me.
Tolly eyes Jennifer, Rebecca, and me. Jennifer flushes. She hates reading out loud because she’s so shy.
I slide my assignment into my folder. I’m not saying a word. I’m going last. Maybe there won’t be time for me today.
“And how about you, Ms. Mehta? You’re awfully quiet. Did you finish?”
I cover the folder with my hand and nod convulsively.
Tolly looks at me from under his shaggy eyebrows, frowns, then turns away.
“And the rest of you? People due tomorrow?”
Pete says something about talking to his grandfather about World War II.
Tolly nods up and down, up and down, in that way he has. “Good, good, good, good.”
My fingers tighten around my pencil. World War II. That’s when all that stuff happened to Naniji. What is Jeff writing about? What his grandfather did in India? Went out and whacked a few natives on the head—jolly good sport…? Okay, so that’s unfair, but …
Tolly clears his throat. “All right, people.” He does a mini–drum roll on the desk with his fingers. “Who’s first?”
I look carefully down, my heart beating unpleasantly.
“Guy Bériault,” says Tolly.
For the first time, I’m glad Guy’s such a little brown-nose.
Guy starts. I have a hard time taking it in. I have a vague idea it’s something to do with his great-great-grandparents coming to Quebec, clearing the land, tapping the trees for maple syrup, getting through the winter. I don’t really know what it’s got to do with the assignment. It’s not set against any moment in history, he’s just giving us their entire frigging life stories—in excruciating detail.
Nadia sighs and rolls her eyes. I watch the others’ faces, and mostly they’re resigned, but I’m glad he has pages and pages. There won’t be time for me today. I just have to rewrite my piece, do something different. I mean, Guy’s, it’s all so safe and—nice.
There’s silence when he finishes.
Tolly clears his throat. “Well, people, comments.”
No one says anything. Guy flushes.
Then Rebecca puts up her hand and says, “Um, it was, um, interesting.”
She’s so inarticulate. And maybe thinking about the fact that she might be next.
Tolly tries to get us talking about Guy’s presentation, and a few more people say something polite, but, mostly, everyone’s bored.
Finally, Tolly decides to move on. “Rebecca Fowler.”
Rebecca clears her throat and starts to read. It’s about her mother being in school in the U.S. when JFK was assassinated. I fade in and out. Rebecca’s nice and everything, but she’s way romantic, and I don’t think anyone buys how her mother had this dreadful premonition. It should be emotional, but somehow it just doesn’t feel real, the searing, heart-wrenching, grieving nation.
I shift uneasily. I can’t possibly read mine, I’ll look like a real idiot. I’m not like Mom with her in-your-face attitudes.
Rebecca finishes fast, way too fast. Again, there’s the polite, bored silence, with Tolly trying to get reactions. I can hardly hear for the buzzing in my ears. Jennifer Resnick. She has to go next, she just has to.
Tolly says, “All right, now, let’s see…?” He looks at Jennifer.
Yes. Please. Pick her, pick her. I stare at his feet. Rule number one, never make eye contact with the teacher. Someone should tell him no one wears pointy-toed shoes anymore.
Tolly says, “Since we’re proceeding alphabetically, I believe you’re next, Ms. Mehta.”
I try to think of something, anything, to get out of it.
“You have finished, haven’t you?”
I nod. “Yeah, but … I … I don’t really like reading out loud, and there’re some changes…”
Tolly raises his shaggy eyebrows. “Hey, sorry, kiddo, it’s a bit late for that, and you’re going to have to read it aloud sometime.”
Someone—Mike, I think—groans.
I lick my lips and look at the sea of faces. Mostly white, except for Trev in the corner, and a few others. I won’t look at Jeff.
My hands are icy cold. I take in a deep breath. For Naniji. For a long line of revolutionary women. Karengae ya marengae.
“Okay, as long as I don’t have to stand.”
“Please. Sit. Sit, by all means,” says Tolly, bowing slightly.
He adopts his usual storklike posture, one leg up on the chair, and waits expectantly.
CHAPTER 21
I start to read. I hope I won’t fall apart in the middle of it. My heart is hammering, my voice sounds breathless, strange. But after a while it steadies. My throat goes tight through the screaming Quit India part, but I manage to keep going.
Then I stop.
There is absolute silence.
I flush. Okay, so they’re all really mad, or they hate it, or they’re laughing; or maybe it’s just crappily written and it stinks. Or they’re simply bored.
Only, there’s something different about the silence. I bite my lip and fumble with the papers. My hands shake. Good thing Jeff’s out of my line of vision.
Then Tolly whispers, “Wow!”
I look up. Everyone’s staring at me. The room is charged.
“Damn!” someone mumbles.
“Quite remarkable, Tara,” says Tolly, softly.
Lesley lifts a furtive hand to her cheek. Is she crying?
The mist sort of clears from my eyes. The class is still hushed. Jessie’s mouth is slightly open. Rebecca’s face is white, with freckles standing out. She looks at me quickly, then down at her folder; she bites her lip. Guy is silent, for once. All the faces are shocked, dismayed. But with me, I think, not at me. J
eff…? I won’t turn around.
Then I catch Pete’s eye, and I see it, that troubled look, the shutter coming down.
“Comments, discussion?” asks Tolly quietly.
I feel my face burn.
Someone, Nadia, I think, lets out a sigh. “I didn’t know any of that. I mean, you never read about that in textbooks.”
There’s a subdued chorus of agreement.
Tolly leaps on it. “Exactly the purpose of this exercise. Exactly. Come on, people. Reactions, comments.”
Lesley mumbles, “It was really, you know, like—powerful. Moving.” She sniffs.
Trev says, “Yeah, I can identify with that, man. A lot of crap like that went on in Uganda, too.”
Someone asks, “Did it really happen?”
I nod. “To my grandmother.”
A murmur washes through the room.
I don’t hear Jeff’s voice.
But I see how Lynne is shifting uneasily, and as she catches my eye, she blinks rapidly and turns away. One time I overheard her making fun of Fatima’s accent. Shutters. And I see it on Mel’s face, too.
Ben says, “Well, it’s awful and everything, but it was a long time ago, so what’s the…” His voice fades, and he shrugs slightly. What’s the big deal?
Then Pete says, slowly, “Hey, don’t get me wrong or anything, Tara, but, you know, the time you’re talking about, well, my grandfather was in France, fighting in the trenches, and my grandmother, she was in London, and the bombs were falling and … I don’t know. What happened to your grandmother really sucked big, but, but my family wasn’t really part of it, and … and it was an awful time for Britain, too.…” He’s turning redder and redder, and his eyes are troubled, defensive.
“Yeah, right on,” says Mel. But it’s different how he says it, like a so there.
I draw in a painful breath. Everyone likes Pete, and what happened to his grandparents was awful. If that’s how Pete feels, what is Jeff…?
I can’t help it, my head turns. Jeff’s pale, his face tight. His eyes are down, like he isn’t even here.
Abruptly, he looks straight at me, his eyes leaping blue—puzzled, angry.
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