Enter Title Here

by Rahul Kanakia

  The first person I called was my dad. He was so shocked that he lapsed into Gujarati and rattled off a string of excited words. Then he finally came back to himself and said, “I am so proud of you! Let’s have a victory dinner, ke nahi? Tonight! Invite all your friends!”

  Aakash was next. He was happy for me, but he did say one weird thing. “And what about Chelsea? Did she get in?”

  “What?” I said. “Since when do you care about Chelsea?”

  “Oh, you know, I was just wondering.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know about her.”

  But the truth is that I did know. Or at least I suspected. And during our afternoon English class—the one where Chelsea always sat next to me—I kept turning around and trying to catch a glimpse of her face, because I wanted to see what failure looked like.

  As class was breaking up, I couldn’t hold back. I said, “I got into Stanford.”

  “Oh!” she said. And then she smiled, and before I knew it, her arms were around me. She held on for three seconds, and when she’d pulled back, her sunglasses had dropped down over her eyes.

  “What about you?” I said.

  “Oh, I haven’t called,” she said. “I thought I’d just wait for the letter.”

  “What?” I said. “I don’t believe you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Reshma. I suppose I’m just not as brave as you.”

  My teeth ground together, and I tried to think of something that would pry open her shell and expose the shame that I knew was lurking underneath, but before I could speak, she yelled across the room, asking Trina about some newspaper story that was overdue, and after that I couldn’t get in another word.

  During the gap between classes, I thought of calling my mom, but I didn’t, because I wasn’t going to pretend like she’d had anything to do with this. If it’d been up to her, I’d be headed for a lifetime of obscurity.

  You know what? This means that I beat her. Right? Didn’t I beat her? I completely beat her! And unless my memory is really hazy, wasn’t she the villain of this book? So if I beat her, then…this novel is over.

  Which I guess means this is the last paragraph? Hmm, can’t a novel just end wherever it wants? Like, right between one word and

  Wait, in the interest of reaching fifty thousand words (I’m so close!), I have a few more epilogue-type addenda to yesterday’s “ending.”

  Today, at lunch, everyone was so excited about the early decision results that our barriers broke down, and all the top students just milled around at the edge of the cafeteria.

  Jeremy was in at Yale, and Alex was in at Princeton. Her mom had opened the envelope, and Alex hadn’t even had to tell people about getting in. Somehow the word got out on its own, and Alex spent the lunch period leaning against a table and shooting me ironic smiles every time some random person came up to congratulate her. I couldn’t believe the number of people at the school who knew her name.

  Aakash wandered over, too. He put his hand on my waist and gave me a quick kiss. My whole body went tense; we’d never kissed at school before. But no one turned and jeered. It was normal. My behavior was completely normal.

  He looked at everyone, meeting their eyes for maybe the first time ever, and said, “Hey. I got into MIT.”

  My eyes went up and my heart leapt. “Wow.”

  Then he was flooded with congratulations. Each time he said, “Thank you,” his head dipped lower, and I could tell he was getting a bit overwhelmed. It’d started out feeling natural, but now his touch felt dead and strange on my waist, and when I moved away, his hand dropped down and stayed at his side.

  The other schools hadn’t notified yet. However, two dozen other people had gotten rejected by Stanford: delusional idiots—none of them were in the top twenty—who thought they were so special that they’d be accepted despite not even being the best students at this school. However, a few others—the kids of Stanford faculty or heirs to millions of dollars—had gotten in, too.

  But I only cared about one person. As we all volunteered our news, I kept glancing at Chelsea, but she didn’t say anything. My body expanded and expanded and expanded.

  Finally, she murmured, “I didn’t get in. They deferred my application.”

  Immediately, everyone fell to clucking at her and smoothing her feathers back into place. Alex seemed genuinely distraught: she shook her head and told Chelsea not to take it to heart. Those guys just didn’t get it. They had no idea what they were missing. Which I thought was a little insensitive, considering they’d chosen me instead. And anyway, why was Alex trying so hard? I thought she and Chelsea weren’t friends anymore.

  I looked at Aakash. He’d cared so much about whether Chelsea got in, but he didn’t say anything to her.

  The commiseration went on for so long that eventually I felt awkward about not joining in, so I said, “I’m so sorry. They might still accept you in April, though.”

  Tina’s head snapped around. She glared at me and said, “Why are you even here?”

  “No, no…” Chelsea gave me a thin smile. “Congratulations, Reshma. You deserve it.”

  Alex said, “Come on, Chelsea. Still? She stole your spot.”

  “Hey,” I said. “You know, maybe you should just calm down, Alex. Because, really, I didn’t do anything. If Chelsea had just applied to Harvard like she’d originally intended, she’d have gotten in. In a way, she’s kind of a victim of her own hubris.”

  Tina and Ray and Jeremy stared at me like they couldn’t believe what I’d just said. Aakash pulled on my hand and murmured, “Reshma, what’s wrong with you?”

  What? What was the big deal? Everyone knew I was right. And I could see Alex wasn’t offended at all. This was exactly the sort of talk that she liked.

  Chelsea stood weakly, looking pale and trying to muster a smile.

  “I guess that’s sort of true,” Chelsea said.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “I can help you send out more applications. Maybe even do some brainstorming on how to make them stronger.”

  Chelsea nodded at me, and the two of us shared a moment. Now that I’d won, I saw she wasn’t some unearthly perfect. She was just another girl. No better or worse than me.

  “Are you serious, Resh?” Alex gave me a hard look.

  “What?” I said. “I know how to apply for things. Maybe Chelsea overlooked something that I can spot.”

  “You’re really going to join the charade?” Alex looked from one of us to the other. Then she shook her head. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I was ever friends with either of you.”

  When Alex stormed off, I asked around to make sure I’d heard her correctly. And yes, the wording was strange, but she’d definitely implied that she and I are—or had until recently been—friends.

  There were shattered beer bottles scattered around the edge of the parking lot, and one pool of greenish glass from where a car had been broken into, I guess. When I knocked on the door of Alex’s car, she narrowed her eyes at me for a few seconds, like she didn’t recognize me. Then she leaned over. Opposite me, the passenger door opened with a puff of smoke.

  I crossed over, but then I wrinkled my nose. If I went in there, I’d smell like marijuana all day. Still, this is what a friend would do, right?

  She took another puff from the hand-rolled cigarette—a joint?—but waited to exhale until I’d closed the door.

  “All right,” she said. “How many pills?”

  I shuddered. A weird mass blocked up my throat and my heart began to thud. There was a part of me that wanted to empty my purse and go home with as many pills as I could carry.

  “Umm, I’m off that now,” I said.

  “Come on, you’ve still got finals.”

  “Are you…are you okay?”

  Ahead and below us, the light at El Camino turned red, and cars spurted off the Embarcadero expressway, going left and right, and then diffused through side streets like a pulse of arterial blood.

  “You seem upset,” I said “Ma
ybe you shouldn’t be smoking right now?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Alex said. “You’re doing an antidrug PSA? You?”

  “So, what was that all about? Out in the cafeteria? I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you made a bit of a scene.”

  She snorted. And then the snort turned into a cough. “Scene seems like too strong of a word.”

  “No, I think scene is the word with exactly the right amount of emotional weight. What is up with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Alex said. “Just emotional. Things are ending. You know. That sort of thing. High school is over. Et cetera.”

  “That was awful,” I said. “No wonder you hate lying. You’re so bad at it.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and I could tell she was getting annoyed. “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really talked to Chelsea since my party. I mean, we’ve texted a few times, but we haven’t done anything together outside of school. And then to see her making an effort to get along with you? I…It’s disconcerting, you know, to think I’m not friends with her anymore. Someone I spent like every single day with. For years. And now she’s gone.”

  “I never wanted you to stop being friends with her,” I said. “Only for you to, you know, be friends with me in addition to her. And perhaps to slightly prefer me over her, although that wasn’t a requirement.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and muttered something. “You are so self-absorbed. You’re just awful. Oh God, you are so awful.”

  I would’ve been offended, except she’d started smiling.

  “Look, you guys didn’t really understand each other that well,” I said. “It’s okay. It’s nothing to be mad about. You’ll make new friends.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve known Chelsea for…” Alex trailed off. Then she shrugged. “I guess. I mean, of course. You’re right.”

  “Speaking of new friends, you haven’t congratulated me,” I said. “Even after you e-mailed Stanford, I got in anyway.”

  The joint had been trailing twin lines of smoke. Alex stubbed it out in the ashtray on her lap. Then she licked the tip of her index finger and her thumb and carefully extinguished the last ember of flame.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I continued. “If I were a different kind of person, that would have made us enemies.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip, then said, “Yeah. I guess I’m a bit surprised you’re even here. I thought if I took away Stanford, then you’d be out of my hair.”

  I was about to categorically deny her and say, Oh God no, I’m not that kind of person. I’m steadfast and true. But I stopped myself. Because I’d realized why I’d come up here. This was it: the closing of our friendship arc.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I have a novel to write, because if I didn’t, then you would have no friends. Zero friends. And then where would you be right now?”

  “Umm, alone in my car,” she said. “Which is exactly where I wanted to be.”

  She rolled her eyes and stowed the joint in a tiny silver case that she kept in her purse. Then she put both hands onto the steering wheel and opened her eyes really wide.

  “All I want to know from you is one thing,” I said.

  “All right, fine!” she said. “We’re friends. I’m glad we’re friends.”

  “Umm, my question was going to be: Is the marijuana smell going to stick in my hair?”

  When she looked at me, her eyes were red and her expression slack. We sat there for a long time. I tried to roll down the window, but Alex rolled it back up. Finally, she said, “Yeah, I guess. Probably.”

  “And your usual solution to that is…”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never smoked during the school day before. But I figured, I got into college, so…” She looked down at the steering wheel for a really long time. I was about to tap her on the shoulder when she shook herself back to life and said, “I think I’m going to stay here for a while.”

  When I left her, she was still staring at her steering wheel, although both her thumbs were splayed out, just inches away from the horn. I was standing at the intersection when I heard the horn go off. Three short beeps, followed by one long blare that rang out for twenty straight seconds. Pedestrians craned their necks, whirling around and around, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Cars rolled down their windows. One car took off, screeching. And then the horn was silent.

  I ended up going back to school. A few people sniffed at me when I passed them, but no one said anything.

  One more epilogue-ish chapter:

  The thing I like about Indians is that when we’re around each other, we have zero sense of decorum. Like, you can ask people about how much money they make, how many stores they have, whether they’re underwater on their mortgage, how well their company is doing, why they’re not married yet, and all kinds of other things, and it’s more or less appropriate.

  But even by those standards, my dad’s plan for my celebration dinner is pretty tacky. He’s booked the private room in the back of a fancy Indian-fusion restaurant, Jantar Mantar, where they mix Indian food with East Asian food and give you tiny portions that are arranged artfully on the plate amidst drizzles of sauce, and he wants to invite a bunch of people: some distant relatives who are studying at Berkeley and Stanford; a first cousin of my mom who runs a pharmacy in Orinda; and a whole bunch of his college friends—which means George will be there, along with his mother and father. And all for the purpose of bragging about how great I am.

  I tried to tell him this was completely weird, because it’s not like I’m the only person who got into college. At the very least, George got into Berkeley, too. But my dad just said, “Aha! Then it will be a party for him as well!” And he rushed off to call George’s dad and tell him.

  So, I don’t know, I guess that’s a bit better. But still, it makes me feel queasy. I don’t…I don’t want all these Indian people crowding around me, congratulating me. I just want to put my head down and finish out high school and go to college and then never think about any of this ever again.

  Oh, and when I asked Aakash to come to the dinner, he got all sweaty and weird and said, “No, umm, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable.”

  “Come on,” I said. “I need you there. It’s just a dinner. You don’t need to be nervous.”

  “I, umm, I can’t,” he said. “I, actually, it’s not that I’m nervous, I just have an experiment to run that day.”

  I knew he was lying, and I didn’t really understand why. “I thought we agreed that you could enjoy these things.”

  “Umm…” He took a long time to answer. “Yes. Things with other high school people. But not with your family. That just…It seems really awkward.”

  “Okay. Stay home,” I said. “I guess I owe you one anyway. But you are coming to Alex’s New Year’s Eve party with me, right?”

  He nodded his head very quickly, as if he’d say or do anything if I’d just go away.

  The party at Jantar Mantar went all right. Just lots of old Indian people congratulating me and then whispering about me in corners. The only real drama came before it started. My dad had gone ahead to set up the restaurant, and I was left behind, waiting for my mom to get ready.

  As we were sitting in the foyer together, getting our coats, I realized that this was the first time we’d really been alone together since I’d gotten into Stanford. Maybe she realized it, too, because she kept her back to me as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

  But as we were walking down the front path, I couldn’t resist chipping a word off of the block of ice that’d formed inside me. “Well?” I said.

  She went around to the front of the car and got in, and I sat there, grabbing the handle every few seconds, until it finally popped open.

  “I got into Stanford,” I said.

  The car started, and cold air blew out of the fans. She looked over her shoulder. We waited until a bicyclist in blue spandex cruised past.

  “You thought I wasn’t
good enough.”

  “I never thought that.”

  “No, you did. You didn’t even think I should apply.”

  “Your SAT scores were not on par. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “You wanted me to set my sights lower,” I said. “You wanted me to settle for less than the best.”

  We pulled out, and she accelerated through the falling leaves.

  “Don’t you have something to say to me?” I said. This was it. The dénouement. The part where I triumphed, and my mom finally admitted I was right.

  But even though the restaurant was ten minutes away, we drove in complete silence. She refused to give me that one single moment of recognition. My mom was just like the rest: the teachers, Vice Principal Colson, the perfects. None of them ever thought I was good enough. But I’d proved them wrong, hadn’t I?

  I mentally composed and deleted half a hundred cutting remarks. But what was the point? I’d already gotten the last word.

  My lawyer, Arjuna, called to congratulate me. After saying he was sorry he hadn’t been able to come to the party, he said, “I’m glad that the university ignored these legal issues.”

  “I think they forgot to Google me.”

  “Actually, a few weeks ago, I contacted the relevant admissions counselor so I could explain how you’d been mistreated. Even before I called, she knew about the case. And although I tried to put the case into context for her, she remained somewhat hesitant about you, so I was forced to call the provost.”

  “You talked to the head of the school?”

  “No, that would be the president. I spoke to the provost. It was a friendly chat. We’ve known each other for many years, ever since I chaired the commission to raise funds for a new law school dormitory. After talking to him, everything was simple. He immediately understood that it was very important to the entire Indian American donor community that you be evaluated fairly.”

  “Really? And he can intervene in admissions?”