I don’t think even Mom and Dad know how much profit we’ve made. I Can’t believe I’ve almost got enough to buy a Car! Mom thinks our family still doesn’t really need one, but it takes them forever to get to our track meets or for me to get to those Hindi lessons by bus or bike.
I’m having a tough time finding a way to get a Cardio workout here. I don’t have a bike, and I Can’t walk anywhere. The City’s too Crowded, and everybody stares at me when I walk around, which is still driving me Crazy. (That’s why I’m staying away from those Internet places—but the phone store’s almost always empty.) There are some trails in the hills, but they’re slippery and muddy with all the rain. I hope something more interesting than endless reps of squats and lunges Comes Up soon or Coach will have a fit when he sees how out of shape I am in the fall.
I learned how to make an Indian-style omelet the other day. I know you’re probably in shock, since I never Cook. Maybe I’ll make you one when we get back.
Which reminds me, get ready for another shock: Dad’s actually enjoying working at the orphanage (!). Eric’s gone nuts over soccer, forgetting about his poor bugs, and Mom’s hurrying to get the clinic ready for opening day. As for me, school’s a drag, but I won’t bore you with details. I’d better wrap this up, since dinner will be ready soon. Take Care. Love Jazz
Given the pathetic reality of my life, it was the most interesting letter I could come up with. I wasn’t sure about a couple of things, like “the two of us, working together” and offering to cook for him, but I figured a good friend could say stuff like that without giving away too much. I also found a missing comma in the signature line. “Love Jazz,” it ordered. I carefully inserted the comma, hoping he’d still get the message.
I sealed the letter in an envelope. Then, sure I was late for dinner, I hurried out to the kitchen. To my dismay, nobody else was there. Nobody, that is, except Danita—the last person in the world I wanted to be alone with.
She turned around to greet me. “Hello, Jazz Didi.”
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“They are still getting ready for dinner. Sit down, sit down. You’ve been studying so hard lately after school. I made tea every day for you, but you stayed in your room. Would it be all right to bring it there on Monday?”
“Ummm. No, that’s okay. I have to concentrate, you know.”
“I wish I could help with your studies. Ranee probably could. I hope someday you can meet her. In fact, I hope you can visit us at Asha Bari soon.”
“I will . . . sometime,” I mumbled. “When school is over.”
“Good. There’s something I’d like to show you. I’d like your advice about it. Can you come next Friday afternoon?”
She’d misunderstood me. I’d meant when the monsoon term ended, just before we headed back to California. I was planning a quick visit to Mom’s clinic the week before we left. I knew I couldn’t get away with not seeing it at all.
Danita was still waiting for my answer. “Maybe you could show my mother whatever it is,” I said. “She’ll give much better advice than I ever could.”
“Not in this case. It’s your opinion I need. Will you come? Next Friday?” Her face was eager, expectant, excited.
Desperately, I racked my brain for an excuse. Hey, wait a minute—I did have a standing invitation on Friday afternoons, didn’t I? Rini had asked me to join her gang on a Friday disco adventure any time I wanted. The idea of going dancing had sounded awful to me at the time, but now accepting the academy girls’ invitation seemed like a great plan.
“Sorry,” I told Danita, keeping my tone light. “I’ve made other plans for that day. With some girls from school.”
There was a pause, and I began backing toward the door.
“All right,” Danita said finally. “I understand, Jazz Didi. Perhaps another time.”
She turned back to her cooking, and I fled to my room. Pulling out that horrible article, I forced myself to reread it. Prominent Social Activist’s Daughter Learns Hard Lessons About Charity from Con Artist. I read the whole thing twice for good measure. There, I told myself. I did the right thing—Danita will find help somewhere else. There was only one problem. If Danita was the one who needed help, why was I the one who felt like crying?
EIGHTEEN
Rini, Sonia, and Lila applied layers of makeup and lipstick carefully, as if they were getting ready for a prom. I watched in amazement. This was just their usual Friday after-school activity, wasn’t it?
Sonia sprayed me with perfume. “Here, Jazz. We don’t want to smell like the inside of a school, do we now?”
I coughed and tried to fend off the fierce, musky smell.
“Want some lipstick?” Lila offered.
I shook my head. Neither Mom nor I ever wore makeup. Mom thought it was a waste of money, but I avoided it for another reason. Lipstick, perfume, and mascara seemed to announce that I cared what I looked like. By going natural, I didn’t have to compete with the experts—girls who’d been practicing with eyeliner, blush, perfume, and jewelry since the fourth grade. Girls like Miriam Cassidy.
“We’re thrilled you decided to join us,” Sonia said. “Especially the boys. My chauffeur will drop you at home when we’re done. You’ll be so glad you changed your mind.”
I was already glad for two reasons. First, of course, I’d had the perfect excuse to turn down Danita’s invitation. And second, when Steve described Miriam’s party, I’d have a bit of my own social life to talk about.
We piled into the Seths’ car, and the driver headed for the center of town. Sonia led the way into the club. The place was already crowded with teenagers, but she managed to find an empty table directly under some flashing strobe lights.
Most of the kids dancing and sipping soft drinks were dressed in school uniforms, but a few older people had slipped in somehow. One of them, a tall guy wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, strolled over to greet Lila. She introduced him as her cousin, a student at the university. He planted himself beside me and yanked an unopened bottle of beer out of his pocket.
The others at the table looked shocked. “No drinking before eight o’clock,” Lila warned him in an undertone. “You’ll get us in trouble.”
Ignoring her completely, her cousin flicked open a Swiss Army knife, uncapped the bottle, and took a big swig. Then he leaned closer to me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting Lila’s new American friend. She’s been talking nonstop about you. What do you think about India? A real mess, isn’t it?”
I knew I should just smile and nod to cut off the conversation, but I was irritated by his question. India was my mother’s birthplace. And his, too, for that matter. “It’s a wonderful country,” I answered firmly. “I’m glad I’m half Indian.”
In spite of Lila’s frantic gestures, he tipped his head back and emptied the bottle. I inched my chair away from him, but he stayed close, pressing his leg against mine until I felt like punching him.
But Lila’s cousin wasn’t the only reason the disco was getting warmer by the minute.
“Er . . . would you like to dance?”
I looked up in surprise. It was one of the guys in Sonia’s clique—Mahesh or something like that. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, waiting for my answer.
“Thanks, but no,” I blurted out. “I’m happy right here.” He nodded, as if he’d been expecting me to turn him down. I watched him trudge away, my mouth still hanging open.
“Dance?” someone else asked. It was another boy—a skinny, dark one with acne scars tic-tac-toeing his cheeks.
“No, thanks,” I answered.
His smile faded, and he, too, slunk away.
Another boy popped up out of nowhere, and I gave him the same answer, even though he happened to be magazine-cover gorgeous.
“Wow!” Rini breathed, gazing after him.
“You’re much too choosy, Jazz,” said Lila, shaking her head at me.
“But you’ve certainly got what
it takes,” added Sonia, winking. She was taking a brief rest after dancing with several different guys. Rini and Lila danced, too, but not as often.
“I don’t want what it takes,” I muttered.
“Why in the world not?” Sonia asked, getting up again. She didn’t wait for my answer as she shimmied to the center of the dance floor.
A stream of guys kept making their way over to our table, inviting me to dance, and leaving dejected. I cowered in my chair, trying to figure out how this could be happening. Jazz Gardner was Steve Morales’s big, hunky bodyguard—the “track-team twin” with shoulders as broad as her father’s. In America, guys hardly ever looked at me twice. How in the world had that Jazz Gardner suddenly become one of the most popular girls in this Indian disco?
Maybe these boys have somehow gone bonkers simultaneously, I thought. No—there was no way monsoon madness could infect a group of people like an epidemic. Maybe word’s gotten around that I’m an American. Yes, that must be it. My foreignness was probably just as alluring to these guys as it was to Sonia and her gang. Go with it, Jazz, I told myself. You’ve always wondered what life is like for the glamour queens. Here’s your chance to find out. I sat up straighter and tried to play the role of a head-turning cover girl.
It took only about a half hour to find out that I wasn’t cut out for the part. What it boiled down to was a lot of extra attention, and I’d always squirmed at that. I also hated saying no to all those nice guys. A few of them seemed genuinely nervous as they approached me.
“That one looked quite crushed, didn’t he?” Rini pointed out as yet another victim slouched away.
“You’re making me feel worse.”
“Why won’t you dance, then?” Lila demanded, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief.
“It’s not that I won’t,” I answered. “It’s just that I can’t.”
Rini and Lila looked almost as shocked as when I’d told them we didn’t have a TV. I was glad Sonia was out of earshot. She’d probably insist on dragging me out on the floor to teach me how to jiggle every part of my body like she did.
How could I explain my phobia about dancing? The two times I’d tried it in the past, I’d felt like an octopus having a fit, or something worse. The first had been with Dad at some wedding, when the father of the bride insisted that all fathers and daughters join them on the dance floor. After thirty seconds of humiliation, Dad and I had wordlessly rushed to sit down, mopping the sweat off our foreheads. The second time had been with Steve at our junior high graduation party in the crowded gym. This had been much worse; unlike Dad, Steve loved to dance and hadn’t wanted to sit down. I’d stepped on his feet and bashed against him with my body. That sealed my vow to never, ever dance again.
The boys at this club finally seemed to get the message. Pretty soon, they stopped asking me and focused on other girls. But Lila’s cousin was thicker in the head. When he draped his arm across the back of my chair and I smelled the beer on his breath, I decided I’d had enough. This scene was definitely not for me, no matter how badly I needed an excuse to avoid Danita.
I managed to grab Sonia just before she headed out to the dance floor for the zillionth time. “I have to go, Sonia. I’m sorry.”
“Already? The party’s just started, Jazz. Besides, you haven’t danced yet. Here, Arun. Take Jazz for a dance, will you?”
The boy standing beside her looked eager, but I shook my head. “Thanks, but I have to go. Lila and Rini will explain why. I’ll catch an auto-rickshaw outside.”
“No, no. Certainly not. If you insist on leaving so early, my chauffeur will take you home. He’ll come back to get the rest of us later. Come on, I’ll walk you out and you can do the explaining yourself.”
The Seths’ car was parked in a hotel lot across the street, but the driver caught sight of us and started the car. Torrents of rain were pouring down, so Sonia and I both huddled beneath my umbrella, waiting for him to pull up at the curb.
I’d been right about Sonia’s reaction. “Can’t dance? I’ll teach you, Jazz. Come back inside.”
Before I could answer, an older woman stopped in front us. She was wearing a thin gray saree, torn and soaked in the rain. Babbling in Marathi, she stretched out one hand palm up and clutched the sleeve of Sonia’s shirt with the other.
Ever since the morning I’d gone for my uniform with Mom, I’d been avoiding beggars as much as I could. I’d tuck my head under the curve of my umbrella and push past the dark faces and outstretched hands without looking at them. But this woman was different. Her face and figure caught my eyes, as if someone had suddenly pressed a focus button. Dark skin. Small build. Flat nose. Mom would have given this woman a long look, I thought suddenly.
The car arrived, and Sonia shook the woman off with an impatient gesture, as if getting rid of a whining mosquito. “Jao! Go away. Jazz, tell the driver where to go. Saleem! Come back for the rest of us at seven o’clock.”
The chauffeur was already holding the door open, and Sonia was pushing me toward the car. I closed my umbrella and shook the water off it. The woman grabbed my arm, but I twisted out of her grasp and ducked into the plush, dry backseat. The door slammed shut.
I couldn’t help looking out the window. Sonia had already disappeared into the disco, but the woman was still standing, watching me go. Her eyes were rimmed with black kohl. The car picked up speed, and the gray figure disappeared.
You couldn’t have done anything anyway, Jasmine Carol Gardner . Besides, Sonia was the one who’d pushed her.
But I had some money in my bag; I could have given her some. And I’d been the one to yank my arm away.
Somehow, I knew that woman standing in the rain was feeling more alone and desperate than ever. After asking me for help.
NINETEEN
I toyed with my dinner, even though it was Danita’s incredible potato, pea, and egg combo.
“Two of your bugs are dead, Eric,” Mom said.
“Jazz didn’t feed them today,” Eric mumbled. I couldn’t help noticing that he looked guilty and sad. Conversation was lagging around our table tonight.
“That’s not your sister’s job. If you’re too busy to take care of those creatures, let them go.”
“I can’t, Mom.” Eric had never let a bug go in his life.
Mom shook her head. “I shouldn’t have let you start collecting them until you’d been here awhile. Then you could have figured out how to spend your time instead of doing the same old thing. You’re so good with those kids, Eric. They think you’re some kind of hero. They follow you everywhere.”
“They do, don’t they?” Eric’s face lit up for a moment before clouding over again. “Guess I’ll have to bury those two guys. It’s raining buckets outside, though. Will you help me, Jazz?”
His question sounded like an echo of something I’d heard before. “No!” I answered roughly, before I could stop myself.
Eric flinched as though I’d slapped him. I’d never spoken to him like that. My parents exchanged worried looks. “Anything wrong, Jazz?” Mom asked gently.
All the pressure of the day and the week and the whole summer exploded. Words came spewing out of my mouth: “Why did you ever give me a crazy name like Jasmine? Didn’t you people know how I’d turn out?”
Mom looked bewildered. “What do you mean, darling? I think it fits perfectly. You’ve always been as sweet as a jasmine flower. Besides, when the nuns found me, somebody had strung jasmine around me, remember? That’s why we named you what we did.”
“Well, you were wrong. I’m nothing like a flower. And I’m nothing like you! I wish I were! But no! Eric ends up being like you, and I had to turn out just like—” I stopped myself in the nick of time.
Nobody spoke, and my unfinished sentence dangled in the air. Dad was frowning at his plate, and I realized that I’d probably said too much. Now I’d hurt him, too. Great. SoCial Activist’s Daughter Leaves Victims Strewn in Path of Destruction.
“May I be excused?” I asked w
earily. The only thing I really wanted was to be alone so that I couldn’t do any more damage.
“Of course, Jazz,” Mom answered. “But can we talk later?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. My mother’s gift of sympathy would just make me feel more inadequate. I didn’t want her to help me; she was too good at it. Just before I left the room, I caught the hurt expression on her face. Okay. That’s three for three. A perfect score.
I barely had enough energy to crawl into bed, but I wasn’t crying. All the tears and anger and frustration had hardened into a cold steel ball, and the weight of it was almost more than I could carry.
I stayed in bed as long as I could the next morning, watching the rain out my bedroom window. I wanted to stay under the covers all day, but I was scheduled to call Steve at noon. The way this weekend was going so far, it wouldn’t surprise me if Steve had gone to Miriam’s party. Maybe the two of them had decided to elope.
When I finally emerged from my room, the apartment was empty. I found a plate of cold eggs with a note beside it.
Jazz, Thought you could Use the time to yourself. We love you, darling. They’d all signed their names, even Eric. He’d added a smiley face by his signature, which only made me feel worse.
I pushed away the rubbery eggs and held my head in my hands. How could I have been so mean to my brother? It wasn’t his fault he’d inherited Mom’s skill with people. Now, with Dad becoming a do-gooder, too, I looked even more like the mutant in the family. Just where had my genes come from, anyway? For a split second, I pictured a woman in a saree dumping a baby on the steps of Asha Bari. No, I thought, catching myself. Don’t go there, Jazz.
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