Fifteen Lanes

by S. J. Laidlaw

  We drove a few minutes back down the road and turned into a parking lot in front of a building that looked every bit like a palace out of the Raj era. A dozen or so people waiting in the lot surged forward, surrounding us the second we alighted from the bus.

  “Stop,” said VJ’s father. “I haven’t told them the surprise yet.” He turned to us. “You’re all going to be in my movie. These people will take you to costume and makeup.”

  He paused for a response. I glanced nervously at Noor, not sure how she’d feel about all this attention.

  “They’re a little shy,” said VJ. “Being in a movie is a bit much for their first outing.”

  “Nonsense,” said his father. “Wait till they see the costumes.” He said something in Hindi to Noor and Parvati.

  It was Aamaal who answered. I wasn’t sure what she said but everyone laughed.

  “I guess we’re making a movie, then,” said VJ, ruffling Aamaal’s hair. Noor immediately stepped between them and put a hand on Aamaal’s shoulder.

  We were led away by a group of women to a large dressing room. There was a rack of gowns in the center, couches along one wall and mirrored dressing tables along the other. One of our entourage directed us to the couches while they searched for our sizes.

  I sat next to Noor, with the little ones on her other side and Parvati at the far end. A woman approached with a shimmering length of fabric over her arm and a gold-sequined blouse.

  “This would be perfect for you, darling,” she said, holding it out to me. “We just need to get you out of those clothes.”

  I was so busy sweating over the possibility that we might be required to say lines that getting undressed hadn’t even occurred to me. I felt as though my wounds were suddenly giving off heat. I cupped one hand over my thigh.

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, “but I’d rather just watch.”

  “We can’t have that,” said the woman firmly. “Mr. Patel will be disappointed.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said more forcefully.

  “Don’t be shy. We’re all girls here.”

  “I’ll try it.” Noor stood up and reached for the blouse.

  “It’s too big for you,” said the woman, holding the ensemble just out of Noor’s reach.

  She didn’t count on Parvati, who leaped up and snatched it out of her hands. The woman made a dive to retrieve it but she was no match for Parvati, who easily ducked away, a triumphant gleam in her eye.

  “Grace is feeling sick,” Noor said firmly.

  She couldn’t have known how accurate her assertion was.

  Costumes were brought for the others, including the cutest little maharaja suit for Shami, complete with turban and golden dagger.

  Makeup followed. Only Aamaal reveled in the attention, insisting on false eyelashes in addition to the mascara and eyeliner. She chortled with delight at sparkly green eye shadow and everyone joined in when she demanded Shami must wear it as well.

  “She’s going to be a star when she grows up,” commented one of the makeup artists, admiring Aamaal in the mirror as she brushed her hair.

  “Is your mum a model, hon?” asked the makeup artist who was working on Noor. Obviously, VJ’s father hadn’t told them anything.

  “She’s a housewife,” Noor said, “but she’s also a great beauty.”

  “You should tell her to get a screen test for your sister.”

  Finally they brought out the jewelry. The chief costume lady held up an ornate necklace that she said had been designed by a famous jeweler to match a genuine period piece. Though the emeralds and rubies were fake and it was only gold plate, she claimed it had cost well over eight hundred dollars to commission and would sell for a good deal more. Parvati, who’d shown little interest in the clothing and makeup, perked up considerably at the sight of the necklace and listened carefully as the woman described its value. She squabbled with Aamaal over which of them should wear it. Noor stepped in and decided in Parvati’s favor.

  In the end, with all the preparations complete, the four of them looked as though they’d fit right into a maharaja’s court. I followed as they walked confidently down the long hall, built to look like a throne room. Mr. Patel, sumptuously costumed, was seated on a throne at the far end. VJ stood off to one side looking decidedly out of place. It wasn’t just that he was still in his jeans and T-shirt, it was his angry expression as he watched his father chat with a gaggle of women simpering around him. He raced over as soon as he caught sight of us and scooped Shami up into his arms.

  “You look great, little man,” he said. “He should have come in riding a horse though. Where are the horses, Papa?” he shouted back to his father.

  His father got up and came over to join us. “They’re tethered out back where they always are. When VJ was little he always begged to come to work with me. I was never sure if it was me or the horses he really loved.” He chuckled as he clapped a hand on VJ’s shoulder. VJ casually slipped out of his grasp and walked away, carrying Shami.

  Mr. Patel watched his son take Shami to the throne and set him down. “He was always a kind little boy,” he said. A look of infinite sadness crossed his face. He quickly replaced it with a mask of good humor.

  “So, let’s get started, shall we?” VJ’s father said. “My word.” He bent down to Aamaal. “Don’t you look lovely.”

  A director materialized and the next hour sped by as they shot several takes of a crowd scene. Aamaal loved all the pageantry, and her excitement was infectious. Shami made everyone laugh as he trundled around in his finery earnestly saying the lines he was fed. He was, without a doubt, the best-natured four-year-old I’d ever met. I was almost sorry when the director called a wrap and we headed back to the dressing room.

  After they changed, VJ took us to the stable behind the “palace.” He harnessed a huge, sleek horse and brought it out to where we waited in a dusty paddock. Effortlessly, he mounted it bareback and reached down for Shami.

  Noor pushed Shami behind her back. “He can’t go up there. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I want to go,” said Aamaal.

  “No,” said Noor.

  Shami tugged at Noor’s shirt and said something in their language, giving her a pleading look.

  Noor sighed. “Hold them tightly,” she said sternly. “None of your fooling around.”

  VJ gave her a solemn nod, though his eyes sparkled.

  Noor handed Shami up first, rattling off extensive instructions for both boys. Shami clutched the arm that VJ wrapped round his stomach.

  Parvati handed Aamaal up, who settled in front of Shami and leaned forward to pet the horse.

  VJ clicked his tongue and they were off at a leisurely walk, kicking up dust, which stopped me from following but didn’t deter Noor or Parvati. VJ did three tours around the enclosure before lifting the children down.

  “Next time I bring Eka,” said Parvati.

  Noor didn’t comment as she was too busy dusting off Shami while simultaneously barking orders at Aamaal to stay away from the horse. Aamaal ignored her and cooed at the horse, kissing its face. It nuzzled Aamaal’s stomach, almost knocking her over. VJ stayed close, ready to catch her, but had the good sense not to provoke Noor further by touching Aamaal unnecessarily.

  After a minor battle to separate Aamaal from her new pet, we left the stable and headed to the parking lot. VJ texted his dad that we were on our way, so Sanjay Patel was waiting for us at the bus. He insisted we go back to the first building, where he had lunch waiting for us. We were on the point of leaving when the costume woman came running out of the palace, shouting.

  “One of them took the necklace!” Her chest was heaving as she reached us.

  “What necklace?” asked VJ’s father, calmly.

  “The Jindan Kaur. She was wearing it.” She glared at Parvati.

  We all turned to Parvati.

  “I am giving you. You are putting in box,” said Parvati indignantly.

  “That’s tr
ue,” I said. “I saw you put it in a box.”

  “It’s not there now,” insisted the woman.

  “I’m sure it will turn up, Sheetal,” said VJ.

  “It will not turn up,” she said heatedly. “I am not so careless that I misplace expensive jewelry.”

  “Now, now, calm down,” said Mr. Patel. “One necklace is not serious. Surely we can replace it.”

  “It took weeks to have it made. It’s a perfect copy of the original.”

  My attention was diverted by Noor and Parvati. They’d walked away from the group and were having their own discussion. Only because I was watching carefully did I notice Parvati slip something into Noor’s hand. I casually moved closer and reached out to Noor. When I felt the necklace in my grasp I stepped away from them.

  “I was going to give it back,” I said, holding out the necklace. “I just wanted to try it on, since I didn’t get a chance to dress up.”

  “You refused to dress up!” exploded the costume lady, snatching the necklace and giving me a foul look.

  “No harm done,” said VJ, taking my arm and steering me hurriedly in the direction of the bus. “Now, who’s ready for lunch?”

  We left the lady still sputtering as we piled in.

  “I always love a happy ending, don’t you?” said VJ’s father, settling into the seat beside his son and giving him a warm look.

  VJ turned away and stared out the window. Film star Sanjay Patel brushed a hand across his eyes as he failed yet again to win over the only fan he really cared about.

  Grace

  She doesn’t do it for money she does it because she LIKES it!

  I contemplated the message. This was my life, my new normal. Every morning, with the obsessiveness of an ingénue reading her reviews, I dumped my books in my locker, grabbed what I needed for the day, and trudged upstairs to the sixth floor girls’ bathroom. In the fourth cubicle, the farthest from the door, I read the latest messages on a Hater Wall devoted entirely to me.

  I knew it was stupid, if not masochistic. Who cared what a few bored girls wrote about me on a bathroom stall? In the past three weeks I’d been befriended by the hottest guy in school—the fact that he was gay only made it more perfect—and I was possibly making a new friend in Noor. The previous weekend, when I hadn’t wanted to get undressed for our Bollywood debut, she’d somehow understood, and I know she appreciated me taking the heat for the stolen necklace. She’d even suggested we get together this coming week.

  But somehow these small wins couldn’t outweigh the losses. I missed my brother and Tina. I missed having someone I could have a completely honest conversation with. Maybe I spent too much time alone in my room thinking about what I did. Things were still strained with my mom. It didn’t help that I found myself constantly lying to her. I couldn’t bear for her to know that I really had screwed up my life as badly as she’d predicted. I wanted her to think everyone at school had moved on, so maybe she would too. I claimed I had friends, never mentioned the bullying, and hid my wounds both inside and out.

  I was basically shunned at school, but at least the snide remarks and crude messages on my phone and Facebook had dwindled to almost nothing. At times I could almost believe that my humiliation was forgotten, except for this, a wall full of comments. There were hundreds of them. Okay, if I’m being completely honest, as of that morning there were fifty-three. Yes, I counted. Who wouldn’t?

  They weren’t all bad.

  Seventeen of them were at worst neutral, girls asking stupid questions, like, Does she really charge for it?

  Eight were positive. My favorite said, Why don’t you people get a life? Though, arguably, that one could have been directed at me. It was exactly what VJ would have said if I’d told him about the wall. I preferred that he think—like my parents—that things had blown over. He expected me to be strong and fearless like him. If he’d known about the wall, he would have laughed it off and been disappointed in me that I couldn’t do the same.

  I read through the new comments, repeating the few positive ones in my head, trying to commit them to memory. It was a challenge I set myself every morning, and every morning, I failed. Hours and days later I could recall every cruel word while the kind ones always eluded me. Many of the comments were petty and mean-spirited. They said far more about the writer than they said about me, yet a part of me agreed with them.

  They were substantively inaccurate: I wasn’t giving BJs behind the equipment house at the pool, and I hadn’t had sex with any of the many guys listed. I hadn’t had sex with anyone, but I had been intimate. With a complete, still unknown stranger, I’d exposed my self and not just my body. I’d revealed my innermost thoughts, my fears and hopes. I’d treated my own soul like a commodity at a fire sale that I couldn’t unload fast enough. As much as these girls hated me, they couldn’t come close to how much I hated myself.

  I jumped when I heard the bathroom door open and was glad I’d had the foresight to lock the stall. It was unusual for anyone to come in at that time of day. Being on the top floor, far from the lockers and cafeteria, this bathroom wasn’t convenient.

  “We were just talking. I asked him what he was doing this weekend.”

  The voice was familiar but I couldn’t place it immediately.

  “And how are my boyfriend’s weekend plans any of your business?”

  That voice I knew.

  The only thing worse than sitting in a bathroom stall eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation was realizing that the two someones were Madison and Kelsey. There was nothing I could say that would convince them I’d just happened to overhear by accident. And this almost definitely confirmed that they were contributors to my Hater Wall—not that I was ever in doubt.

  “I was just making conversation,” said Kelsey.

  “Liar. I’ve seen the way you get all giggly around him.”

  “You’re paranoid because of what Grace did. I’m not a slut like her.”

  Hang on. How did I get drawn into it?

  “From where I was sitting you didn’t look much better!”

  Whoa! Madison was out for blood.

  “Excuse me?” Kelsey sounded every bit as angry as Madison now. “You think I’d send naked photos of myself to a guy?”

  “She didn’t send them to a guy. She sent them to you!”

  I held my breath. Was this the moment I’d finally find out what really happened?

  “She didn’t know that.” Without even seeing her I could hear the smug pleasure in Kelsey’s voice.

  “Just stay away from my boyfriend,” snapped Madison.

  There was a shuffling and the sound of the door opening and closing. I gave myself a few seconds to calm my breathing before emerging from my hiding place. I walked past the stalls to the sinks and practically jumped out of my skin when I came upon Kelsey in front of the mirror, reapplying her mascara.

  “You were listening?” she accused, rounding on me angrily.

  I met her gaze. “You were the one who did it?”

  I didn’t have to say what “it” was. Her guilty look said it all.

  “Not everything,” she said, as if that should make all the difference. “I was the one you were texting with but it was Madison’s idea. She was the one who sent your photo to the entire school and pasted one to your locker.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I guess she was jealous of you.”

  I didn’t waste time challenging the ridiculousness of that assertion. “I’m not asking about her. Why did you do it?”

  Her eyes cut to the door. I was blocking her way, but if she’d tried to get past me I would have let her. I had an overwhelming desire to burst into tears and I did not want to cry in front of her.

  Kelsey beat me to it.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I go along with her. I just want her to like me.”

  I stepped forward and patted her on the back. Despite everything, I felt sorry for her. I knew exactly what she meant a
bout trying to curry favor with Madison. I didn’t think I’d ever stoop as far as Kelsey but I’d done my own share of sucking up. Madison may have been a mean girl, but she was the one who had to be placated if you wanted to fit into their group.

  “Are you going to tell?” asked Kelsey.

  I thought about it for a minute. “No, I just want everyone to forget about this.”

  “You’re a lot nicer than Madison.”

  “That’s setting the bar a little low, but thanks.”

  “You’re kind of pretty too. At least you would be if you made more of an effort.”

  “We’d better get to class.” I didn’t wait to see if she was following as I walked out the door and headed downstairs.

  It was an hour into second period when a messenger showed up at the classroom door with a note for me to report to the principal’s office. I felt a rush of anxiety.

  The first thing I heard when I stepped into the outer waiting room was Madison’s voice. Twice in one day was twice more than I wanted. I couldn’t imagine how this could end well for me.

  “She’s lying,” she howled loudly.

  The response was inaudible.

  “Sit down there for a minute, Grace,” said the receptionist.

  Madison’s crying got even louder as a door opened somewhere in the warren of offices. Mr. Smiley rounded a corner and beamed at me.

  “Grace, how are you?”

  “Fine,” I said cautiously. Something told me that was about to change.

  “Wonderful! Would you like to come with me?”

  I got heavily to my feet and shuffled after him down the hall. I could see we were heading to the conference room, which was all too familiar. Madison’s voice got louder with every step.

  For some reason I didn’t expect the room to be full. You’d think I would have learned from the last time. Both my parents, Mr. Donleavy, the school counselor, my homeroom teacher, another teacher who must have been Madison’s homeroom teacher, Madison herself, and her parents all looked at me expectantly. If Mr. Smiley hadn’t been directly behind me I would have turned right around and fled.