The Whole Story of Half a Girl

by Veera Hiranandani

  “Cauliflower,” Mom says.

  “I’ve never eaten cauliflower.”

  “You’ve never eaten cauliflower?” my entire family says at exactly the same time. Everybody stops chewing and we all crack up. During the rest of dinner Kate tells lots of funny stories about how bad Jackie’s cooking is, and how once a turkey exploded in the oven on Thanksgiving, which explains why they go out so much. We joke and laugh like Kate comes over all the time, like that’s the way my family is. I don’t think Kate liked the non–meat loaf much, but she did eat a lot of cauliflower. It’s the best dinner we’ve had in a long time.

  When we’re back in my room waiting for Jackie to come, Kate fusses with the pillows one more time, then sits down on my bed cross-legged. I sit at my newly prettified desk and lean back in the chair.

  “Your family’s so nice,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I spin around in the chair to face her. At least tonight they were.

  “Like a real family,” she says, looking nervous.

  I stare at her. “What do you mean? Your family’s awesome.”

  “But you have a sister to hang with, a mom who can cook, a dad.”

  “What are you talking about? Your dad’s way cooler than mine.”

  “Yeah, no, I mean, a dad who wears a suit and everything and who is so normal, I guess. When you said he was Indian, I just expected something different,” she says, her eyes cast down at the rug.

  “What did you expect?” I ask.

  “Um,” she says, looking even more nervous. “More foreign, I guess.”

  “Like with an accent and turban on his head,” I say.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m talking about. You look just like him, by the way.” She looks away and starts checking out my closet. “What are you going to wear to Peter’s party?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say, happy to change the subject, but I can’t help but wonder how Kate would feel about my dad if he did wear a turban and have an accent.

  “Let’s find you an outfit!” Kate says. I don’t tell her about my red dress in the back of my closet. I want to surprise her. She looks through the few skirts and dresses I have and pairs them with different shirts, holding them up on me. Neither of us gets excited about anything.

  “You’ll just come over and borrow something,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say, and though I’m sure she’d have something really cute for me to wear, nothing will look better than the red dress.

  “Hey, Kate,” I say as she tosses a tight white shirt that I hate back into my closet, “my dad isn’t that normal, you know.”

  She whips around, searching my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  I want to tell her how strange things have been with my family, how Dad was out of work, how he found a new job, but that he still seems depressed. I worry that she’ll tell Jess. Worse, what if she doesn’t seem to care or doesn’t understand? “My dad can be so serious” is all I say. “Greg is so funny.”

  “He is, but he’s always joking. I mean always. I can never talk to him about serious stuff.”

  “Well, sometimes I wish my dad was funnier.”

  “I know! Let’s swap. Every other weekend we’ll trade dads,” she says, her eyes bright and flashing.

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Kate and I get off our busses at the same time and walk into school together. I see Alisha, who’s sitting on the front steps. I give her a small smile, but Alisha keeps her eyes straight down.

  “Aren’t you friends with her?” Kate asks when we pass her.

  “Not lately,” I say, shrugging, because right now I don’t care.

  chapter twenty-two

  A week later, Jackie beeps the horn in the driveway and Mom walks out with me and waves to her. She kisses me on the forehead, tells me I look gorgeous, and goes back inside. Mom seems much more relaxed about Kate since she came over.

  I get in the car. Jackie has the music turned up. She listens to all the new rock bands and knows more about the latest hits than Kate does.

  “Hey,” Kate says as I settle in next to her. My skirt billows up as I sit down, like I’m sitting in the middle of a red rose. I finger the satin edging on the end of my sleeve. Mom even French-braided my hair.

  “Wow!” Jackie says, turning around. “You look like a princess.”

  My heart leaps and I blush. “Thanks.”

  Then she looks at Kate. “Hon, was the party supposed to be so dressy? Maybe we should have gotten you something nicer?” I look at Kate, who’s staring at me in more of a surprised way than a wow-you-look-great way. She’s wearing a short aqua-blue dress with a short black cardigan over it and black shoes with no backs, her hair down and wavy. She looks the way teen movie stars do.

  “You look so pretty,” I say in a small voice.

  “Thanks.” She opens her little black beaded purse. “You too,” she says with her eyes down as she searches for something in her purse. She takes out a compact mirror and checks her lipstick. Other than Jackie asking a few questions, Kate and I barely talk the whole car ride.

  Peter’s house is on the other side of Maplewood, where the really big houses are. All the houses are actually pretty big in this town, so the really big ones are kind of like mansions. Jackie drives down a long bumpy driveway. At the end is a huge white house with black shutters and an enormous front porch. Acres of land surround the house. I even see horse stables in the distance.

  “Now, this is a house,” Jackie says as we get out. “Let me know how the rich live,” she calls before speeding away.

  Mrs. Hanson opens the door. She smiles a squinty smile and touches her poufy blondish-grayish hair. She says we both look fabulous and takes our gifts. At least I followed Kate’s advice and bought Peter a Tough Love CD.

  Mrs. Hanson leads us through a massive living room and down some back stairs to the basement. I think of our basement with its lumpy couches and water-stained carpet, and the exercise bike sitting in the corner. This basement is a kid’s paradise. My feet sink into the thick carpet. A huge sectional couch sits in the middle like an island. Two real pinball machines and the biggest flat-screen television I’ve ever seen stand against the wall. On one side of the room sits a table with a long submarine sandwich cut up into a million pieces on it. There are also bowls of pickles, chips, and M&M’s, and a full setup of sodas and juices. My mouth waters at the thought of eating cold cuts and potato chips and drinking bright orange soda.

  Kate pushes past me and runs up to Jess. Peter is standing in the corner with a few other boys. One of them punches Peter in the arm and he punches back. Then the boys gawk at Kate for a few seconds.

  “Hi, Kate,” Peter finally says. She waves to them and they start a new round of arm punching. Jess and Kate give each other a look, but I don’t know if it’s about me or Peter. I see Ann, the other alternate, and quickly grab a place by her side.

  “Hi,” she says. “That’s a really pretty dress.” She seems like she means it.

  “Thanks,” I say, and hope Kate can hear her. “Yours is too.” Though she’s not wearing a dress. She has on a pink button-down shirt and a short khaki skirt. None of the other girls are nearly as dressed up as I am. They’re all either wearing little sweaters and dresses like Kate or shirts and skirts like Ann. Kate huddles with Jess, who’s also in a sweater and dress, but hers is pink and white and much tighter than Kate’s. They whisper something while shooting glances at Peter and his friends on the other side of the room. I wonder why no one is eating. I wonder why the boys and girls are on separate sides of the room.

  Peter’s mother comes down with a platter of potato salad and sees the untouched food. “You’re all growing children. Eat!” she says, and starts handing out paper plates.

  I take one, relieved that someone is going to make us eat. Everyone gets food, but as soon as Mrs. Hanson leaves, the groups split up again, girls around the couch, boys near the pin
ball machines. I sit quietly next to Ann, secretly loving the sub stuffed with ham, salami, and turkey. I also piled my plate high with potato chips and M&M’s. I see that I’ve taken more than any other girl. Kate’s picking at a scoop of potato salad and Jess is doing the same.

  “Where’d you get that dress, Sonia?” Jess calls to me. My heart speeds up.

  “London,” I say, hoping this isn’t what she expects.

  “You look like you should be in The Nutcracker.”

  A couple of the other girls giggle. Even Kate. I figure there are worse insults than looking like I’m part of a famous ballet.

  “Thanks,” I say again, all bright and happy, knowing this will confuse her. More giggles. I smooth my skirt. The touch of velvet comforts me and I remember why I love the dress. Who cares if it’s different from what everyone else is wearing? It’s the best present I ever got. I look at Kate but she doesn’t meet my eye.

  After the conversation turns away from my dress and back to the boys, Peter puts an empty bottle of Sprite on the coffee table. He lays it on its side and there’s a hush in the room.

  “Spin the Bottle,” Jess whispers to Kate.

  People start forming a circle around the table. I sit down on the floor next to Ann, who starts biting her lip. Kate and Jess sit together on the other side of the circle and continue to whisper and shoot quick glances at the boys. I cross my legs and pull my skirt over them. It’s full enough to completely cover me, feet included, and it feels safe under there.

  Peter runs up the stairs for a minute and comes back down.

  “She’s out in the garden,” he says, meaning his mother. “She’ll be out there forever.”

  No one says anything and everyone stares at the bottle. Then Jess jumps up and pulls her cardigan tight across her body.

  “I’ll spin first,” she says. Her eyes are bright and big. She whips the bottle around and it points to me. “Do-over,” she says. “We all have to be mixed together. You guys”—she points to a few of the boys next to Peter—“sit on this side.”

  There’s a fit of sneaky laughs, but they do as she says and sit themselves in between the girls. A quiet boy named Danny, with blond curls hanging over his eyes, sits between me and Ann. He scrunches up his knees and plays with his sneaker laces as if they’re the most exciting things in the world.

  Jess spins again and it points to a boy named Jeff, the shortest boy at the party. Another round of choky laughs ripples through the room. Jess walks over to where Jeff’s sitting, kneels down, puts her hands on his shoulders, and kisses him hard on the mouth. She makes twisty motions with her head like they do in the movies. Suddenly my body feels cold, like I jumped in ice water.

  Jeff, his face still red from Jess’s kiss, gets up and spins. It points to Ann. He walks over to her and gives her a quick kiss on the mouth. She keeps her eyes open and her arms at her sides like a soldier. Then she spins and gets Peter. He flashes his green eyes at her and smiles. She kisses him so quickly, I wonder if she even touched his lips.

  Then Peter spins and gets Kate. I catch my breath for her even though she’s been a jerk this whole party, because I know she’s dying of happiness inside. She doesn’t smile, she just stares at him and waits. He smiles a sneaky half smile, comes over, and kneels down in front of her. She closes her eyes and they kiss carefully, not too hard, not too fast. When she opens her eyes again they look at each other all intense, until Danny and a couple of other boys start whoohooing. Kate goes all red and turns to Jess, whose eyes are as big as saucers. They share some silent secret, and it makes me think of Sam with a pang in my heart.

  “This is boring,” Jess yells out. “Let’s play Two Minutes in the Closet.”

  Kate shoots Jess a look of surprise. Now that I know what Spin the Bottle is, I can figure out the next game—more of the same, only longer. Kate gets Danny. They go off into the big walk-in closet in the corner of the room. Jess, of course, is timing them. When they come out Kate looks mad. Did he kiss too much or not enough, I wonder? Danny keeps his eyes hidden under his curls.

  He spins. I watch the bottle, the swirl of translucent green, as it slows and stops. In. Front. Of. Me. I didn’t actually believe someone would get me. I didn’t actually believe that I’d have to be locked in an actual closet with an actual boy.

  Danny doesn’t look at me, he just goes back into the closet. I know Kate’s eyes are on me, but I won’t meet hers, not for all the money in the world. I stand up, smooth my skirt, and follow him. I feel a little dizzy and wonder if fainting would be easier than going into that closet.

  I’ve practiced some kisses in the mirror by myself and on a Tough Love poster that Sam has hanging on her bedroom wall. We both practiced. I always kissed the guy with the longest hair, she the shortest. But posters and mirrors don’t kiss back.

  The closet is bigger than I thought, with only a few coats hanging and stacks of board games on the top shelves. It smells like newly cut wood. The light goes off automatically when the doors close, but somehow Danny knows where the switch is and clicks it on again. He brushes away a curl and smiles.

  “Your friend Kate is a prude,” he says.

  “Is she?” I say, knowing full well that if he’d said that before this party, I would have stood up for her.

  “Are you black?” Danny asks, but in a telling voice, not an asking voice.

  “No,” I say, and swallow hard, not sure anymore if that’s the right answer.

  “So what are you?”

  “A girl,” I say.

  “Aren’t you an Indian?” he asks.

  I get that fainty feeling again and Danny’s pretty-boy face starts to change into something ugly, really ugly.

  “I don’t want to kiss you,” I say.

  “Just like your friend Kate. Too bad,” he says, then he puts his hands on my shoulders, presses his mouth against mine, and sticks his tongue in. He tastes salty, like potato chips. His fingers dig into my shoulders as he holds me in place. I close my eyes and keep my hands by my sides and wonder if everyone’s first kiss is like this. There’s a rap on the door. The two minutes are up. He stops kissing me, shakes his curls back over his eyes, and opens the door. I quickly wipe my mouth and know that even if my face is red, my dress will be redder.

  Everyone stares as I sit down. I look around waiting for Danny to spin again, and realize with a catch in my throat that it’s my turn. I grab the Sprite bottle. I want to spin so hard it just might dissolve into thin air. Then Peter runs up and takes the bottle from me.

  “I hear my mom coming. Spread out,” he commands in a harsh whisper. And everyone does except me. I just sit there staring at where the bottle once was.

  “You kids ready for cake?” Mrs. Hanson says as she enters the room smiling and blinking, still holding her gardening scissors. My body relaxes like a balloon leaking air as I wait for cake.

  Mom is late coming to pick us up, me and Kate, and we both have to watch everyone leave. Even Peter leaves with his dad and his older brother to go sailing or hiking or something, I don’t exactly hear. Mrs. Hanson asks if we want to wait inside, but before we can answer, she says it’s a beautiful day and leads us to the front porch with glasses of lemonade as if it’s the dead of summer. It’s really a gray sort of day, with a breeze that’s almost freezing but not quite.

  We sit on a white wooden bench facing the large circular driveway.

  “Why are you being such a jerk to me?” I say, the blood pulsing in my temples. A squirrel darts across the blacktop, stops for a second, eyeing us, and continues toward the woods.

  “Really? Have I been?” Kate asks, playing with the silver cross on her necklace.

  “Yes, you have,” I say, and suddenly feel limp, like I’ve been walking all day in the sun.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” she says, and then smiles all goofy.

  “What?” I say.

  “Here’s the truth. I was embarrassed by
your dress. It’s just so fancy. I’m totally sorry. You could have borrowed something.”

  Her voice trails off and her eyes fill with tears. I watch her fingers twist the silver cross around and around.

  I look away. If I look at her any longer, watch her crying, I’ll tell her it’s okay, and it’s not. I thought she liked me because I was different, but maybe she just liked me because she thought she could make me the same.

  Mom finally pulls up. She’s staring straight ahead, not smiling, not waving, not doing the things she normally does. We hop off the bench and climb into the car.

  “How was the party?” Mom asks in a quiet, faraway voice.

  “Really fun,” Kate says.

  No one speaks another word until we get to Kate’s house.

  “Call me later,” she says, getting out of the car, and I nod, knowing I won’t call her anytime soon.

  I start crying in the backseat on the way home, just like that. The tears fall out and my body shakes, but it feels good. I’ve wanted to cry like this for a long time. It takes Mom a minute to even notice. When she does, she pulls over.

  “What? What’s wrong?” She spins around and looks at me, panicked.

  Her reaction is not like Mom at all, but nothing’s the way it’s supposed to be anymore, so I don’t think much of it. Normally, though, when I cry Mom seems to know exactly why without me having to explain. She’s always so calm about it. She just rubs my back and waits until I’m ready to talk.

  “It’s just …” I try to think of the thing that’s making me cry right now. Is it that Kate became a totally different person because of one wrong red dress? Is it the way I can still feel Danny’s hard skinny fingers pressing down on my shoulders? Is it the way I can still hear his questions echoing inside me?

  “It’s … everything,” I say between sobs.

  Mom gets out of the front seat and comes in back next to me. I bury my face in her shoulder and she hugs me tight.

  “I’m not sure I want to be Kate’s friend anymore,” I say, wiping my face.