Karma Khullar's Mustache

by Kristi Wientge

  “You’re lucky. I’m only allowed to wear tinted lip gloss, and”—she paused, putting her hand on her hip and pointing a finger at me to imitate her mom—“that’s it.”

  I cracked up because Sara mimicked voices really well. She used to do voice impressions all the time to make Ruthie stop crying.

  Sara gave a final tug to the sides of her skirt and sighed. “I can’t believe we’re starting middle school.”

  “You’ve been talking about it all summer,” I said. I wanted to laugh, but then I saw Sara’s face.

  All summer she’d shrugged off all my crazy freak-outs, but now, fidgeting with her skirt, she looked like the Sara I’d met in kindergarten. Shy, quiet, and crying in a corner. She’d done that for a whole week. Then she’d spilled her juice and I’d shared my animal crackers with her. We’d been best friends ever since.

  Sara let out a long sigh. “I know.” We looped arms and scurried toward the school. “That shirt is perfect, by the way. I’m glad you wore it.”

  When we reached the pillars in front of school, Sara stopped. “Listen, Karma. Let’s meet here Monday. Right here at this pillar. The buses stop all along here, but we’ll meet at this pillar before school, and then we won’t have to walk inside alone.”

  “Perfect!” My head still hurt, but my shoulders relaxed slightly, now that I knew I wouldn’t walk into school alone on the first day. As we pushed through the doors into the building, the noise and size of the place seemed too big. Even with all the kids and parents inside, there were large gaps of empty space.

  Having Sara next to me shrunk my worries about Lacy, my mustache, and everything middle school small enough that I could almost pretend they didn’t exist.

  • • •

  It wasn’t until our parents came with us to meet our teacher in homeroom that I could completely forget about Lacy, Tom, Derek, and ’Stache Attack. I was so afraid Daddy would ask a million questions that I couldn’t pay attention to anything else.

  And, of course, Daddy asked the first question. “Will you provide the students with a list of supplementary activities and lessons?” Ms. Hillary, the oldest teacher ever, got excited and discussed the new after-school groups that were starting this year to extend our learning outside the classroom. Thankfully Derek’s dad followed Daddy’s question with one about dress code and haircuts that made Derek’s neck turn red.

  After orientation my head throbbed and hurt too much for me to pretend I didn’t care that Lacy was riding with us. I tried to smile the entire ten-minute ride to Sara’s house, but I knew I’d have fake-smile eyes, the kind that scrunch up like the crusty edges of burned toast. And then when Lacy ran across the street to her house to pick up her stuff, I did my best to blink away the idea that Lacy didn’t even really have to pack a bag. She lived across the street. The street that divided our middle school from our old elementary school had seemed like an ocean too big to swim across, but the street between Sara’s and Lacy’s houses was more like a bridge connecting them.

  “Let me get Ruthie ready, and we’ll be off to dinner in about an hour, girls,” Mrs. Green called as we ran upstairs to Sara’s room.

  I threw my bag to the side of Sara’s bed and fell back onto her yellow-and-white comforter. She had decorated her room in the fourth grade when we were obsessed with sunflowers, and her room hadn’t changed much since. She had stuck more things onto the boards that hung on her walls. The photos of us together over the past couple of years were still there, but she’d added some new cutouts from magazines and a photo of her and her cousin at the beach. She’d gotten the idea for the boards from a magazine about redecorating your room with things you already had lying around your house. That was back when we were still reading Highlights and American Girl magazines.

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows and realized that unless we slept in the basement, one of us would have to sleep on the floor. Usually Sara and I squished into her bed, but with Lacy spending the night too, someone would end up sleeping alone. My stomach did a flip.

  I repeated Satnam Waheguru, telling my fears to disappear, at least for now so I could enjoy this sleepover with my best friend, even if it meant spending time with Lacy and giving up my space on the bed.

  Ruthie burst into Sara’s room and jumped onto my lap.

  “Hey, you,” I said, hugging her back.

  “Mom said you can paint my fingernails.” Ruthie bounced down and grabbed the bottle of purple polish off Sara’s dresser. There were about four colors lined up, with a little silver dish holding cotton balls next to a bottle of polish remover.

  “Ruthie, don’t mess it up,” Sara said.

  “Mom said I can.” Ruthie put both her hands around the polish and stuck her tongue out at Sara.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “Here, Ruthie. Give me the bottle and we’ll paint your nails.”

  Ruthie squealed and handed me the bottle. Sara went over to the dresser to straighten up the polish.

  Ruthie’s nails were so tiny, it only took me one coat of polish and a couple of minutes to finish. Lacy came through Sara’s door as I gave Ruthie’s nails a final dab.

  “Lacy, Lacy, Lacy!” Ruthie jumped up and knocked the polish over with her knee before I had the chance to screw the cap on all the way. A small drip of purple nail polish puddled on Sara’s carpet.

  “Ruthie!” Sara yelled. “Quick, Karma, grab the remover.”

  Most of it came up when I rubbed at it for a minute, but I had to turn my face at the smell of the polish remover because it made my head throb.

  “It got all messy,” Ruthie said, pouting at her fingernails.

  Lacy took Ruthie’s hand. “I can fix that, easy.” She grabbed the clear polish off Sara’s dresser and dabbed it onto Ruthie’s nails. “Se e? Good as new. You should always use a topcoat. I learned that in surfing club.”

  “You surf   ?” Sara asked in a whispered voice that sent a prickle of weirdness to my cheeks.

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever seen a shark?” Ruthie asked, pushing herself between me, Sara, and Lacy.

  “Go away, Ruthie, or I’m telling Mom you spilled nail polish on the rug,” Sara said, elbowing her away.

  “Did you bring your surfboard with you?” Ruthie asked, elbowing Sara back.

  “No, silly,” Lacy said.

  Ruthie giggled and squirmed past Sara and tripped over my knees to sit on Lacy’s lap.

  Seeing Ruthie on Lacy’s lap made me want to stand up and tell Lacy she couldn’t have Sara. And definitely not her family, too.

  Ruthie turned toward me. “Can you surf?”

  I shook my head. “No.” It sounded so lame, so I added, “I play the piano, though.”

  “Yeah, I know. You and Sara both play.” Ruthie jumped up. “I’m going to tell Mom that Lacy can surf!”

  Lacy stood up and walked toward the photos Sara had pinned up near her closet. “Oh my gosh! Is this you, Karma?” Lacy asked, unsticking a photo of Sara and me.

  The color had faded slightly, but you could see the original color on the corner where the picture had been covered by another photo since third grade. My sweater was a mix of pea green and mustard yellow, and my hair stuck out in all directions in a frizzy mess. We’d been to the fall festival in town, and both our hair had gotten staticky in the bouncy house. Of course right after, Sara’s hair had fallen back into place, but mine had stayed puffy and crazy.

  “That’s hilarious!” Sara said. “I forgot about that sweater. You used to wear it all the time.”

  “Not all the time,” I said, defensive about the sweater Dadima had knitted for me.

  “It’s so weird, because you still look exactly the same,” Lacy said.

  “You’re right,” Sara said. “You haven’t changed at all since third grade, Kar.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I’d definitely changed. I didn’t wear that sweater anymore. I’d gotten taller. . . .

  Who was I kidding? My mustache was the only noticeable chan
ge. Obviously, facial hair wasn’t the kind of change Sara and Lacy were talking about. I didn’t want them to be right. I especially didn’t want Lacy to know she was right. There had to be something I could say, but before anything came to mind, Lacy turned to Sara.

  “You were so adorable!” Lacy said. “But your hair definitely suits you much better now. You know, all long with layers. It frames your cheekbones so well.”

  Sara sat up straighter on her bed and smiled.

  I’d only been at Sara’s for twenty minutes, and already Lacy had managed to flatter Sara, win over Ruthie, and make me question everything about myself even more than normal. I didn’t even think that was possible.

  Earlier I might have been worried about strep throat or my mustache being a sign of an unknown disease, but now what freaked me out was the idea that instead of me being able to solve a single problem, Lacy would just keep finding more and more things I needed to fix about myself.

  Sara’s mom poked her head into the room and told us we had to be downstairs in thirty minutes. There were only a handful of places to go out to dinner in our town, and Supremo’s was by far our favorite. Most of the other families probably had the same idea.

  Lacy dug through her bag and pulled out a small pouch. “All right. Who’s up for a makeover?”

  “I can’t,” Sara said. “I’m only allowed lip gloss.”

  “I can do that.” Lacy grabbed a tube and dabbed it on Sara. The smell of vanilla and strawberry filled the room, making me rub my neck.

  “Here, Kar. I’ve got this mascara that would really make your eyes crazy pretty.”

  Before I could explain that Daddy would start quoting from the Shabad or that I’d already put on some makeup, she pulled me next to her and brushed at my eyelashes. It felt strange to have someone so close to my face and touching near my eyes. I sucked in my breath and waited for her to say something about my mustache, but she didn’t.

  “There. Take a look.” She stood next to me, staring back at me in the mirror.

  I blinked a couple of times, trying to get used to the sticky feeling. My eyes did look bigger and more open.

  “You can have this if you want. It’ll definitely make people focus on your eyes instead of the hair here.” Lacy tapped the top of her mouth.

  Just when I’d thought I might be able to actually like Lacy, she had to bring up my mustache. I looked in the mirror at Sara’s reflection. She had her eyes focused on her fingernails, like the bright pink she’d chosen was the most interesting thing in the world—more interesting than stopping Lacy from making fun of my mustache. Again.

  If I didn’t figure out before Monday how to get rid of my mustache permanently and prove to Sara that Lacy wasn’t really the friend Sara thought she was, I’d be walking the halls of Holly Creek Middle School all by myself.

  Chapter Nine

  We all squeezed into the back of Sara’s van because Ruthie wanted both Lacy and me to sit next to her. Sara didn’t want to be in front and have to turn around to talk to us, so she squished next to me, closer to the window. Ruthie’s car seat dug into my hip, but I ignored the pain because sitting like this, no matter how uncomfortable, was the closest I’d been to Sara the entire afternoon.

  Now that I finally had her so close, I didn’t know what to say. When I scratched my knee, the dark purple nail polish I’d decided on after Lacy had insisted on painting my nails made me think someone else’s hands were touching my leg.

  My stomach did a funny rumble thing, and the fake-fruit smell of Lacy’s lip gloss didn’t help.

  Ruthie started to sing a song about spaghetti and meatballs, and when I scrunched my face to smile at her, it made my head ache again.

  We pulled into Supremo’s parking lot, and Sara grabbed a brush from her purse and started to fret over her split ends.

  “Don’t worry. No one will notice them. Just use that avocado-and-banana hair mask Sunday night. Your hair will be so shiny. Trust me,” Lacy said, handing Sara her lip gloss.

  “Avocado and banana?” I asked, willing my stomach to hold steady. I didn’t know if the combination of the avocado and banana had caused my stomach to cramp, or the fact that Lacy and Sara had talked about so many things without me around. I knew they’d shopped for the nail polish and talked on the phone, but how much did they talk about without me?

  “Yeah,” Sara said. “We read an article about it in Teen Bop. It’s supposed to work better than the mayonnaise we did last time.”

  I had to swallow. Sara and I had put half a jar of mayonnaise in our hair at the beginning of summer to smooth out the frizz. The only thing it did was make us smell like egg salad for the entire day, even after we used her coconut shampoo four times to wash it out.

  Remembering that vinegary smell made the car feel way too hot and squished. I sucked in a huge gulp of fresh night air the minute Mrs. Green found a parking place and we piled out of the van.

  The doors of Supremo’s opened with a swoosh that sucked us into the packed waiting area. We stood back as Mrs. Green put her name on the waiting list. She was right, lots of other families had had the same idea. There were kids I recognized from elementary school but lots of kids I didn’t recognize at all.

  Lacy and Sara giggled together as we waited. I reached for Ruthie’s hand, but she already had hold of her mom’s.

  Lacy smiled and waved at a few older girls and even a few of the boys. I didn’t know how she could possibly know any of them just from a couple of hours at orientation and one trip to the pool. Sure, we lived in a small town, but she’d been here less than a week.

  Sara and Lacy traded shoes while we waited. They both wore slip-on shoes that had cute little cutouts at their toes, which showed their bright pink toenails. I’d chosen the dark purple for my toes and fingers, but they’d chosen to go pink on their toes and light purple on their fingers.

  Something about seeing their matching shoes and nail polish sent a surge of panic through me. Did everyone know something I didn’t? But worse, no one—not even Sara—wanted to tell me?

  Dread squirreled its way down my chest, mixing with my sense of aloneness, making my stomach do a funny gurgle, but not because I was hungry.

  It must have showed on my face, because as we scooted into the curved booth several minutes later, Mrs. Green asked, “You okay, Karma?”

  “You do look a little funny,” Sara said. “Are you all right?”

  I tried to smile because I already felt like an annoying, wobbly wheel on a grocery cart and didn’t want to give Sara more reasons to choose Lacy over me.

  Mrs. Green asked what we wanted on our pizza. I nodded and shrugged at all the suggestions, even Lacy’s about a California Special.

  Our half-circle booth sat near the back of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but feel on display, even though I knew everyone was too busy staring at brand-new Lacy, not me. A lot of boys walked past our booth on their way to the bathroom, even though they could have just walked the other way around the circle table in front of us.

  The pizza came covered in a mixture of green, squishy stuff and shriveled red things. I put my hand over my mouth and swallowed.

  “You guys are going to love this!” Lacy clapped. “It’s avocado and sundried tomatoes.”

  That was all it took. The mushy contents of my stomach splattered all over the floor in full view of everyone in Supremo’s. And unlike all those gawking boys, I didn’t make it to the bathroom.

  Chapter Ten

  My life in sixth grade had come to an end before it had even begun.

  I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It mocked me with its boring ordinariness. Its stark white paint and smooth surface stretched throughout my room and house and probably every house in the country.

  A ceiling. A typical, plain ceiling. Why couldn’t my life be typical and plain?

  After I’d thrown up, Mrs. Green had asked for the pizza to be boxed up, and she’d driven me home, letting me sit in the front seat. I’d been too upset to ev
en worry about whether I was breaking a federal law and car safety regulations by sitting in the front seat.

  Sara walked me to the door, but when Mom opened it, I pretended to need the bathroom. I hadn’t wanted to relive my humiliation by explaining to her what had happened. Mom had too much to worry about with work. I didn’t want to add more problems, especially with Kiran acting so weird. So I brushed my teeth and buried myself in my bed.

  Hours later I was still there, sifting through the confusion flooding my brain. The leftover embarrassment from last night tingled my face and arms. I wished I could box it up with the leftover pizza and stomp on it. Now instead of just being ’Stache Attack, I could be teased for throwing up too. Lacy would probably even come up with some kind of stupid nickname that included both, like Supremo ’Stache or El Hairy Puko. What if she and Sara had already come up with something last night?

  When my stomach growled for the millionth time, I gave up trying to stay in bed all day and went downstairs.

  There were no spicy smells to greet me in the kitchen, just the clattering of computer keys from Daddy’s office.

  “Morning, sweetie,” Mom said.

  I’d almost forgotten it was Saturday. Somehow the simple fact that Mom was home made my life feel normal. “Morning, Mom.”

  I squeezed next to her for a sideways hug.

  “You feeling better this morning?” she asked, pushing the back of her hand against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you hungry? How about some toast?”

  “Okay,” I said, sliding onto a stool.

  “I made a list of school supplies.” Mom pushed a list across the counter to me.

  Daddy had added a scientific calculator to Mom’s list. Then I noticed the asterisk at the bottom of the page—*ask a saleslady about a training bra.

  Training bra?

  “Mom, are you serious?”

  “Well, it’s time to think about these things.”

  Words started to form in my head to tell her about ’Stache Attack and ask what to do about my mustache. I opened my mouth, hoping Daddy would keep typing so he wouldn’t be able to hear our conversation.