"You'll learn." She brushes past me to get to the cricket stumps. Her scent is sharp, tangy like that of an orange, but musky on the edges like a warm chocolate cookie.
I wonder if she wants to meet after practice for a coffee. I'm about to ask her when a voice hails her from the distance.
She looks up, waves back. "All done, Amar. We're set up, ready to go."
The tall boy from yesterday comes up to me. The look on his face says he is not happy to see me.
"Stay away from my girlfriend," he mutters in a grim voice, low enough that only I hear it, as he passes me.
"Let's see if she can stay away from me," I reply in a matching undertone.
He shoots a glance at me. "Let's see, shall we." His forehead is contorted, cheek muscles pulled back in a grimace. He wants to punch me. Good. I feel good. I'll fight for her if I need to. He walks over and kisses Ash full on the lips. He wraps his hands around her waist and lifts her up so her feet dangle in the air. The kiss seems to go on and on. I wipe the smile off my face and turn away.
Soon the other three players have joined us.
Amar is clearly the captain of the team. "Okay, newbie, show us what you've got!" He gestures to me to take the bat.
No way can I refuse this challenge. Picking up the bat, I take position on the pitch in front of the wickets. The very first ball bounces off a rough patch to hit me full tilt in the chest. I drop the bat and bend over in agony, sparks of pain flashing across my limbs.
Amar runs up to me and pats me on the back. "You all right, man? You sure you want to continue playing?"
His voice is smug. He did that on purpose, I am sure of that. I am so going to show him! Am going to learn how to play this game if it's the last thing I do. Shaking off his hand, I pick up my bat.
"Just bowl," I grind out through clenched teeth.
My fielding is the only thing worse than my batting. I can't hold onto a single ball which comes my way. They slip through my fingers or I don't get to them in time. I give away so many runs that when the hour's play is up, no one meets my eyes as we wind our way back to the school in time for dinner. Ash lags behind the others.
When I reach her, she links her hand through mine. My chest, which is still on fire from where I got hit earlier, freezes at her friendly gesture.
"It's okay, you'll improve," she says in a soft voice.
"Easy for you to say. You are a genius when it comes to the game." And I am not joking. Ash fields like a maniac, throwing herself at every ball that comes in her direction. She bats fearlessly, and when it comes to bowling … well it's clear she has a really good arm.
"I'll teach you," she offers.
"You will?" I am so surprised I stop walking and look at her. She is slightly taller than me so I have to look up to meet her eyes. The breeze blows that warm biscuity-orange scent of hers towards me.
"I will," she nods.
"What about him?" I look ahead to where Amar's head bobs above the others.
"Nah! Don't worry. Leave him to me."
"You his girlfriend?" I look straight into her eyes, fascinated when the grey dots inside her blue eyes contract.
"He's not my boyfriend—"
"But he does think of you as his … girlfriend." I finish her sentence for her.
She leans close and I lose track of what I was about to say. How convenient. Girls are real good at distracting you when they don't want to talk about something. I don't mind though.
"Tomorrow then? 5pm? Just after class?" she asks.
"Huh? What?"
"Shall we meet after class? Practice? Cricket practice? No other way you're going to improve."
Ah! I see. "What about homework then?" I ask before I can help myself.
She laughs. "Live dangerously, Vik. You can always do your homework later. Or is it because I-is-a-gihl?" she says in an exaggerated American hip-hop'ish accent.
"Of course not," I protest. "Some of my best friends are girls … I love learning stuff … from girls …" My voice tapers off at her wide grin.
"See ya tomorrow." She waves and runs ahead.
I follow her, and somehow I just know my life is going to change.
11
Age 13
"I miss you, son." Mum's voice echoes down the phone lines, bringing with it the familiar feel of home.
"Me too Mum. I want to come over and see all of you."
"You can come when the term is over, for your winter holidays." Her voice is firm.
My weekly Sunday phone calls with the family back home are a reminder of what I am missing. I still miss my parents, and Seema … even Vishal. I do look forward to speaking with them every week. I imagine them clustered around the phone, and for a second I wish I too could be there with them instead of here. Where I belong. With my family.
"So how's it going?" Dad's voice booms down the phone. He's taken the phone from Mum before she begins to sniffle. Whew!
"Ah! Good. Uh! I met this girl—"
"Finally! About time, isn't it?" I grin at the explosion and don't try to correct his impression that she is my girlfriend. The last few phone calls have already taught me that my parents always prefer to assume what they want about my life here at St James … and it's best sometimes to leave it at that. Especially if it keeps them happy. I continue without breaking my sentence. "And she's teaching me to play cricket."
"I like her. A LOT!" Of course, Dad is happy about my learning to play cricket.
Hearing Mum's voice in the background asking about the "girlfriend", I want to hang up right then. She is going to hit me with all her questions. She won't stop till she has wormed it all out of me. What have I got myself into?
Dad's voice has a smug ring to it when he says, "Ha! Nothing like the love of a good woman to redeem a man!"
"Dad! What are you talking about?" Woman? She's just a girl." I redden at what he is trying to tell me.
At which he of course changes the topic. "Oh! Here, Vishal wants to say hi!"
"Hey, Bro!" On the phone Vishal sounds like a small boy. Vishal is still unwavering in his loyalty to me. The glimmer of hate I had sensed on first meeting him has been replaced by brotherly affection since the aquarium incident.
"Hey, Vishal … Wassup?"
"How's St James? You playing cricket now?"
"Yep … Just, you know … trying my hand at it."
"What about your Gameboy—? Can I have that if you are not using it anymore?"
I think of my video game with guilt. Most of my time outside of class is spent practising cricket with Ash. To my surprise I find the game actually appeals to the intellect in me … And, I really like being outdoors. But I am not ready to part with my Gameboy. Yet. It's as if by holding onto it I am keeping a part of my childhood alive.
"And there are girls there too?" He lowers his voice.
I nod. "Yep."
"Can I meet your girlfriend?" he asks, his voice excited.
"Uh! Sure," I lie, relieved when Dad comes back on the line. I hear him tell Vishal to go back to his room before he resumes the conversation.
"When you grow up, promise you'll take care of him?"
"Of course, Dad," I say, surprised.
There's silence between us as I digest what he says. And at what he doesn't spell out. With Dad, I've learnt, it's the stuff he doesn't say that is the loudest. I know what he means is that given a choice Mum would simply pretend Vishal doesn't exist. But I know Vishal is Dad's son. Just like me. And Dad's worried about what's going to happen to him, and that Vishal needs to be protected till he's old enough to face the world on his own. The silence stretches. I can hear the muted Bombay traffic roar over the telephone lines.
Even as I'm trying to make sense of my own surroundings, I now see my family clearly for what they are. Perhaps it's the distance, or maybe I really am just old enough to see things for what they are. Either way, it feels I have taken my first steps towards adulthood. I'm not sure I'm ready for this yet.
"You know I'll take
care of all of you, Dad. The man of the family, and all that?" I say trying to keep my voice light.
Dad laughs, then, "You're a good boy. A better son than I ever was to my father."
"You make me sound so boring, Dad," I protest.
"No, no, far from boring. You were just born an old soul. A responsible old soul. I know I can count on you."
The call leaves me with a strange feeling.
12
Age 13
Music. It'll be the death of me. It's the one thing, maybe the only thing I'm worse at than cricket. Most mornings now begin with music lessons. Already, I have tried my hand at every single instrument here—the guitar, the sitar, the drums, the xylophone, the violin, the saxophone, the flute—and have failed at all of them. There's only one instrument remaining to try my hand at. It's large, unwieldy, and one of the more expensive instruments in school.
"I really don't want to play this … cello … or anything else for that matter," I mutter to Tenzin as we walk to the music room, where Mr Archer, our music teacher, is waiting for us that morning.
"You've got to at least try. If not, you'll never know what you're good at." Tenzin's very reasonable that way. In fact, he takes the meaning of "being Zen" to new highs … or depths, as the case maybe. Tenzen, that's what I call him.
"You're right. But then, you are good at almost all the music instruments in here. Are there any you can't play?"
He thinks about it then says, "The piano?"
"See, that's what I mean." I pounce on him. "It's like you have music running through your veins."
"It's nothing …" He shrugs it off. "You like words and cricket. Shit … me, I enjoy music."
Do I like words? Yeah, I just happen to remember a lot of them in my head. But cricket? That's new. To think I used to hate the game, and now, it's in my blood. I can't recognize myself anymore.
Tenzin normally hangs out with other Bhutanese students. But he also likes to spend time with me. With his silken hair flowing to his shoulders, and dressed in his trademark Wu-Tang jeans and Lacquer jersey, he resembles a slick hip-hop gangster … of "royal" origins, since Tenzin is a second cousin to the current king of Bhutan. He also just happens to play the guitar particularly well, and has a great voice to go with it. All of which is a hit with the girls. Works for me too.
Still, it doesn't get me off having to trying my hand at the cello that morning. I seat myself behind the instrument and am instantly dwarfed by its size. With Mr Archer's help, I steady the cello between my knees before resting it against my upper chest.
"With the fingertips of your left hand, stop the strings on the fingerboard to determine the pitch of the fingered note. Hold the bow in your right hand to slide the strings to sound the notes," Mr Archer instructs.
I hold the bow and slide it across while trying hard not to allow my fingers to slip across the strings. With a twang, the string snaps, and I duck to avoid being hurt by the upper half of the string, before it comes to rest dangling like a broken arm.
"You broke the string?" Mr Archer exclaims.
"Ah! Yes … Sorry?"
"No one's ever done that on their very first attempt at playing the cello. Not in all the time I have been here." He shakes his head, his mane of silver hair glinting in the sunlight that is now pouring through the open window. A piercing whistle pulls my attention outside to where Ash is passing by. She holds up a hand in a friendly wave, before pointing to the cello clutched between my thighs and doubling over with mock laughter.
As if hypnotised, my eyes swivel to Archer. "Can I go, sir?"
"May as well …" He laughs at me. "Especially since you keep looking at her." He nods towards Ash, who's waiting, impatient. Hands on her hips. She mimics throwing a ball and beckons me to come out and join her.
"Yeah … can't keep her waiting."
"You could have spared the cello your attention if all you wanted to do was play cricket. It's quite okay not to play any musical instruments, you know?" He's being so nice about it. I broke the string on the damn thing too.
"I didn't want to … it was him," I say in my defence, pointing to Tenzin, who has collapsed in the corner of the room and is now choking with laughter. He raises his hand, touching his forefinger to his thumb, holding the other fingers upright.
"Why you—" I sputter, trying not let loose the choicest four-letter words that run through my head. "You just wanted to see me make a complete ass of myself, right?"
"Language, boy, language," Mr Archer says mildly. "Asses are very hard-working creatures, you know?"
"Huh?" I look at him, wondering if he too is taking the piss. He seems to be deathly serious about it. I decide to get out of there, before he changes his mind.
Getting up, I carefully place the cello back in its case. Then I dart towards Tenzin, but he is already out the door. I chase after him through the basketball court and out to the grassy patch bordering the woods. I leap onto his back, so for a few seconds he dances around with me gripping his back like a monkey. Without warning, he drops backward, me still clinging to his back. I hit the grassy floor, whamming my head against the ground hard enough so everything goes black in front of my eyes for a second. Tenzin's weight bangs into my stomach and I lie there winded. He rolls away from me and onto his back, and the breath gushes back into my aching lungs.
We lie there looking up at the sun burning away the morning mist. As our breathing returns to normal, he says, "Well that settles it then. You really are a musical retard."
"Who are you calling a retard?" I protest. "Though when it comes to music I have to agree …"
"Did you see the look on Archer's face?" Tenzin chuckles. "I should have taken a picture of your face when the string broke," he guffaws.
"I’ll get back at you." I say without much fire.
"You're welcome to try, bro!" He gets to his feet and pulls me up.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." I grip his palm and squeeze with a power I didn't know I had. Tenzin winces and tries to pull his hand out of my grasp. He's the first to look away.
I'm often the quietest guy in a group. On the outside.
13
Age 14
Ash and I have agreed whoever shows up late for cricket practice has to roll out the pitch—and roll it back up after practice. That is a chore I want to avoid at all costs. It's the only thing that gets me to cricket practice on time. Also, Ash is good at many things, but she is never on time. Never. Not even the threat of having to roll out the pitch is enough to get her to turn up on time. Finally I discover I'm better than her at something. It sounds geeky when I say that I am always on time and she isn't, but I'll take being good at something rather than be last at everything. I think.
And so, here I am, on the pitch— just rolled out by Ash—ready to bat.
When it's her turn to bowl, she runs in and throws the first ball, which I manage to make contact with. That is huge progress from where I was a few months ago. Over the past year we've been meeting at least once a week to practice. Really, it's more an excuse to spend time with her.
I watch her run in for the next ball, how when she raises her arm her shirt stretches firmly across her chest, outlining her breasts. I can't see the shape of her nipples at this distance, but torture myself for a second imagining what they would look like, if she wasn't wearing that shirt. The ball hits the uneven pitch and bounces at me. I manage to duck just in time so it flies over me rather than at my face. I look up to find Ash grinning.
"Well played." She gives me a thumbs-up sign.
"You mean well avoided, right?" I walk across the pitch to hand over the bat and the batting pads we wear to protect our legs. "I don't get why we don't wear helmets during practice?"
"Scared, Vik?" She dares me to contradict her.
She likes pushing me to my limit. Constantly testing me. As if she's seeing how much I can take before I hit back. It turns me on. Or maybe I just like being tortured by her.
"No. Just being careful," I reply.
>
I take the ball from her and grip it between my fingers the way she's been teaching me.
"Wow, you sure like to live by the rules, don't you?" Her voice is bored.
"No, just don't want to be stupid." I try to raise an eyebrow at her. It's something I have picked up from Tenzin. I've seen him use the same expression with great effect. It makes him look cool and aloof, yet sexy. Or so I've heard the girls whisper.
"What are you trying to do?" She looks confused.
"Uh! Nothing." I obviously need to practice more in front of a mirror. I walk to the end of the clearing in preparation for my run-up. "Ready?" I yell to where Ash is taking guard.
When she nods, I run onto the pitch and bowl. The ball bounces off a rough patch and goes full tilt at her. Ha! Ash is getting a taste of her own medicine.
The next moment, I am running towards her fallen figure. The ball has grazed her head, before flying over the wickets and into the woods beyond. No. No. I didn't mean for that to happen. I hope she's okay. Please, please let her not be hurt. My heart is beating so fast now I can hear the blood pump in my ears.
"Ash!" My voice comes out all choked.
Dropping to my knees, I pat her cheeks lightly. Is she unconscious? She's not dead, is she? A thin stream of blood trickles from her temple. I bend closer, bring my face parallel with hers and place a finger below her nose. When I feel her warm breath brush over my skin, I heave a sigh of relief.
"Ash. Ashley, can you hear me?" I ask again, with more urgency, patting her cheek again. She doesn't move.
Should I try giving her the kiss of life? Not that I know how to do that. Or perhaps press down on her chest? I place the heel of my right hand in the center of her chest.
"What are you doing?" I feel the rumble of her voice through my palms.
"Ash!" I cry in relief.
She looks at my face, then down to where my palm is still resting on her chest.
"Oh!" I remove my hand. "Sorry, I thought you were dying."
Chosen: Vik's origin story (Many Lives Prequel Book 2) Page 5