by Marie Lamba
“You look interesting,” I say.
“Oh. Thanks a lot.”
“I mean, you look really different now.”
“Older, you mean. There’s Raina’s papa, Taoji Munjeet.”
Wow. He is skinny. It has been a long time since I’ve seen this taoji, but one thing I do remember of him is his beach ball belly.
“This is your chacha.” Dad’s voice catches a bit when he says this.
Even though in this picture Chacha looks as young as Doodles, I can still recognize his kind smiling face. He died a few years ago from heart trouble, leaving behind his nasty wife, Chachi, and a son, Raj, who is older than Hari and who I don’t know at all. Probably because evil Chachi was never into family togetherness.
“And this is…” Dad says, pointing to a tall young man squinting against the bright sunshine. Dad seems unable to say anything more.
“Taoji Ravinder,” I say.
At once I’m transported to New Delhi during my third and most recent visit there. I was on the balcony of Taoji’s apartment during a winter afternoon that felt like early fall in Pennsylvania. Taoji and I lounged on wicker chairs, squinting into the glittering sunshine and sipping tea. I was twelve but I felt terribly adult, balancing the fine china cup on its saucer in my lap, while telling him all about the visit to the bazaar with my parents. The way I bargained and bargained with a vendor for the lowest price on a beaded necklace, until the vendor threw his hands up in the air and said he’d never met such a tough shopper. “Very nice,” Taoji said, admiring my necklace. He smiled, making the laugh lines around his glinting eyes deepen. “But you know what is most impressive? That you did not give up. Let me tell you a little secret.” He took a last sip from his cup, set it on the tiny table between us, and leaned closer. “If you hang onto that spirit you have, if you always fight for what you want, you can accomplish anything. Anything at all. Even become president of the United States.”
I laughed. “Me?” It was ridiculous. I was skinny, pimply, klutzy. My crooked teeth were covered with hideous braces. I knew I was a below-average seventh-grade student and not terribly great at anything.
Taoji took my teacup from me and set it on the table beside his. Then he took my hand. “Sangeet, it is all about having goals. Setting your mind to things and truly working at them. Not just learning what your teachers tell you or doing what is expected of you. I tell you, darling, actively pursuing knowledge and always doing right—now that is the mark of a true leader. You are exceptional. You will be a true leader.”
At that moment I could see myself reflected in his eyes. And for that one moment I wasn’t hideous. I was full of possibilities and promise. I felt like I had just unwrapped a tremendous gift. My throat became tight. And suddenly I threw my arms around my uncle and hugged him, nearly knocking our teacups off the table.
That August he sent me my first datebook planner. I became his scholar girl.
*****
Later in the kitchen, Raina helps Doodles load a cooler with ice pops. I know I should be glad. If Raina weren’t here, Dad would definitely force me to do it. To drag a cooler downtown. To sit in a park beside the cardboard sign Doodles made, praying that I won’t see anyone I know.
“Why don’t I come with you guys?” I ask.
“No thanks,” Doodles says.
“Fine,” I say. “Just being helpful.” I glance at my parents, who are now both sitting at the dining room table. Dad is highlighting his textbook. Mom is staring at piles of paper spread in front of her and jabbing at a calculator with the eraser end of a pencil. And neither one of them has noticed my generous gesture.
The kitchen phone rings. “Should I get it?” Raina asks.
“I’ll do it,” I say, picking up the phone.
The voice on the other end is faint and wheezy. “H-hello? H-h-hello?”
A crank caller? For a second I think of hanging up. “Hello,” I say, in a skeptical voice.
“Ah, my scholar girl.”
“Taoji,” I say, my voice sounding nearly as bad as his.
Dad sets down his highlighter and stands.
“Hah, darling, how are you?” Taoji breaks into a coughing fit. He sounds horrible.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. What can I say? I’m terrible? I’m worried he’s going to die? I’m angry at my dad?
“Sangeet?” he says. “Hello?”
I swallow. Still no words form. I can’t ask him how he is. What could he say? Sick? Maybe dying?
My dad says, “Is it Taoji Ravinder?”
I can’t answer. All I can do is picture my Taoji—not all sharp looking like he usually is with his turban on and his beard rolled and tucked. Instead I imagine him like I’ve seen him first thing in the morning at the breakfast table: his long hair in a surprisingly thin bun on his head, his beard hanging and straggly. Undone.
“Well?” Dad says. “Speak to him, then.”
My throat feels closed. My heart feels tight. I can’t. I just can’t. I hand the phone to Raina and hurry away.
*****
The next day at lessons, I do not put my face in the water. To my relief, no one seems to notice. Trish and Cameron are too busy trying to coax four of the most fearful little girls to go under. At the end of the lesson, though, Cameron corners me.
“Have you thought about a private lesson? To, you know, get over your fear.”
“A private lesson? With you?” I stare into his beautiful dark eyes and again feel a spark.
“Sure. I could make time for you as early as this afternoon.”
I notice Trish staring at us with a sour expression. “That sounds perfect,” I say.
After class, I’m back at home trying to strike a deal with Doodles.
“No way. Get your own money,” she says and sits on her bed. Her arms are wrapped around the glass cookie jar, which now holds about three inches of coins and bills.
“It’s just a loan, Doodles,” I say. “For a lesson that will keep me from drowning. You don’t want me to drown, do you? I’ll pay you back as soon as Mrs. Schnapps gets back and pays me.”
“You’re already taking lessons. Mom’s already paid for them.” Doodles slides the jar onto her night table. “And besides, Mom and Dad need this money.”
“Come on, Doodles. It’s only twenty bucks.”
“It’s for Mom and Dad, not you.” She raises her chin and looks smug.
“But look, you’ve got tons.” Actually, it’s probably no more than forty dollars. Not bad for the ice pop business, but nowhere near enough for any sort of surgery. If I told her how much Mom and Dad really need, it would quickly wipe the smug expression off her face. “What if I pay interest?”
After I explain to her what interest is, the deal is quickly done.
Twenty dollars. Twenty-two if you count the interest. That’s the price for spending an hour one on one with Cameron. Worth it.
During the afternoon, the pool is open to all members and it’s pretty crowded. Still, Cameron and I have managed to find a semi-quiet corner. Between holding onto his arm and kicking, and him trying to convince me to blow bubbles in the water, we’ve completely pissed off Trish. She tried to talk with Cameron, but he flat-out said, “Not now. I’m working.”
Cameron and I get to talk plenty. I find out he’s going to be a junior at the University of Maryland and he’s on the wrestling team.
When he asks me why I’m so afraid of water, he does it so sweetly that I feel comfortable telling him what happened.
“Wow. Harsh,” he says. “Let’s work on floating. If you know you can float, then you’ll have nothing to fear, right? Turn around and lean back.”
“I’ll sink.”
“I’ll hold you,” he says. So I do as he says and he holds me by the shoulders. Sparks! “Tilt your head back.”
I do and get an amazing view of his chest. Serious sparks!
*****
“So Dalton called and before I knew it, he made a date with me for the movies
. Megan, what’ll I do?”
“At least you get to see each other,” she says to me. She sucks morosely on her smoothie. “David and I have spent zero time with each other.”
We’re sitting in the blazing sun at one of the picnic benches in front of Planet Smoothie, and I have Poopsie on a leash. She was so happy on the walk over here, and I loved being tugged along by her. If only Mom weren’t such a neat freak, maybe I could have a dog.
“You’re working, Megan,” I say. “You can’t help being busy.” I tug Poopsie’s leash to keep her from licking an old blob of smoothie from the pavement.
“I have off tonight. I thought he’d be so excited to see me, but you know what he said?” Her harp seal eyes become teary. “He said, ‘Sorry, I’m busy.’ So I say, ‘Busy doing what?’ And he changes the subject. I really think something’s up.”
“You’re imagining things.” I kick off my flip-flops and rest my feet on the next bench, trying to be summery and relaxed. Even though I’m completely uptight. And it’s not just this upcoming disaster date with Dalton. Taoji keeps popping into my mind. And cancer. Taoji and cancer. I tried to look up his disease on the computer and got ten results. Ten. Out of all cyberspace. None said anything about the disease, except that it’s rare. Most listings were death notices.
Megan doesn’t even know about Taoji’s illness. I can’t seem to talk about it. Maybe I’m superstitious, like Dad. Or maybe pretending it isn’t real will magically make it all go away.
“I am not imagining things, Sang. He’s losing interest in me. Or there’s someone else.”
David and someone else? “Megan, you’re crazy.”
“Do not negate my feelings. They are valid.”
Okay, never call the daughter of two therapists crazy. “I’m not validating your negativity, or whatever. I’m just saying there is no way David is losing interest in you. He is head over heels about you. You know that. Poopsie, stop it.” I wrestle my flip-flop from the dog’s mouth. It’s pockmarked with teeth prints. I scoop Poopsie onto my lap.
“I thought I knew how he felt. And to think I was actually going to tell him I love him.”
“Oh, Megan. You will tell him and it’ll be wonderful.” Love. “Hey, what’s being in love feel like?”
“I don’t know. It’s something you just sense in your gut, I guess. A closeness.”
I’m thinking about Gary and wondering if he’s thinking about me. Maybe he’s realized this whole Michelle thing is just a silly passing crush.
Speaking of crushes—Cameron Cerulli. He’s like a movie star: gorgeous and completely unattainable. I lean my chin on my hand and smile, remembering the way it felt when he held my shoulders. The electricity. I imagine him giving me that warm smile of his, tilting closer, our lips just about connecting and—hot tongue in my nostril. “Poopsie!” I wipe my nose and push the dog off me. Her nails leave scratches on my thighs.
Megan sighs. “Why’s David being like this? Now I’m not so sure telling him is ever going to happen.” She hands me her cup. “Finish this. I’m smoothied out.”
I stir the drink with the straw. “Megan, you need to relax. I’m sure David has a legitimate reason for being busy.”
“Such as?”
I look at my scratched thighs. “His embarrassing skin condition and a bunch of dermatologist appointments?”
“Ew,” she says, looking much cheered.
“So, now that we got you squared away, what about me and Dalton? And Gary?”
“Gary? Forget Gary, Sang. He let you down. Don’t tell me you are still hung up on that guy?”
I think of saying something about negativity and validity, but instead say, “No. Of course not. That’d be crazy, right?”
To my deep dismay she says, “Insane. Only a masochistic, insecure idiot would continue to pursue that relationship. Am I right?”
“Of course,” I say, not making eye contact.
“Sang, now you’ve got Dalton, this sweet guy who is crazy about you. Plus he’s a hot-lipped kisser. It’s all good.”
“But it isn’t all good. Not by a long shot.” I think about Dalton, but feel nothing. Aside from when we’re kissing, there’s no chemistry between us. No sparks at all.
“It is good,” Megan says. “Now you have a date for Anna’s party. And you can finally get that dress.”
Me and Dalton at the party. I’m wearing that dress. I’m saying those three magic words. “Megan, it’s all wrong. Help!”
“You really want to break up with Dalton?”
“Yes,” I say, thinking masochistic, insecure, idiotic thoughts about Gary. “Well,” I say, thinking smoochy, sweet thoughts of Dalton. “Kind of.”
“Oooh, Sang. You and Dalton. You know what? This sounds like love!” Megan stands.
“This is not love. Look, you’re not working tonight. Why don’t you come with us to the movies?” I envision Megan sitting between us.
“I can’t. When David said he was busy, I signed on for a double shift.”
I groan.
“Would you relax? It’s not like Dalton’s going to bite.”
An image of Dalton giving me a wicked hickey springs to mind.
Megan puts her Planet Smoothie cap back on. “Well, my break’s over. Tell me all about your hot date later.”
“There is going to be nothing to tell.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “It’s love, Sang. You know what they say: he who denies it, supplies it.”
“Megan, that’s not love. That’s a fart.”
Chapter 9
I step out of my front door and Dalton gives me a peck on the cheek. To avoid looking him in the eye, I stare at the green mini-van in the driveway.
“It’s my mom’s,” Dalton says. “Not exactly a hot set of wheels.”
“Who cares? At least your have your license.”
“A Cinderella license, but I’m not complaining.”
In Pennsylvania, young drivers who are new behind the wheel can’t be on the road past 11 p.m. Dalton just got his license two weeks ago. Good thing my dad is still out at his class. If he were here, he’d grill Dalton until I’d die of embarrassment, and then he’d forbid me to go in Dalton’s car. Dad’s convinced that any driver under the age of forty is a drag racer.
“You look really nice tonight,” Dalton says, even though I don’t. Not really. If this were really a date I would have put on my sundress (the blue one with the halter top) and I’d have worn sandals and some makeup. Instead I’m wearing white cotton shorts and my gray Ocean City T-shirt.
Actually, Dalton’s the one who’s looking good. He’s wearing faded jeans and a plaid short-sleeved shirt (untucked, thank God). His hair, which is usually so neatly combed, is just messy enough to be stylish. It’s like someone gave him a makeover, transforming him from the Nice Nerd into the Summer Sweetheart. Even his face is a little more tan since I last saw him in the cemetery, where we were making out like crazy.
Great. Now I’m blushing.
“We’d better go, or we’ll miss the movie.” He takes my hand.
The bangles I’m wearing jingle as I pull my hand away. “Listen, Dalton. I meant to say something earlier—”
“Sorry. I’m here,” Raina says, bursting out the front door. Her lips are shiny with gloss, and she’s dressed in jeans and a pretty purple silk top. Cute wedge sandals make her look elegant and not quite so short. “You must be Dalton.”
“Hi. Raina, right?” He smiles, left dimple appearing. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for having me along to the movies,” she says.
“Uh, sure,” he says, giving me a questioning look.
I mouth to him, “Sorry.” But I’m not.
After the movie, we hang out in Coffee & Cream.
“So, let me get this straight,” Dalton says to Raina. “You actually have to buy tickets with seat numbers on them for the movies? Like you’re going to see a play or something?”
“Movies are so popular in India. Our
movie houses are huge, but still they sell out. You have to buy early for the very best seat.”
I sip my cappuccino and think it’s too bad Michelle and Hari are out on their date now or maybe we could have gotten free coffees. What’s left of my meager funds from babysitting last month is shrinking fast, and it’ll be weeks before the Poopsie job pays. I almost wish I hadn’t insisted on paying for my own movie. Instead I could have put my dollars back into Doodles’s jar. But that wouldn’t have been fair to Dalton. And it wouldn’t have made the slightest dent in Taoji’s medical bills.
Tonight is going even better than I thought it would. At first Dalton looked a bit sulky, especially when Raina sat in the front of the mini-van and I took the back seat. Then, in the County Theater, there was a dicey moment when Raina almost sat down between us and Dalton started to look frustrated. Then Raina said she preferred to sit on the end seat. She even gave me a sly look as if she were doing something clever. It worked out okay, though. Dalton didn’t try anything during the movie.
Aside from those incidents, I’m actually enjoying myself. I do like hanging out with Dalton. He’s a good guy. He’s just not the one. And tonight Raina seems less formal—more relaxed and real somehow.
“Your theaters are so so tiny,” Raina is saying. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Oh, that’s just the County,” I say. “They’re usually much bigger. The Regal outside of town has twenty-two screens.”
“I read somewhere that India is the world’s biggest producer of movies,” Dalton says. “Bollywood, right?”
“Very good.” Raina tips her head at him.
“Actually, Raina lives in Bollywood,” I say.
“Bollywood is Mumbai,” she says. “It used to be called Bombay, you know? We live in a colony on the outskirts.”
“Like an ant colony?” I say and grin.
“No no. All family members live there,” Raina says.