Over My Head

by Marie Lamba

  On Saturday, Raina and Dad watch a Bollywood movie together. I watch with them for a while, laughing at the jerky-motioned dance routines.

  “Remember how you used to dance for me?” Dad says.

  “Don’t remind me,” I say.

  “Why? It was cute. Raina, Sang used to dress in this little salwar kameez we’d bought for her in India and copy all the jazzy dance moves during the film. She used to be such a little darling.”

  Used to be. Past tense.

  I continue to sit with them watching, but nothing’s in English. After a while I lose interest and go to my room to read some more.

  When the movie is done, Raina comes in and looks bored stiff. To be nice, I tell her she can use my computer any time she wants. But once she gets on, she never gets off.

  So I shut Poopsie in my room with Raina, and ask Hari if I can use his laptop. He says maybe later.

  I resort to watching the He’s Just Not that into You DVD on our one and only TV. Dad’s settled with his book on the family room couch. I plop down on the chair across from him. I’ve barely started the movie when he says, “Shut that thing off. I’m reading here.”

  “Can’t you just read somewhere else?” This, as it turns out, is exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “Somewhere else? SOMEWHERE ELSE?” he screeches. “This is my house. You are the child. Don’t you forget that.”

  “How can I?” I mutter, shutting off the movie. I drag myself back upstairs and have my hand on my doorknob when Poopsie goes, “Ruff!”

  Mom, who is sitting on her bed reading a magazine, looks up. “Sang? What was that?”

  Er. “Rough,” I say. “That’s what my life is.” It’s true. I carefully open my door and quickly shut it behind me. Poopsie is standing on my pillow wagging her tail.

  The phone rings. I jump to pick it up, ready to talk with anybody. “Hello,” I say into the phone. “Jumnal dictatorship. Lowly peon speaking.”

  “Hello? Hello? Who is this?”

  It’s a woman with an Indian accent. This could be either one of my taijis or perhaps an older cousin. “This is Sangeet.”

  “Ha. Sangeet. You sound so grown up, dear girl. How are you?”

  Who are you? I can’t think of a polite way to ask. “I’m fine. And how are you doing?”

  “Adjusting. Settling in, darling. The people here have been so kind. So helpful. Your Taoji is being well cared for.” It’s Taiji Parveen. I can’t even imagine what she must be feeling right now with her husband so sick. Taoji so sick. My Taoji.

  Expect Great Things!

  I touch the pendant hanging from my neck. My heart speeds up.

  “Sangeet? Are you still there?”

  There’s a trembling in my knees.

  Taiji says, “Hello? Hello, anybody?”

  I hand the phone to Raina and go back downstairs. Hari’s in the kitchen working his way through a stack of chocolate chip cookies. Mom’s now in the living room vacuuming around Doodles, who is lying on the rug staring at the ceiling. Dad’s studying in the family room with his fingers in his ears.

  I go out the front door and stand under the overhang, barely protected from the downpour. Unable to escape.

  *****

  When Mom offered to take us to the library, Doodles and I jumped at the chance. Raina, however, was unwilling to leave the computer. When I glanced at the computer screen, she minimized the application, like what she was doing was some huge secret. Whatever. I ask her if she’ll keep an eye on Poopsie for me so I won’t have to sneak her back out before we go. Still staring at the screen, she nods.

  Our car splashes through deep puddles and our wipers barely keep the windshield clear. We find a parking spot on the street between the Michener Art Museum and the Mercer Museum, which is Doylestown’s other castle.

  The library is packed. Every little kid in Doylestown is flooding the children’s section, messing up the shelves and staging puppet shows with dolls and stuffed animals. “Bethany!” Doodles shouts, seeing her best friend by the kid magazines.

  “Inside voice,” Mom warns. Doodles nods and gallops off like a wild pony.

  At this moment my ex-best friend Gina Baldarasi walks by, her arms clutching a stack of books, her blond hair spiky. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Probably in mine, too. She pretty much just stopped being my friend two years ago. I’ve heard she’s really into writing now, but other than that, I don’t know much about her. So I keep up my pace and we pass each other, just two strangers who once were very close.

  Mom heads for the newspaper rack to look at help wanted ads. And I, blissfully, am finally on my own. I wander through the aisles, picking out an armful of books. Some more Shopaholic novels and a few romantic-sounding titles, balanced with the classics Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Moll Flanders. Who knows? If the rain keeps up, maybe I can read the entire library. I turn an aisle and find myself face to face with Cameron. He’s wearing jeans and a white University of Maryland T-shirt—looking as hot as ever. His brow is furrowed as if the weight of the world is resting on his broad shoulders.

  “Oh,” I say. I definitely feel sparks. I’m suddenly aware of my wrinkled red T-shirt and grungy gray shorts. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I mean, you’re not at the pool.”

  “It’s kind of raining,” he says and grins.

  “Right.” I definitely feel foolish. “Well, see ya.”

  “Wait. Would you happen to know where this section is?” He shows me a slip of paper with a book’s call number written on it.

  “I think that’s in the back section by the window. It’s easy to miss. I’ll show you.”

  “Thanks.” Cameron takes the books from my arms and looks at the titles. “Tess of the D’Urbervilles? Let me guess. You’re an honors English student.”

  “Did you take that too?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The books in his own pile include Nutrition and the Athlete and The Chemistry of Food. “Looks like you’re doing some light reading too,” I say.

  “Keeping up with my courses.”

  “Impressive,” I say.

  His expression seems to darken. He follows me to the opposite corner of the library and pulls a book called So What the Heck Do You Want to Do? off the shelf. “My major is still pretty much undecided,” he explains. “I just can’t figure out what I should do with my life.”

  “Wow. Me either.” I smile.

  “You have the prettiest smile,” he says. “Especially with that dimple.”

  I bite my lip, unsure of what to say next. But I’m surprised to see him rubbing his neck and looking awkward.

  After a moment, he says, “I was thinking of doing something with sports. Like being a trainer or something. But now…” He shrugs. “Guess I’ve got a lot of things to figure out. It sucks not knowing.”

  “Tell me about it. Everybody else is always talking about what they’re going to do. I wish I knew. It makes me feel so, so…”

  “Lost,” he says.

  “Yeah. Exactly.” We stare at each other for a long moment.

  He says, “I wish I didn’t...”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He gives me a slow grin.

  I feel something deeper than sparks.

  “Sang, there you are,” Mom says, peering into the aisle. “We’re going to get going soon.” She walks away.

  “Well, thanks for the help,” Cameron says, handing me back my stack of books.

  “Sure. Bye.” I watch him go down the aisle and hug my books tight. I head in the opposite direction toward the DVDs, suddenly eager for a romantic movie.

  While I’m scanning a DVD rack, I hear a screechy giggle. I look up and see something I never thought I would: Liselle, the brunette Trish clone, in the library. She’s leaning over the checkout table and her jeans are exposing her coin slot. A little boy is staring. His mother suddenly puts her hand over his eyes and hurries him away.

  I shake my head and turn back to the DV
Ds, trying to keep my mind off the likes of Liselle, or Trish, or Cameron plus Trish. Twirling the DVD rack, I find the Sense and Sensibility movie. I’m pulling it from the rack, when I hear Liselle say, “There you are, sweetie!” in a definite “outside voice.”

  “Shh,” the librarian behind the checkout desk hisses.

  I flip the DVD case over and read its write-up. When I glance up, there is Liselle with—

  “David?”

  Liselle and David turn toward my voice, but I duck behind the DVD stand. I’ve got to be wrong. He can’t be with Liselle, right?

  I peer around the edge of the stand. Liselle takes David’s arm and leads him out the library door.

  Chapter 13

  “I know something is going on with David, but what?” Megan says to me.

  Oh God.

  “You want the usual?” I ask Megan, reaching into the refrigerator by the leather-padded bar.

  “Fine.” She sits on a bar stool, propping her face in her hand.

  We’re at Anna’s house in her massive finished basement for a night of movies and popcorn and M&M’s. It’s still raining outside, though it’s slowing down. Just before Raina and I left for Anna’s, Mom was hovering in the living room. There was no way to smuggle Poopsie back to her own home, so I finally had to leave her in my room with the door shut. As soon as I get back, I’ll bring her home. She should be okay as long as she doesn’t growl. Or bark. Or scratch at the door. And as long as Mom doesn’t go into my room.

  Anna, Jackie, Monique, and Raina are on the far side of the room, sprawled on the sectional sofa in front of the big-screen TV. They’re watching Easy A and talking about Anna’s upcoming birthday party. Raina is fitting in really well. A little too polite, but smiling and having fun. Anna even invited Raina to come to the party too, which was really nice. So now Raina and I can go dress shopping together. Of course I don’t exactly have money for a dress. Why can’t we be loaded like Anna? I think of what my own birthday will be like. A few bags of chips, some store brand soda, and a rented DVD, if I’m lucky.

  I hand Megan her can of root beer and grab one for myself. Some of the guys are supposed to stop by later. I really hope Dalton isn’t coming. I’ll have to explain to him why the roads were too flooded for me to go out to dinner with him, but not too flooded to go to Anna’s.

  Megan sets the can aside. “I wasn’t meant to be happy. That’s it: bad karma or something, right? David has finally caught on that I’m nothing special.”

  She turns her harp seal eyes on me and waits. Here’s where I’m supposed to say how crazy he is about her, but I can’t say that now, can I? I should tell her what I saw. I’m her friend. “Megan, it’s not you.”

  Her eyes tear up. “It is me. I must have done something wrong. Maybe it was that Brady Bunch T-shirt and lunchbox I bought him last month on eBay. It was too expensive. It probably scared him away. I do that, you know. Scare guys. I just can’t help it.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. David is…” This is going to break her heart. I can’t do it.

  “What?”

  “What what?” I say and blink stupidly.

  Megan sighs. “How could I have been so wrong about him? I couldn’t have been, could I? I mean, we’ve been together for so long. That means something, right?”

  I gulp my soda.

  “Maybe he’s upset that I’m working so much. Maybe he’s just being passive-aggressive. He doesn’t think I care, so he’s pushing me away. That could be it, right?”

  “That’s one possibility,” I say diplomatically. Or he’s cheating on you with one of the world’s biggest sluts! The words are practically bursting from my mouth. I chug more soda.

  “Sang, I’m going to say it. I’m not putting it off anymore. I am telling David that I am in love with him.”

  I try to say no! But it comes out as a massive belch.

  Megan cracks up. Jackie looks over the back of the sofa at us and yells, “Good one!”

  Megan grabs her can and hops off the stool. “Wait,” I say, pulling on her arm. Root beer fizzes out of her can onto the perfect cream-colored carpet.

  “Uh oh,” she says.

  “Quick, before anyone sees.” I grab some napkins from the bar, and we both kneel in front of the spot and start blotting. “Megan, don’t you think you should wait for the right moment to tell David? Maybe you should give it more time.”

  Megan sits back on her heels. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” I say, concentrating on the stain, “it’s just that you don’t want to say it too soon. I mean, how do you really know that David is the one?”

  “Sang, I just know. I can’t explain it.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Shouldn’t you be sure that he really deserves you first?”

  Megan’s quiet for so long that I finally have to look up at her.

  “Sang, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “Megan, David is not the great guy you think he is.”

  Megan stares.

  There’s tense silence between us. Then the perfect distraction. Jonathan Crispin and his friend Bobby Figero come thundering down the steps. No sign of Dalton. The guys nudge the girls on the couch to move over, and groan over the movie selection.

  “What were they expecting? Iron Man?” I say to Megan. “Don’t you hate action flicks? They’re all the same. Big trucks. Big guns. Big mouths.”

  “Sang,” Megan says.

  “Don’t tell me you like that stuff?” I say. I’m frantically blotting the stain, but the spot just looks larger. “Sure, the guys are usually all muscle and end up with their shirts ripped, but—”

  “You said David wasn’t the great guy I thought he was. Why?”

  How can I say this and crush my friend? And how can I not say this? “Look, I saw David. He was with another girl.”

  She looks shocked, then blinks a few times. “You never liked him, did you?” she snaps.

  “Well, now you can see why, can’t you? You deserve so much better.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

  “Me?”

  “So David’s a little different. So he doesn’t wear the right clothes or have the right haircut. But why do you have to make up these lies to split us apart?”

  “Megan, come on. You can’t believe that.”

  “You never liked him, and now you create this whole story about a girl just so I’ll break up with him.”

  “I’m trying to protect you.”

  She shakes her head. “No you’re not. You’re protecting yourself because you don’t want to be seen with David. No one is ever good enough in your book.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You are so judgmental. About David. About me. And what about Dalton? You keep complaining you don’t like him.”

  “That’s different.”

  “No it isn’t. You keep holding him up to some high and mighty standard you have in your mind, but Dalton never measures up. Nobody does.” Tears spill onto her cheeks. “You know what? Maybe I’m just not good enough to be your friend.” She throws down the sodden napkins and storms up the stairs past Dalton, who stands there frozen.

  “Dalton,” I say, my throat suddenly tight. “Just get here?”

  “Is it true?” he asks.

  I stand. “Is what true?”

  “If you didn’t want to go out with me, why didn’t you say so?” His voice is soft and sad.

  He waits. But I can’t seem to say anything.

  So he turns and leaves.

  *****

  We get home and find Doodles in her pajamas on the stairs off the living room, hugging her knees and looking worried. Dad’s on the couch, talking in Punjabi on the phone. I can’t understand most of his words, but I can tell he’s upset. Mom sets her purse on the table and stands beside him. Raina bites her lip and listens.

  “Nay,” he says. Punjabi for no. “Nay, ten thousand dollars wapis nayhee. Ha, fever cuttum. Nay, you list
en!”

  I nudge Raina. She shakes her head.

  I turn to Doodles, who is shivering. “Come on, you goofball.” I climb up to her and pull her to her feet. “You’re supposed to be asleep.” I pick her up and practically fall back down the steps. When did she get so heavy?

  “But what’s happening?” she asks in a sniffly voice.

  “How should I know? I don’t speak that wacky language.” I smile for her.

  She rests her head on my shoulder and I manage to make it up the stairs to her room. I set her on her bed and cover her with her sheet. “Good night.” I’m anxious to disappear into my own room under my own sheet.

  “Stay, Sissy,” she says. She hasn’t called me that in a long time. When she was really little, that’s all she used to call me. So I sit on her bed. We can still hear Dad on the phone. I strain my ears but only catch a few words I recognize. “Bus” means stop. “Ha-ji” means yes, honored one. “Acha” is like I see, or okay. Most of all he’s saying “nay,” and I also hear “ten thousand dollars” a few times.

  “Why is Daddy so upset?” she asks.

  “Is he?” I stand to close the door and then sit again. “When did you get fluent in Punjabi?”

  She brushes some of her tangled hair from her face. “I’m scared.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” I tell Doodles that I remember what Dad’s talking about. He’s just on the phone arguing over cricket scores with an old Indian friend. It’s something they do in a joking way with each other.

  “You swear?” Doodles looks me in the eye.

  “Swear,” I say. “Doodles, I wouldn’t lie to you.” I just want to comfort her. That doesn’t make it lying, does it?

  I kiss her warm head and go into my room only to find Raina already on the computer. Downstairs is quiet. I step over a pile of Raina’s clothes. It’s amazing how someone so neat in the rest of the house can still be such a slob. I lie on my bed and my mind whirls back to Megan yelling at me. To Dalton leaving me. To Dad on the phone. What is going on? I need a translator to explain my life to me.