Over My Head

by Marie Lamba

“Raina?” I sit up and see the computer screen filled with photos of her and a guy with a mop of black hair and thin black glasses.

  She minimizes the photos. “Ha?”

  “Wait. Who was the guy in the pictures?”

  Raina looks down at the keyboard. “Nobody,” she says, her voice thick. “Nobody at all.” She sneaks a hand up to wipe her eyes. “You wanted something?”

  Secrets. Lies and secrets. “Never mind.”

  I go into the hall. Hari’s bedroom is dark and quiet. He’s definitely out.

  I flick on his desk lamp. His laptop is already on. So I do a search for “mylofybrosis.” It comes back with the same grim entries I saw before.

  “What are you doing?” Hari asks.

  I jump. “God. Don’t sneak up like that. You said I could borrow your computer, remember?”

  “That was a while ago. Why can’t you use your own?”

  “Raina’s kind of hijacked it.”

  He leans over me and reads the screen. “Mylofybrosis?”

  “Dad was on the phone with somebody. Yelling about fevers and ten thousand dollars. I don’t know. Something’s going on. If this were a normal family, I could just ask him.”

  “Right.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Anyway, I thought I’d try to find out something more, but look. Even the Internet’s got nothing to tell.”

  “That’s because you spelled it wrong. See?” Hari points to the top of the screen, where the search engine asks, “Did you mean: Myelofibrosis?”

  “I’m such an idiot.” I immediately click on the link. More than three hundred thousand entries appear.

  “I read through a bunch of that—depressing as hell.” Hari pulls off his gray T-shirt and tosses it into his laundry basket. “Everything you’ll read is a complete nightmare. Taoji should probably be dead already.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You want to know, don’t you?” He opens his top drawer and pulls out a blue T-shirt. “Fact is, the facts completely suck.” He grabs his wallet. “Later.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Hanging out with some friends.”

  “Michelle?”

  Hari slides his wallet into his back pocket and leaves, calling over his shoulder, “Shut down the computer when you’re done.”

  I stare at the entries for myelofibrosis for a while before I click on some. I find lots of medical terms. Acute this. Critical that. The disease is not really a cancer. Not leukemia. The bone marrow becomes tear-shaped as it is replaced by fibrous scar tissue. They don’t know what causes it. There’s really no cure, unless you get a BMT. I skip the BMT survival rates. I really don’t want to know.

  Most entries are scientific and technical. But some are all too personal. My mother just was diagnosed… We lost Bob one year after treatment… Thank you so much for your support. I’ve been too weak to write… Does anybody else have this? I’ve never heard of it… I can’t stop crying. I have young children. What will they do without me?

  I close the computer. Enough truth for one night.

  Chapter 14

  Chandeliers glitter overhead. Intricate tapestries are underfoot. I sit in a wingchair and run my hand over the silky red fabric of my dress. All the girls are in flouncy gowns, and all the guys are in boots, breeches, and long coats.

  This is the most elegant party ever.

  Across the room Raina stands in a pale yellow gown, waving a lacy fan and chatting politely with Dalton. He listens carefully, his hands clasped behind his back. He looks really handsome. It’s the boots.

  I struggle to my feet, the gown weighing more than I could ever imagine. I go to them. “Dalton,” I say, “are you angry at me?”

  He smiles. “Lovely weather,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Dalton, talk to me. For real. Please.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says, bowing.

  Make my acquaintance?

  Suddenly everyone in the room looks toward a marble staircase where Megan has appeared, looking princessy in a peach gown. Her hand rests on the arm of David Jovanovich, who wears breeches, knee-high boots and a Star Trek T-shirt. They descend the stairs.

  I push my way through the crowd until I reach her. “Megan, what’s going on? You can’t still be with this jerk.”

  “Miss Jumnal,” Megan says in a cool voice, “I wish to introduce my esteemed husband.”

  “Your husband? What are you talking about?”

  “Charmed,” David says to me.

  “You scum!” I move to slap him but find all my hand will do is wave hello.

  “Tea is served,” says a waiter wearing a powdered wig.

  “Delightful,” says Megan, leading David away.

  In walks my dad. “Dad, thank God you’re here! Everyone’s gone crazy.”

  “My word, have they?” He sounds polite and aristocratic, even though he’s wearing his usual jeans and plaid shirt.

  “Please take me home.”

  “My heavens,” he says. “We haven’t even had tea. Come along.”

  Everyone is holding saucers and sipping from cups, their pinkies in the air. Dad leads me to a table decked out with white linens, candles, lovely china cups, and a silver tea set. He picks up a cup. “Sugar?”

  I nod. He turns to the table for a sugar cube. But the table is actually a giant bed. The tablecloth is a white blanket. It’s covering someone.

  “One lump or two?” Dad asks.

  “Taoji?” I say.

  “Two lumps,” Dad says. “Very good.”

  Taoji moans and rolls onto his side, sending several teacups clattering to the floor.

  “Cream?” Dad says to me.

  “Dad, don’t you see him?”

  “No cream,” Dad says. “Very good.”

  “But Dad. It’s Taoji. Look!”

  Taoji holds up a trembling hand. His face looks sweaty and feverish. “Help me,” he gasps. “Please.”

  I try to reach out to him, but Dad thrusts a teacup into my hand. “Spectacular weather,” Dad says. “Don’t you agree, my little princess?”

  “Stop this.” I throw the cup. It shatters on the floor. “I’m not your little anything. Don’t you see him? Doesn’t anybody see him?”

  Everyone turns their backs on me.

  “Save me, scholar girl,” Taoji pleads. “Save me.”

  “I can’t. Don’t you get that?” I shout, “Help us. Somebody please.”

  “Sangeet,” Taoji calls. “Sang.”

  “Sang? Wake up.” Raina shakes my arm until my eyes flutter open.

  *****

  On this bright Monday morning, Dad’s holding up his tea saucer in one hand and sipping tea from a cup with his other while he studies the paper.

  Mom’s standing by the table gulping coffee from a mug while lining up the sugar bowl and the salt and pepper shakers in a perfect line.

  “You’re dressed nice,” Dad says to her. “Going somewhere?”

  “Me?” She splutters her coffee and wipes a drop off her floral-print sundress. “No, nowhere.” Actually, she’s got a job interview at the community college, so Hari’s taking us to swimming. “Sang,” she says in a high-pitched voice, “shouldn’t you be getting ready for lessons?”

  “Nope. Plenty of time. You sure do look nice, Mom.” I give her a devilish grin.

  She dumps the rest of her coffee into the sink, rinses her mug, and leaves the room.

  I stare at Dad. He stares at the paper. I stare some more.

  “Do you want something?” he says at last.

  “Who were you talking to last night?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He stands and tucks the paper under his arm.

  “But why were you so upset?”

  “What are you talking about? I wasn’t upset. Go get ready for your swimming now.”

  “Something is wrong. And I know I probably don’t want to hear any of it, but I think not hearing it is worse. So Dad, just tell me.”

  He gives m
e a fierce stare. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

  I stare back. Then it hits me: Poopsie. With all this Megan and Taoji drama, I completely forgot to let her out. I hope she didn’t leave another mess in Mrs. Schnapps’ foyer. I head toward the door.

  Oh crap. Last night I never brought her back to her home. But I haven’t seen her since before we went to Anna’s. We had my door open tons.

  I race up to my room. Raina is sitting on her bed, still in her pjs. I say, “Please tell me she’s with you.”

  “Who?”

  “Poopsie. I never brought her home.” I glance at the bowl of water I’d left out for her yesterday. It’s half empty.

  We both search my room. Raina digs through the clothing piles, while I look under the beds and in the closet. No Poopsie.

  “Sang!” Mom shouts.

  Crap crap crap. I go to her room.

  She holds up one of her leather sandals by a chewed-up strap. “I told you specifically not to bring that dog into this house. Where is she?”

  Good question.

  Scritch. Scritch-scritch. Scritch. Mom drops the sandal and follows the noise to Doodles’s door.

  Scritch. Scritch-scritch.

  “Mom—”

  She opens the door. Doodles is sitting on her rug next to her little China tea set, and beside her is Poopsie dressed in American Girl doll clothes. It’s like she’s a canine Molly doll, complete with flower-printed dress and black Mary Jane shoes on her front paws.

  Poopsie studies us through the tiny pair of wire eyeglasses perched on her nose.

  I bite my lip. So does Mom. “Well,” she says turning away from me, “take care of this,” and she quickly walks away.

  “You poor dog,” I say, picking her up.

  “What’s the big deal? We were just playing,” Doodles says.

  I should give Doodles a stern lecture about animal rights.

  But those glasses. Those dressy little shoes.

  Poopsie cocks her head to one side.

  I crack a smile. And I completely lose it.

  *****

  In the afternoon, I’m with Cameron for private lesson number two. “Any luck with that career book?” I ask. “Find your purpose in life yet?”

  “Nope,” he says and seems uncomfortable. “Let’s get back to our purpose. Kicking. Now give me your hands.”

  I place my small hands into his huge ones. “You’re really good with kids. Maybe you could become a teacher. The money isn’t great, though.”

  “I know. My mom’s a single parent, and she’s a teacher.” His brow furrows.

  “My dad too,” I say. “Not the single parent part, but the teacher part.”

  “Cool. So, does he come home from work silent because he’s tired of talking all day? My mom does that, so my house is pretty quiet.”

  “My house is never quiet. With my parents, me, my brother and my sister, and now Raina, it’s all noise and confusion most of the time.”

  “Sounds pretty great,” Cameron says with a smile.

  “I guess sometimes it can be nice to have all these people around. But I wouldn’t mind some peace now and then.”

  “I’d settle for some peace of mind.” He swallows and looks down at the water.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah. No worries,” he says, but seems almost sad.

  I realize I care about this guy. And that I like him. Really.

  Now he’s staring at me. Maybe he’s feeling the same way about me. “Well, if it ever gets too quiet at your house,” I say in almost a whisper, “you could always talk with me.”

  “I’d like that,” he whispers back, squeezing my hands. He seems about to say more, but smiles instead.

  “Right,” I say, blushing a little. “So—about kicking.”

  “Yeah. Right,” he says like he’s snapped out of a spell. “Actually, why don’t we work on floating some more first?” I turn around. His muscular arms support me as I lie back. I practically swoon. “Just spread your arms wide,” he says. “Point your toes. Arch your back.”

  I try to do as he says, even when his hands pull away.

  “You’re doing it, Sang!”

  Suddenly I’m all too aware of the water beneath me. Three feet at least. “I can’t,” I say and collapse.

  Cameron swoops in and grabs me before I go under. And holds me. “What am I gonna do with you?” he says, grinning.

  Anything you want, I think. I wish I could rest my head on his shoulder. I wish I were brave enough to ask him to Anna’s party. My stomach stirs. Is my gut trying to tell me something?

  “Hey, Cameron,” Trish shouts. She’s standing, hands on hips, at the side of the pool. “Your guard shift’s starting.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “Guess that’s it for today, Sang. Try to practice on your own.”

  He sets me on my feet and I sway a little.

  Cameron says, “Want to schedule the next private lesson?”

  “Oh.” Reality check. I did pay for this hour. “I’ll have to look at my calendar first.” More like, I’ll have to beg even more money from the First National Bank of Doodles.

  He pulls himself out of the pool, the water beading down his back, and goes to the lifeguard station by the deep end.

  While I’m watching him, I feel Trish watching me. She’s been glaring in my direction all day. She definitely hasn’t forgotten about being tripped and getting a mud facial.

  “Enough of this helpless garbage,” she says to me. “I told you he was mine. He’d never go for someone like you.”

  “Whatever, Trish.”

  “He’s not into your little doe-eyed innocent act, so don’t go thinking he is. Pretending you can’t swim just so Cameron will pay attention to you. It’s pathetic.”

  “I’m not pretending,” I say. I pull myself out of the pool, thinking about the connection I always feel when he and I talk. “This is real.”

  She smirks.

  I turn toward Cameron, who is now mounted on his guard seat, whistle around his neck, buoy on his lap. He’s actually looking at me. And just like that, I blow him a kiss. He laughs and winks. I can’t believe it. I’m blushing as much from my own nerve as from his wink. And this time I’m the one smirking at Trish.

  Trish purses her lips and crosses her arms. “You’d better watch your step, Tubby Butt.”

  “Later,” I say, for once sounding confident. I walk along the edge of the deep end toward the lounge chairs where Raina and Doodles are playing cards. I wonder if Cameron is watching me walk by in my green bikini. I think about his wink. I think about his strong arms. Maybe he’s feeling the connection too.

  “Much later, loser,” Trish whispers, suddenly close to me. She hits me with her hip, knocking me over.

  My arms flail. I fall, screaming, as the aqua blue water comes closer. I crash in. Bubbles foam all around me. I sink down down down.

  It’s over. I once again stare up at the lens of day above me, expecting to see that butterfly—that angel of death fluttering away. And I do see something, only it’s coming closer. I close my eyes.

  Water whooshes around me and a strong arm grabs me.

  I open my eyes. I’m soaring upward. I break through the lens, gasping and coughing.

  “Everybody get back,” Cameron yells. He hands me up to Trish, who lays me on my back.

  Cameron jumps out and kneels beside me. “Sang? Say something.”

  “Trish pushed me,” I say, my voice hoarse. My arms and legs tremble.

  “Please. She’s delirious,” Trish says.

  Cameron leans closer. “Are you okay?”

  “You saved me.”

  “Yeah,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I guess I did.”

  I give him a thank you kiss. A mere peck. But he gets involved. At first his lips are cold and wet, but they quickly warm up. Now my heart is trembling too.

  After a long moment, he pulls back. Some of the kids around us whistle and clap. One says, “Aw, gross.”r />
  Cameron blinks at me and says, “Why don’t we continue this later?”

  Chapter 15

  “So then she kissed him,” Doodles says. “It was disgusting.”

  “It was not,” I say. “I mean, I did not.”

  Raina covers her mouth to hide a laugh. It’s evening, and we’re all sitting around the dinner table.

  “Who is this guy?” Dad says, stabbing a sausage with his fork. “I want to personally thank him, then break his legs.”

  “And I’ll help,” Hari says, laughing.

  “Dad, it was nothing,” I say. Even though it was everything. Even though it was amazing. “Pass the ketchup.” Change the subject.

  “It’s not every day somebody saves my daughter’s life,” Mom says. “I want to give him a kiss myself.”

  “Are you going to use your tongue too?” Doodles asks.

  I whack her. Mom closes her eyes as if to erase that sentence from her mind.

  “So that’s what you call nothing?” Dad’s waving the sausage around like a weapon. “I have a good mind to send you to an all-girls school in India. That would fix you.”

  This is something my dad likes to threaten me with every now and then. I roll my eyes.

  “You don’t think I’m serious? Just test me, young lady. You’ll see.”

  “Calm down, Akash,” Mom says. “The important thing is that Sang’s okay.”

  “You’re right.” Dad lays down his sausage at last. “Still, you kids are too free with your lips. It’s trouble. Raina wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Raina gives a small smile.

  “You girls need to keep yourselves pure,” Dad says and sips his lemonade. “In India, if a young girl is dating, it’s bad news. When it comes time for marriage, where’s that young man? Married to another, truthfully. No decent family would allow their son to marry such a girl.”

  Mom and I share a look. I start cutting my sausage into tiny pieces.

  “Isn’t it like that still, Raina? Or have things changed so much?”

  “No, Uncle-ji,” Raina says in a small voice. “Not much has changed.” She sets down her fork. “May I be excused?”