Over My Head

by Marie Lamba

  Raina doesn’t respond. She’s staring at the computer screen. I step behind her and read her email listings over her shoulder. The very first one reads: PATEL ENGAGEMENT PIX.

  “Who sent those to you?” I say, really furious. “I’ll kill them myself, Raina. I swear.”

  “He did. Sanjay sent them.” Her head sways from side to side. “My God. This is too much.” She bites her lip and bolts from the room. The bathroom door slams.

  I stand there, floored. How could this wonderful guy she was so in love with be so callous? “Jackass,” I say, erasing the email.

  The phone rings. “Got it!” I shout.

  “Hello?” my dad says.

  “Is Sang there?” Cameron says.

  “I got it, Dad,” I say.

  “Who is calling please?” Dad says.

  “Dad, I’m here. I got it.”

  “Who is calling?” he persists.

  “This is Cameron.”

  “The lifeguard who kissed my daughter?”

  “Dad!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hang up, race down the steps, and find Dad on the phone in the kitchen.

  “Well, sir,” Dad is saying, “how is it that you’re kissing my daughter, yet I’ve never met you? A gentleman meets the father first. Or aren’t you a gentleman?”

  I tug on the sleeve of my dad’s T-shirt. “Dad. Please stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

  He holds up his hand to me. “Tonight? You and Sang are going out tonight.” He gives me a cold look. “How very interesting.”

  Groan. Busted.

  “Sure, I’ll be here. Absolutely. Hold on.” He hands me the phone. “It’s for you.”

  I stare sharp daggers at him. “Cameron? I’m so so sorry about that.”

  “No. It’s cool. Guess I’m not picking you up at the neighbor’s house tonight?”

  “Um.” My mind is racing. I try to picture how it will go. Cameron will pull up in his Mustang. Strike one. He’ll meet my dad, who will see he is older than me. Strike two. Dad will ask Cameron absolutely mortifying questions, and Cameron will know then and there that I am not worth the hassle. Strike three, and you’re never going out! “You can come to my house, I guess.” Why can’t I think of another way? There has to be one. “Or we could just forget it.” Yes! Better to skip this horrible experience altogether.

  “Nah. It’s cool. Dads don’t scare me.”

  I glance at Dad, who is waiting for me by the door of the kitchen. “Lucky you.”

  *****

  “I suppose I should thank you for saving my daughter’s life,” Dad says.

  “My pleasure,” Cameron says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad asks.

  “Dad,” I say.

  “Cookie?” Mom says, handing a plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies to Cameron. He takes a cookie and a crumb falls to the ground. I see my mom staring at the crumb, and know she is fighting the urge to pick it up.

  Poor Cameron. I can tell he’s gone through some effort to look extra neat. His hair is still damp from a shower, and even from my seat across from the couch I can smell his spicy cologne. He must really care about me. Why else would he sit sandwiched between two staring parents if he doesn’t like me? But will any of this matter if my dad doesn’t like him?

  I remind myself about what Raina said. If things get really negative, I should do what she always did with her parents: nod, smile and pretend to agree with everything they say. Act like I’m the all-dutiful daughter. Then I can sneak off and do what I want.

  “So,” Dad says, looking Cameron up and down, “what year are you in school?”

  I seriously think I’m going to scream. I grab a cookie from the plate and fill my mouth.

  “I’m a junior, Mr. Jumnal.”

  I finish the cookie and grab another.

  “Hmm. A bit young, especially to be driving. Such a flashy car, too. Do you go very fast in it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Cameron’s eye’s light up. “She’s really sweet. I’ve taken her up to—”

  “Hu-hum!” I clear my throat and shake my head.

  “I mean,” he says, “I’m a very careful driver. Never gotten in an accident or gotten a ticket.”

  I take one more cookie and munch.

  “Doesn’t that sound responsible, Akash?” Mom says.

  I love you, Mom!

  “Hmm. What about your future and college?”

  “Dad,” I say, “not everybody has their whole lives planned out. I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “No, it’s cool,” Cameron says. “I go to the University of Maryland—undecided major.”

  “You mean, you plan to go there,” Dad says.

  Oh God. Here it comes. Another cookie goes in my mouth.

  “No, sir. I’m a junior there now.”

  “WHAT? I thought you said you were a junior in high school.”

  “Cookie?” Mom says, offering Cameron the now-empty plate with a shaking hand.

  I wipe crumbs from my chin. It’s like watching an accident in progress. I can’t bear to look, yet I can’t turn away.

  “So that makes you how old?” Dad asks.

  “I’m twenty, Mr. Jumnal.”

  “TWENTY!” Dad springs to his feet.

  We all stand.

  “Dad. Chill out. It’s no big deal.”

  Mom is fanning herself with a napkin, muttering, “Twenty. Twenty?”

  “He’s just turned twenty,” I offer.

  “Oh.” Mom blots her forehead. “Still, Sang never mentioned…”

  “You never asked,” I say.

  “Twenty and in college.” Mom stares at the empty plate. “My.”

  “My, indeed,” Dad says, crossing his arms.

  I catch Mom’s eye and give her a pleading look.

  “Still, Akash,” she says, setting the plate down, “he does seem like a lovely boy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jumnal,” Cameron says sweetly.

  Dad takes a few deep breaths.

  I hold mine.

  “Well,” Dad says at last, “I appreciate you coming.” He holds out his hand to Cameron.

  I exhale as they shake. Cameron’s approved! “I’ll just get my purse, then.”

  “No. You’re not going with this young man.”

  “Dad, you can’t be serious.”

  “He is too old for you, Sangeet. You’re only sixteen. There are laws about such things.”

  “I’ll be seventeen in like a month.”

  “Sang,” Mom says, “be reasonable.”

  Dad nods. “You’re too young.”

  “Stop saying that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you are going straight to your room right now.”

  Cameron gives me a pained expression.

  I can’t bear this. I can’t.

  I sprint to my room and stand there, fists clenched. I force myself not to scream—not to kick my wall or smash my mirror.

  Downstairs, I hear the front door close. Outside I hear Cameron’s engine rev. He’s probably driving straight to Trish’s where there are no parents and no sixteen-year-old children to deal with.

  I look at brave Jake Gyllenhaal.

  And grab my purse.

  *****

  “But the best part is when he stood up to be intimidating,” Cameron says. “And I’m like six inches taller.” He laughs and rests his large hand on my thigh.

  I give him a quick smile and glance yet again toward the door. I fully expect at any second that my short yet very intimidating father will burst into Applebee’s, knock over the cheerful hostess, wrestle me from the booth, and drag me by the hair out the door. From there, he will drive directly to the airport and set me on a plane to India, where I will enroll in an all-girls’ school and never see another male ever again. Not too far-fetched considering what he was screaming at me as I ran out the door to Cameron’s car.

  I can’t believe I’ve defied him like this.
I should be proud of myself. I should be having the time of my life. Actually, I should have listened to Raina.

  Cameron squeezes my thigh. I jump.

  Stan says, “Dude, why’d her father hassle you like that? That’s so not cool.” He picks at the platter of deep fried appetizers on our table. Good thing the guys offered to pay tonight. I’m broke.

  “It’s paternal instinct,” Megan says, “coupled with a deep sense of threat from an outside male. That’s my guess.” She takes a gulp of her water.

  “Hey,” Stan says, “you’re like all smart or something, aren’t you? That’s way cool. Not like my man Cam here, right?”

  Cameron gives Stan a look.

  Stan is so unlike David. He’s muscular because he’s a wrestler like Cameron. They used to wrestle on the high school team together. He’s a little on the short side, but nice looking with a constant grin and tousled bleached-out blond hair. Truthfully, he doesn’t seem too bright. But Megan doesn’t seem to care.

  “Actually, I’m feeling way hot hot hot,” Megan says, batting her eyelashes at him.

  “Maybe, like, it’s the Buffalo wings.”

  “You’re a Buffalo wing,” Megan says and pokes at his bulging arm muscle.

  “Huh?” He looks at his arm.

  Megan says, “Manly Stan, with the really nice can.” She claps a hand to her mouth.

  I expect Manly Stanley to make a run for it. Instead he scoots closer to her and says, “You really think I got a nice can?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Megan says, trying to act indifferent. “Seen one firm tush, seen ’em all. Not that I’ve seen all the firm tushes. Or any. Not that your tush isn’t firm. I’m sure it is. I mean, I imagine it is, because, well, look at you. Not that I’m imagining your tush. Okay. Now I am.” She covers her eyes. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”

  “Naw. That’s cool,” Stan says, grabbing an egg roll.

  “See?” Cameron whispers in my ear. “I told you everything would work out.” He nibbles on my ear, but my eyes stay on that front entrance.

  Chapter 23

  “Megan’s always like that around guys,” I tell Cameron. “She can’t help it. Oh, just pull in right here.” I point to Mrs. Schnapps’.

  He sighs but pulls into the drive.

  “I just have to let Poopsie out before I go home.”

  Cameron parks and shuts off the engine and headlights. Moonlight streams into the car windows and the engine ticks like there’s a bomb waiting to explode. My eyes dart around Mrs. Schnapps’ property, as if Dad might be lurking in her bushes.

  “Sang,” Cameron says, “if your Dad isn’t cool with us, things can get pretty complicated. It can be hard for anything to work out…”

  Oh God. He’s going to go back to college next weekend. And I’m going to lose him. If only we had more time.

  “Hey, don’t look so sad,” he says, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I can’t stand to ever see you sad. Maybe it’s best that I’m going away.”

  “Don’t say that.” I get closer. His face glows with cool moonlight. He is so handsome. So strong. So wonderful. I practically ache. We kiss, and I lean my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me. I want to forget everything else and stay like this forever.

  “Cameron,” I say, “I have to tell you something.” I think about my dad, about Taoji, about Raina and Sanjay, and about so many other things I should tell him about me and my life. But I don’t know.

  “What is it, babe?” He rubs my shoulder. He’s my savior. My prince.

  I love you.

  Three magical words said in the moonlight and my entire world changes. Suddenly everything is safe and wonderful because I truly belong to him now.

  He takes my hand. “Sang, I love you too.”

  “Really?”

  “Can’t you tell? This is what I’ve been hoping for. What I’ve been afraid I’d never hear. I’ll come home from college every weekend. I’ll be by your side as much as I can. I promise.”

  What could be more perfect?

  Except it’s not perfect because I don’t say it. How can I when I’m just starting to fall for him? When I’m not sure if he loves me? And how can this ever work out between us? The age thing. The Dad thing. The Trish thing. The going away thing. It all feels so overwhelming. “I’d better go take care of the dog.”

  We kiss, and I pour all my emotion into it. Like this is our last kiss ever.

  “Why don’t I come in with you?” he says, his breath on my neck. “For a little while.”

  Suddenly I feel completely breathless. Don’t think, I tell myself. And don’t be afraid.

  At the front door, I fumble with Mrs. Schnapps’ key, desperately trying to open the door. Poopsie yips and scratches at the door. Cameron runs his hot tongue along my neck, passing over the chain of my necklace. I feel aglow, then realize he and I are surrounded with white light. It’s because of headlights in the driveway from a vehicle that’s just pulled in. Cameron and I separate and stand squinting into the brightness.

  “Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Schnapps waves as the van driver sets several suitcases down at her feet. Mrs. Schnapps is short and round, and always wears a matching dress, high heels, and hat. Tonight her color is deep red. The van pulls away. “I’m back at last,” she says, her heels clicking on the drive. “I had such a glorious trip. El Hambra, the sound of the castanets, the taste of Sangria still on my lips. Oh, you must go some day.” She looks up at Cameron. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

  I introduce them. While he hoists all three of her suitcases at once, she pulls her keys from her matching red clutch. “And how is my little Poopsie? No bother, I trust?”

  “None at all.” Aside from a few messes and a near death experience. “She’s really cute.”

  “Oh, I know.” She opens the lock and Poopsie explodes out the door and jumps into Mrs. Schnapps’ arms. “My baby. How could Mommy ever leave you? Oh, never again.”

  Cameron carries the bags into the house and sets them in the foyer.

  “Thank you, dear,” she says and tries to hand him a twenty.

  “No.” He holds up his hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Well, Sang, let me pay you at least.” She pulls out a stack of bills and thumbs through them. “No, these are Euros. Let me see. Here you go.” She presses a wad of bills into my hand and I give her the key. I also give Poopsie a special pat. “I’m gonna miss her. Mrs. Schnapps, would you mind if I visit her once in a while? Take her for a walk or something?”

  “Anytime, Sang. She’s a good little friend. Aren’t you?” Mrs. Schnapps picks up her dog. “Oh yes you are. Oh yes you are.”

  Back out on the driveway, Cameron and I stand by his car. I should be wild like Trish. Say to hell with everything, jump in his car and just let him take me away.

  He shrugs. “Guess I’d better go.” I nod. He pecks me on the cheek and gets in his car. And rides off in his Mustang into the moonlight.

  Idiot. Why am I not in that car with him?

  Maybe, instead of going home, I could walk to Megan’s. It would only take around twenty minutes, and then I could hang out there for a while. I wish I could live there. Become Sang Chung. Wasn’t that some eighties tune? Everybody Sang Chung tonight? I count the money Mrs. Schnapps gave me: $200. Enough to run away with? Somehow I don’t think so.

  I start walking, but not to Megan’s. I stop at my own driveway. I’ve got to slip inside and sneak up to my bed, avoiding Dad at all costs. The lights are on in the family room on the ground floor. He’s probably sitting there—waiting.

  The Sang Chung idea is sounding better and better. But you know what? I’ve got to do this. Go in the house and stand up for myself. Just because Dad’s hung up on the fact that Cameron is older doesn’t mean my going out with him is wrong.

  Okay. I’m facing this…after I sneak up to my room. I’ll face it in the morning…if Dad brings it up.

  I turn the knob of the front door and push, expecting one of those ho
rror movie creaking sounds, but luckily there’s nothing. To the left of the entryway is the family room. No one there. Excellent. I gently press the door shut behind me and tiptoe up the short flight of steps to the main level where the living room, dining room and kitchen are, along with the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

  A light is on in the kitchen. I freeze. Dad’s in there talking to someone on the phone.

  “This is terrible,” he is saying. “What a nightmare. But what can I do?”

  Perfect. Now I can definitely make it up to my room without a hassle. I head to the stairs.

  “Ha. Ha-ji. Absolutely. I can make the air arrangements when needed.”

  My foot is on the bottom step when I hear this. He can’t be serious. He can’t really think he’s going to ship me off to India. I won’t go. He can’t make me go. Can he? I strain to listen, but Dad is just saying, “Ha-ji. Ha-ji. I know,” a bunch of times.

  I race up into my dark room and my foot snags on some clothes on the floor. I trip and slam my shin yet again into Raina’s cot. A jolt of pain pierces my leg and I bite my lip.

  Raina sits up and rubs her eyes.

  “It’s me,” I whisper, rubbing my shin. “Shh. Don’t say a word.” I feel my way around the edge of her bed and pick up my cordless. I cover the mouthpiece and click it on.

  Taiji Parveen is talking in Punjabi to my dad. God, I have got to learn this language. Before I can hand the phone to Raina so she can listen in and interpret for me, Taiji breaks into English, saying, “And I don’t know what else to do. I try to be strong. Try not to cry. Smile until my teeth ache.”

  “You are doing all you can. Ravinder knows you are there,” Dad says.

  I sit on my bed.

  “But you don’t understand. I can’t do this anymore.” She sobs. “I can’t sit there and watch what they are doing to him. This is supposed to save him but they are killing him. You don’t see what I see. He is suffering: in pain; vomiting; constantly having loose motions. We can’t change the sheets fast enough,” she says and breaks into more Punjabi.

  I click off the phone and swallow hard. God, I’m such a self-centered jerk.