“If there is a first meeting,” she adds, looking at him closely. “You’re younger than most of us who search. You have to moderate your hopes, I’m afraid. And I always recommend traveling with a couple of people who can support you.”
Robin figures he has the latter with PG and Gracie. About the hope moderation, he isn’t so sure.
KAT
EXT. BOSTON AREA—DAY
Patriots’ Day in Massachusetts is—as always, Kat discovers—the third Monday in April, and now a few pink trees are starting to bloom. Grandma Vee and Kat get up early and take a cab to Lexington Square, where a bunch of zealous volunteers reenact “the shot heard round the world.”
As cannons explode, muskets shoot, and bodies topple everywhere around the grass, Kat glances at her companion. Saundra told her Grandma Vee experienced several military coups in Sierra Leone before coming to Boston. Is this bringing back bad memories? But the old woman’s expression is as composed as ever.
Later that morning, they head to the Boston Marathon. As usual, Grandma Vee finds out the driver’s name, and Mahmoud drops them off as close to “Heartbreak Hill” as he can manage through all the roadblocks.
“This is mile twenty,” Grandma Vee tells Kat once they’ve joined the spectators along Commonwealth Avenue. “A huge uphill near the end of a grueling race. Wheelchair racers come first. Watch what happens.”
Kat peers down the road, which is lined with hordes of fans, vendors, race officials, and volunteers handing out water bottles. In the distance, way down the hill, she glimpses a small, bent figure on wheels moving slowly but coming toward them. The people watching at the bottom of the incline break into a huge roar.
Grandma Vee clutches Kat’s arm. “Listen.”
JA-SON! JA-SON! JA-SON! All along the uphill part of the race route, different portions of the crowd start chanting for the lead wheelchair racer as soon as he reaches them.
How do they know his name? Kat wonders. As he nears and passes them, she sees that it’s written in big letters on two signs—one on the front of his shirt and one on the back of his chair. Drenched in sweat, muscled arms straining, he wheels his chair toward the crest of the hill. The entire way, the crowd doesn’t stop chanting his name.
Grandma Vee joins in. Kat can’t help it; she does, too.
JA-SON! JA-SON!
This solitary athlete is suddenly everybody’s friend, or like a joint first cousin. They’re infusing him with energy. The spectators feel closer to each other because they’re all rooting so hard for him.
When he finally crests the hill and starts soaring down the other side, Kat can hear people at the top explode into a roar.
“Now THAT’s what you need on Heartbreak Hill,” Grandma Vee tells Kat, nearly breathless from shouting. “A big crowd of folks, cheering for you by name.”
Heads around them swivel to root for the next racer, who’s just appearing at the bottom of the hill now. The chanting down there begins: DE-VON! DE-VON! DE-VON!
ROBIN
INT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH YOUTH ROOM—NIGHT
“You three going to Kolkata need to sign these code of conduct contracts,” PG says, handing printed documents and pens to Robin, Kat, and Gracie.
Robin can tell PG’s getting anxious about how little time they have left to get prepared, especially for the “service” part of the trip. He’s made them watch dozens of videos and read countless articles. The congregation has come through with the money for plane tickets, as well as the small stipend they’ll give their host families for room and board while they’re in Kolkata. The money they’ve raised will also cover the cost of a Bangla language tutor for Robin, Kat, and Gracie. Now, with only a couple of weeks left before departure, PG is homing in on expectations about behavior.
Martin looks over Robin’s shoulder; Ash is reading Gracie’s contract. Two out of the three not-going-to-India youth group members are still coming on Thursdays even though the meetings are so India-focused. Brian, even now, is still the Invisible Man.
Robin starts reading the contract PG’s asking him to sign. #1: I will wear modest, culturally appropriate clothing.
“What does ‘inappropriate’ mean, PG?” Martin asks.
“What does ‘modest’ mean?” Gracie looks worried.
#2: I will not drink, smoke, or use drugs.
“Come on, PG, what’s wrong with smoking?” Ash asks.
PG rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer.
#3: I will not act inappropriately or flirtatiously with any of the Indian staff members or the clients they serve.
“That’s a no-brainer,” says Kat.
#4: I will serve the organization with humility, doing anything they ask, no matter how menial the task.
“Sounds like you’re joining the Scouts,” says Martin.
#5: I will not post or send any photographs while in Kolkata.
Robin raises his eyebrows. “What? How are we supposed to share what’s going on with Martin and Ash? And all the people supporting us?” Including my parents, he thinks. He’s sure his mother’s expecting a steady, daily stream of photos and texts.
“We’ll be able to send emails from an office computer,” says PG. “And maybe call once a week or so from the office phone, or a borrowed mobile. But we’ll have to hand over our own smartphones to be stored in a safe during the ten weeks. It’s a security measure for all visitors from overseas.”
The room explodes in protest.
“That’s unrealistic, PG,” Ash says. “We’re teens, remember?”
Martin: “Ten weeks without a phone? I’d be brain-dead by August.”
Kat: “My mother’s not going to like that rule at all.”
“I need to be available to my parents around the clock, PG,” Gracie says. “Mom’s not due until September, but what if something happens while I’m gone?”
Robin doesn’t say anything. It’ll be kind of a relief not to have his phone during his search. More privacy. Plus, it gives him the perfect excuse not to share round-the-clock details with Mom.
PG’s got his best unyielding expression in place. “Everyone needs to use email or call during set hours if they want to talk to you. They’ll have Arjun’s number for emergencies. The Society simply can’t risk photos or social media posts that might compromise the safety of their rescued children. Not to mention the police who work with them, putting their lives on the line to battle perps. That’s the word for perpetrators in the crime-fighting world, in case you didn’t know.”
“We’re not stupid, PG,” Martin says. “We know what a ‘perp’ is.”
“And how to turn off location information on our posts,” adds Ash.
“Arjun invited us because he trusts me,” PG says sternly. “He doesn’t want to inflict damage on kids who have already been abused. This invitation is a privilege. If we do any ‘acts of service’ at all, they’ll be what the Bengali Emancipation Society asks us to do. Otherwise, we’re just learners, not doers.”
Not much we can say after that, Robin thinks. He, Gracie, and Kat all sign the code of conduct contracts and hand them to PG.
KAT
“Now, about housing,” says PG. “I’ll be staying in faculty housing at the Bible college. But the three of you will be with vetted host families who’ve been cleared to house volunteers from overseas. Your parents signed the housing consent forms, I hope?”
Kat swallows. Mom signed hers, but sent it along with an emailed suggestion. What do you think about asking to be assigned to live with a woman, Kat? I’ll leave it up to you, but I’m wondering if being in a house or apartment with men around might be tough for you to handle. Maybe you should let this youth pastor know something about what happened here in Oakland. Want me to call him? Or we could ask Ms. Jones to talk to him.
No, Mom, Kat replied. I’ve got this.
I’m starting to hate that mantra, Mom emailed back. Tell him, Kat, please.
But PG might ask questions, and Kat doesn’t want anyone knowi
ng what happened to her. Apart from Grandma Vee, that is. If her Indian host family includes men, she’ll just have to power through it. It’s only ten weeks.
Besides, she’s feeling a little less weird these days. Look at her now, sitting in this circle of couches and armchairs with Robin, PG, and Martin. Okay, so they’re not touching her and she always stays close to Gracie and Ash, but she’s interacting with all of them like a normal person, right?
Besides, after that cry-fest with Grandma Vee, the nightmares disappeared. She hasn’t thought about the Wolf for weeks. Now, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, she makes plans about the summer ahead instead of the past—envisioning how she’s going to teach BJJ moves to that Canary.
She hands over her signed housing release form to PG without a word.
ROBIN
PG gives them more pieces of paper, this time with envelopes. At the top of the page Robin reads the words: On this service trip, I hope to … The rest of the page is blank apart from #1 and #2 in PG’s handwriting.
“Take this with you to a corner of the room and jot down two hopes you have for the time in India,” PG says. “This is private. None of us will see it, so I want you to be completely honest. Fold the paper, put it back in the envelope, and seal it. I’ll give them back to you for reflection after we return.”
The three India-goers disperse.
Robin hesitates before starting to write. Nobody’s going to see this but him, right? Honest, PG said. Okay. He picks up the pen and writes the truth.
#1: I hope to … find my first mother
#2: I hope to … help my first mother.
He’s the first to return to the circle carrying his sealed envelope; Gracie and Kat follow a minute or two later.
“I feel so left out by this exercise,” says Martin.
“Me, too,” adds Ash. “What are you guys going to do without us?”
“Not have half as much fun,” says Gracie. “Hey, you guys coming over tomorrow?”
“I may or may not have a date,” PG says, starting to pack up his notes and papers.
Everyone ignores him; he never joins them for pizza and movie nights.
“I’m in,” says Martin.
“Me, too,” says Robin.
“I’ll be there,” says Ash. “Could be our last movie night for a while.”
Gracie turns to Kat. “What about you?”
“I’m … not sure,” answers Kat. “I might have an assignment to finish.”
“On Friday night?” asks Robin. “Come on, Kat. Join us. We can watch something from the DC universe, right, Gracie?”
“Definitely,” says Gracie.
Robin watches Kat glance around at their waiting faces.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll come.”
KAT
INT. RIVERA HOUSE, OUTSKIRTS OF BOSTON—NIGHT
Kat’s standing on the threshold of the Riveras’ house, holding a plate of homemade fritters that Grandma Vee sent along as a gift. She reads the sign on the front door: PLEASE DON’T KNOCK OR RING BELL, BABIES SLEEPING. Should she walk in? It feels rude, but the sign’s pretty clear.
The door flies open before she can decide what to do. Gracie’s standing there, smiling. “Come in! Mamá, meet my friend Kat.”
It’s the first time since grade school that Kat’s been introduced to anybody’s parent with that modifier before her name. It makes Kat feel like she’s been invited into a double-Dutch game or to play hopscotch.
A pregnant woman joins Gracie at the door. On her face is an older but just as warm replica of her daughter’s smile. She holds out her hand. “Bienvenida, Kat.”
Kat manages to recall the right phrase from her Spanish textbook: “Con mucho gusto,” she says, handing the fritters to Gracie to shake Mrs. Rivera’s hand.
“You know what? Forget the handshake. How about a hug instead?” Without waiting for Kat to answer, Gracie’s mother enfolds her into a Rivera embrace—so close that Kat can almost feel the baby’s heartbeat against her own belly. After a few seconds, she lets go. “Maybe I should call your mother and get some tips about how to send a child to a faraway place. Gracie’s never been away from me, her whole life.”
Neither had I, thinks Kat. “It’s hard at first,” she says.
Gracie flexes her non-fritter-holding arm. Nothing changes there as far as Kat can tell. “Soy fuerte, Mamá.”
Her mother sighs. “I’m glad you’ll be there to take care of each other. And my querido Robin, too. Pizza’s in the basement. Hand over that plate, Gracie. Ms. Vee’s fritters are exactly what this mamita is craving.” She rubs her swollen stomach in a circular motion. Did Mom do that to me sixteen-plus years ago? Kat wonders.
ROBIN
Martin helps himself to a piece of pizza. “This is truly the life. I might have to drive up from Brown on Fridays.”
Robin knows he isn’t joking. Coming here has always felt like one of the most relaxing ways to end the week. Only two things feel different about tonight: the absence of Brian and the presence of Kat.
“What do you guys want to watch?” Gracie asks.
“How about the stand-up comedian everyone’s been talking about?” Ash suggests. “I can’t pronounce his name, but you know who I mean. He’s Indian, like you, Robin.”
“Yeah, I hear he’s hilarious,” Martin says.
“No, thanks,” Robin says. He’s seen the preview. Another nerdy, funny desi guy. I’d like to see one South Asian badass take down villains, he thinks. Is that too much to ask?
“This always happens,” Gracie says. “It takes us forever to agree on something. You choose, Kat. I did promise you something from Robin’s comic book world, right?”
“How about the original Wonder Woman movie?” Kat says. “I haven’t seen that one in forever.”
Vintage Cathy Lee Crosby is as sexy as ever in a red vest, blue tights, black boots, golden bangles, and matching gold belt. Weirdly, Kat knows most of the lines by heart and starts saying them out loud. Of course, so does Robin. They start reciting them together.
He can’t help noticing how much Kat has changed in the weeks since she arrived. She reaches for a second slice of pizza without asking. She lets the dimple run wild, without any restraint whatsoever. It’s like her heart isn’t stiff-arming them anymore.
* * *
When the movie’s over, nobody seems to want to leave. Gracie flips through more free movie choices.
“Hey, it’s the original Superman movie!” Robin says.
“From 1978,” Kat says. “Best version ever.”
“Christopher Reeve as Clark Kent,” he says. “Marlon Brando as Superman’s father.”
“Let’s watch it on mute so these two don’t start their chorus again,” Martin says.
It’s been a while since Robin’s seen this movie. The last time was with Brian, in the fifth grade.
“Robin, have you heard from Brian?” Gracie asks, reading his mind as usual. Robin can tell she’s trying to keep her voice light.
“Nope. It’s like I don’t exist for him anymore.”
“He’s ignoring me, too,” Ash says. “It’s not just you.”
“His mom thinks he’s acting out because of his dad leaving,” Martin tells Gracie.
“I know,” she says. “Ash told me.”
“Maybe his mother’s right,” Martin says. “My parents are divorced, but my dad didn’t dump me like Brian’s did.”
“Getting dumped by your parents doesn’t give you permission to dump other people,” Robin says.
“Well, you don’t know how that feels, look at your perfect life—” Martin stops suddenly at the sight of Robin’s face. “Sorry. It’s weird, but I forget you’re adopted sometimes. The three of you fit together in my mind like P, B, and J.”
We do and we don’t, Robin thinks.
“Anyway, perfect timing,” Ash says, pointing to the screen, where Jor-El is making a starry crystal rocket ship to send his baby off to earth. “Check it out—Superman�
�s adopted.”
“He’s not alone,” Kat says quickly. “Spider-Man, too.”
“Gambit,” Robin responds.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Green Lantern.”
“Batgirl. After the 1985 reboot.”
As the two of them battle it out, Martin, Gracie, and Ash swivel their heads back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
“Beast Boy,” Kat says.
“Hellboy.”
“Iron Man.”
Wow, she’s quick. Robin takes a moment. And then it dawns on him: “Robin.”
“Okay, okay,” Martin says. “You’ll probably go on for another hour if we let you. Turn the volume up a bit, Gracie.”
But on-screen, Jor-El and Lara are putting Kal-El in the spaceship and sending him off just before planet Krypton explodes. For some reason, this makes Gracie turn off the movie altogether. There’s an awkward silence.
“Superhero birth parents usually don’t get much screen time,” Robin says.
He takes one of Mom’s big inhales. He’s told his parents, the counselor, and PG, but he hasn’t talked about his search with anyone else. Not even Gracie. It feels like every time he voices his desire, it gets more intense.
But these are his friends.
They care.
He blurts out the truth: “I’m going to try to find my first mother.” And then: “I’m not sharing this with everybody, though. Just my parents, PG, and you guys.”
Gracie reaches over and squeezes his hand. Nobody else responds.
“Are you going to look for your father, too?” Ash asks, after a while. “I mean, your ‘first’ father?”
“Not sure. Finding her seems more urgent to me for some reason. Maybe … because she got pregnant and he didn’t?”
Kat suddenly pulls out her phone and hands it to Robin. “Here’s a picture of my mother. Having me was way harder on her than it was on the man who dumped both of us.”
The photo on Kat’s phone is of her standing next to a short, smiling white woman with an upper-arm tattoo—Robin thinks it’s of a panther—and a third of her hair dyed pink. Looks to him like this person could be Ash’s sister instead of Kat’s mom. Which means Kat’s father—whoever he is—certainly isn’t white.
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