The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  Amit greeted a woman in a glittering pink and gold sari with a hug. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant bun. Chandelier earrings danced from her ears. Ornate necklaces and bangles shimmered with every movement.

  “Ma, this is Kareena. Her parents couldn’t come, but they said hello.”

  “Nice to meet you, Auntie,” I said.

  “Lovely to see you.” She beamed and I saw where Amit had inherited his billion-dollar smile. His mom was stunning, with big brown eyes lined with thick lashes, a narrow nose with a diamond stud, and full, red painted lips. “I’ve not seen you since you were knee high. You had short curls back then.”

  “You remember me?”

  “Who could forget you? You were the prettiest little girl, so much life when you walked into a room. You were so talkative.”

  “Social butterfly?” Amit asked aloud.

  I shrugged. I guessed? Dunno. I didn’t really remember.

  “We’ve missed you. We should get together with your parents. How are they?”

  “They’re good. I’ll let them know,” I replied with a hint of excitement. Maybe my reaction was as fake as hers? It would’ve been really cool if she meant that, but based on the facts that I’d never heard my parents talk about her or remembered her, she was probably just making small talk and hitting all the polite buttons.

  “Namaste, Auntie,” Saanvi said in a sickeningly sweet voice, appearing beside me with her hands clasped together.

  “Oh, Saanvi. How are you, beta?” Amit’s mom lit up on seeing the devil in disguise. When she walked around the table to hug her, Saanvi immediately bent to touch her feet, then pressed her fingers to her chest and clasped her hands together in front of her. Amit’s mom touched her head in response. A greeting of deep respect and tradition between child and elder, and here I was acting like a Westernized heathen.

  She spewed into pontificating jargon about mandir stuff, mainly dance and puja, and honestly, most of it flew over my head.

  Amit touched my elbow as the two spiraled into an animated conversation about the festival. “Bye, Ma.”

  “Hah, bye, beta.”

  We backed away and disappeared out the door.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered into the collar of his kurta, his hands in his shirt pockets low on the waist.

  “I’m used to that.”

  “Being ignored?”

  “Ignored and replaced when it comes to aunties.”

  “Ah, nah. My mom isn’t like that. She’s the dance teacher and Saanvi is one of the older students, so she takes the lead in organizing and helping the younger girls.”

  “Okay.” I crossed my arms and walked toward the colored powders.

  “She didn’t mean to drop the conversation. When those two get together, it’s all dance talk all the time.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation, cuter than ever.

  He took my elbow and reigned me back toward him. “But hey, what do you mean you’re used to that?”

  “I’m used to Indians ignoring me or—”

  “Hi, Amit!” Saanvi bounded up to him and deliberately stepped in between us.

  “Uh, hi, Saanvi.”

  “Hey, Saanvi,” I groaned with a sarcastic wave.

  She ignored me and Amit frowned. She edged closer to him and placed a hand on his arm, opening her hate-spewing mouth before he said a word, filling the white noise with her stupid giggles.

  “We were talking,” I said.

  “And now you’re not,” she snapped.

  “Saanvi,” Amit hissed. “Why are you being so rude?”

  “Why are you talking to her? Don’t you know her reputation?”

  “Which is what, exactly?” I asked.

  “Travis,” she sang without looking at me. “Went the wrong direction after my brother.”

  I cowered into myself when Amit shot a curious glance at me. Please don’t listen to her. Please let someone smack her in the back of the head with a water balloon and end this before she says anything else. Ugh! Why couldn’t I just say something? Why couldn’t I just shut her mouth for her? But it was too late. Give the devil a second, and she’ll pounce without deliberation. Should have gotten that water gun first.

  “What happened with Dev?” he asked.

  “Oh you don’t know? Rayna had a crush on him and Kareena swooped in like a vulture and tried to . . . I dunno, he wouldn’t say.”

  “Talk to him,” I said, but my words came out softer than I intended, as if I had done something much worse. Talking to a boy was not the same as sleeping with him! Talking to a boy after talking with another boy was not the same thing as cheating! But Saanvi didn’t care. She wanted drama, and she wanted a reason to drag my name any way she could. And even though I should’ve just voiced my thoughts aloud, as pointed and annoyed as the words appeared in my head, my lips couldn’t manage to move.

  “Right. Dev and Travis are friends and word got around. Which is the only reason Travis hangs around you. But, I guess you know that,” she added with a sharp tongue.

  Heat struck my face like an angry viper. I didn’t know which I wanted more: to hide from Amit before the look of judgment crested his features or to punch Saanvi in her stupid, fake face.

  She turned and scowled at me, at which point an irate Amit mouthed, “Water guns,” and cocked his chin toward the barrels behind the tables.

  I quirked an eyebrow at Ms. Stank and walked away. As I approached the water guns, a newfound level of vengeance surged through my veins. Holi was about forgiveness, yeah, yeah.

  I loaded the water gun with the darker blue powder and shook the liquid mixture.

  In a way, I had forgiven her. I didn’t hate Saanvi anymore and I sure as heck wasn’t going to feel small every time she threw an accusatory glance at me.

  I pumped the gun a dozen times and walked back toward them.

  After so long—and seeing how she couldn’t fool Amit—the fear of what I’d done dissolved. She wanted drama? She wanted something to really complain about?

  I pumped until the water gun could take no more. It sat rigid in my hands, ready to burst from the pressure. Amit had his arms crossed over his chest, arguing with Saanvi, when he looked up and I caught him.

  Blue water sprayed across his face. His eyes were clenched shut, his mouth open in shock. Colored liquid dripped down his handsome lips and splattered on his white shirt, staining it cobalt.

  Saanvi scrunched her shoulders up and spun toward me. Before she sprouted any more idiotic words, I unleashed the fury of a pent-up water gun, one hit after another right into her pretty, craptastic face. She fought the air but I stepped closer and closer.

  Amit wiped off the liquid from his face and burst into laughter and so did I. Saanvi fell back on the grass, gathering stares and becoming the spectacle that I’d always felt I was. I pumped to re-amp the gun, leaned toward her, and said, “Happy Holi!” Muahahaa.

  “Come on!” Amit said, taking my elbow and leading me back to the tables as a pack of water gun-wielding, maniacal little kids descended on Saanvi. Fair game.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked, turning from her and facing Amit.

  He grabbed two fistfuls of colors, one gold and the other pink, and tilted his head, his brows most definitely raised with mischief.

  I aimed the gun at him. “I dare you.”

  And then it rained colored powder everywhere, from all directions, as everyone threw fistfuls into the air. I slowly turned in a semicircle, taking in the beauty that descended all around. Colors sprinkled down and were swept away by winds. A rainbow fog glimmered as far as the eye could see.

  Amit gently grabbed me by the waist and held my arms down with his, pinning the gun to my leg. His fists were still full as I struggled and squealed. One hand came up and I slowly stilled, my back melting against his chest, as gold fluttered down and over my head
, covering us both.

  His hold loosened and I turned into him. There was something undeniably magical about the colors and vibrations that surrounded us in the night. His eyes foretold a million incredible fortunes and that smile did funny, amazing things to my stomach.

  He swallowed, like he could lean down and kiss me. Had he lost his mind? Had he forgotten where we were?

  I smirked and pressed the barrel end of the gun into his gut. His serious expression turned devastatingly romantic as he smeared powder across my cheek and dragged a pink trail down my lips with his thumb.

  Holi? More like ho-ly crap. What was this guy doing to me?

  My heart actually exploded. Like kapow! A jillion pieces floated chaotically in my chest. But he couldn’t do this. Amit could not kiss me. Especially not here.

  I did the only thing I could possibly do.

  I fired the water gun and let out an avalanche of bellowing laughter.

  And Amit got soaked.

  Ten

  The great thing about Holi was how the colorful haze made equals of all. No one knew or cared if the man beside you was a world-famous surgeon or Bollywood A-list actor or a housekeeper. The high-born rubbed elbows with the forgotten, aka me. Amit turned out to be one of those guys who could befriend anyone and everyone. Nearly all three hundred people present made a point to say hello to him. And about three hundred times he turned to me and said, “Have you met Kareena?”

  Talk about being under a spotlight, but with the ever-genuine Amit at my side, the spotlight didn’t sear the flesh off my bones. Nope. No smell of crackling skin.

  They didn’t probe into my mandir and/or festivity absence. They didn’t pry about my parents. Which, combined with school, were the only things they asked about. I appreciated keeping conversations superficial and light.

  The cranking gears of Amit’s car jostled the silence. We sat, parked, on the street at the end of my driveway. The front porch lights shone dimly.

  Heat sprang from the vents. The night had chilled considerably and Amit, thanks to my eagerness and the call of the little ones to back me up, was soaked clean through. Good thing he wore an undershirt beneath his white kurta or the aunties might’ve chided him for indecent exposure.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked.

  I beamed from ear to ear. Fun didn’t begin to describe demolishing Saanvi and then enjoying myself with Amit the rest of the time. “You know I did.”

  He grinned. “Looked like it, especially when you took out Saanvi.”

  My face lit up. He knew me so well already.

  “Are your parents up? They might like the plates my mom made.”

  “That was nice of her to hook them up, but they’re asleep.”

  “It’s only ten.”

  “My dad doesn’t feel well, so he goes to bed early. And my mom’s tired from work, so she goes to bed early too.”

  “And what about you?”

  I looked over at him. “I stay up until midnight most nights.”

  “Is that why you sleep through class?”

  My skin turned hot, remembering not too long ago when I fell asleep facing him and ended up drooling a river down my face. “Part of the reason.”

  I searched his profile for any thoughts. He watched the clock on his dashboard turn to 10:04 p.m. The darkness tried to swallow him, but the streetlight one house over kept the edge of his silhouette illuminated.

  “What do you want to do for the next hour and fifty-six minutes?” he asked.

  “That’s assuming I want to spend any more time around you.”

  The corner of his lips curled up. “I know you do.”

  My heart did a funky dance in my chest, pounding to a new, intriguing beat. The funny thing was that Amit was right. “There’s a neighborhood park around the corner. It’s just a small jungle gym and benches and swings. It’s dark and creepy, and probably a place insomniacs like us would hang out.”

  He chuckled. “Probably.”

  We stepped out of the car. He opened his trunk and pulled out a jacket.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, the jacket welcoming in his hand.

  “I can grab something from inside. You should wear it. You’re drenched.”

  “Yeah, thanks to your trigger finger. Here.” He laid the jacket over my shoulders.

  “What about you?”

  He tugged out a gray wool blanket.

  “You just keep blankets in your car?”

  He wrapped it around himself and closed the trunk. “It’s for emergencies. Got food and water and flashlights and all kinds of stuff in there. You hungry?”

  “Nah.” We’d eaten plenty in between water gun fights. I’d tried my best to eat healthy when we were faced with so many delicious sweets. Had to keep my training front and center.

  “Lead the way.”

  He walked beside me in the dim illumination of the streetlight as I stuffed my fists into the large pockets of his jacket. The leather smelled just like him, all boy with hints of faded cologne and guy body wash. He might never get this thing back.

  We didn’t speak during the walk. Leaves crunched beneath our shoes. Small rocks slid across the pavement. Damp soil flattened beneath our weight. Crickets sang their songs in the distance.

  The suburban scene of cement and brick and metal and glass dissolved behind us in the night. A path appeared in the moonlight, guiding us through a thicket of oak and pecan trees. Shells crunched under us as loudly as wailing cats. The air was crisp and clean, with traces of grass and early spring flowers. Soon, bluebonnets, pink thistle, and red paintbrushes would sprout up, bringing in hordes of people sitting in the tall wildflowers for yearly pictures.

  We didn’t need to bring Amit’s emergency flashlight or use our cell phone lights. The brightly lit stars and moon worked just fine, as did the busy, flashing fireflies that looked more like fairy lights strung across the trees.

  We approached the makeshift baseball field with its semi-built fence and headed toward two benches that appeared before the kiddy playground.

  I led Amit to the bench, but he veered off course to an oddly bent tree. I’d never figured out what sort of tree it was, but the split trunk attracted all the tree climbers. The leaning left side of the trunk partition grew at a gradual slope, but the right side did its own funky thing and curled down and over like the back of a hissing cat.

  Amit swung on the trunk so that his feet dangled a good foot off the ground. Then he hoisted himself up and sat with both legs over one side. He offered a hand to pull me up, but he knew so little of me.

  I went to the partition where crooked steps grew out of the trunk and crawled up the right side. I stood up straight, perfectly balanced, and walked toward an impressed Amit. Or at least, he looked impressed in the dark.

  I carefully squatted, pressing my palms into the rough bark, and sat beside him. He scooted over, closing the few inches between us. His blanket-covered arm pressed into my jacket-covered one. I stared at our swinging feet, noticing for the first time his fancy sandals next to my worn-in flip-flops.

  “This is cool,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “I like it. Sometimes they set up a sheet screen and play old movies, and people from the neighborhood bring blankets to sit on and watch.”

  “That sounds like fun. Maybe we can catch the next movie?” His voice cracked.

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep from smiling.

  “Cuz, you know? That sounds pretty cool. Sitting on the grass with a bunch of random people and watching a black and white movie.”

  “I don’t like old movies, so I never went.” I stared at the bark beside my hand and flicked off little rough pieces, trying not to get swallowed whole by the moment. I couldn’t like a boy. I didn’t have time for this. Yet, here I was. Not trying to leave.

  “What kind of movi
es do you like?” he asked.

  “I’m into superhero movies, especially ones with kick-butt girls.”

  “I totally see that. I like superhero movies too. Well, much of anything sci-fi and fantasy and comedy. Not into romance or artsy.”

  “Me, either.”

  We dangled our feet some more before he asked the inevitable, “Why don’t you go to stuff more often?”

  “What stuff?” I asked and tensed. I already knew what he meant. Indians should do “Indian things.” Hang around other Indians. Be more Indian.

  “Our kind of stuff. Diwali and Navratri and things that the mandir puts on.”

  “I just don’t.”

  He said lightly, “Ah, come on. There’s a better excuse than that. And if there isn’t, then there’s no excuse not to go.”

  “I’m not religious. So, don’t think one fun night at Holi will turn me around.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” he said softly. “It’s cultural and social.”

  I replied dryly, “Well, I’m neither. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “That’s not disappointing. Just wondering why.”

  “Honestly?” I bit out, getting a little heated. He kept asking and probing. Why couldn’t he just accept that I didn’t like that stuff? Did he want me to change? Be more cookie-cutter? More . . . I dunno . . . acceptable? Part of me was getting annoyed, but another part of me just wanted to tell him the entire truth and let him decide if this friendship was going to continue before I got too attached.

  “Yes. I’d like to know.”

  A hot rush of emotion flooded through me and my mouth didn’t stop. “Because I don’t feel comfortable. I don’t conform to Indian ways. I’m not Indian enough and that’s how they see me and treat me. So, no. I don’t go to mandir or get involved in festivities. And no, I won’t be going back.”

  “Whoa.” He raised his hands in defense. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything or attack you. You’re no less Indian for not doing all this stuff. And what do you mean you’re not Indian enough? Is that even a thing?”