My Sweet Girl

by Amanda Jayatissa

  Sam, of course, was predictably ridiculous about the whole thing. He practically bounded up and pulled out his car keys, insisting that he would drive me, and did I have a grocery list, because he couldn’t help but notice that my fridge was pretty empty? Don’t make me regret this, asshole.

  Once he calmed down, though, as all puppies do, I suppose, he really was quite tolerable. He quickly switched the music from Sinhala love songs to normal, terrible English pop hits as I got into his ancient Datsun, and didn’t bring up Sri Lanka even once during our drive into town. You got to give credit where credit was due—at least he picked up on things.

  “So, um, you called me my Uber yesterday?”

  “Yep, well, we both got on, but your place was further away.”

  So he wouldn’t have known what on earth I got up to when I made it home. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “You were a little, well, you know what we call it, right? Vedhila.” Hit. Or smashed. I guess he had a point.

  “It’s been a rough few days.”

  “Arun?”

  I nodded. I hadn’t thought about him all morning while I was at Ida’s. It felt disloyal, somehow. Like if I could easily push a dead body out of my mind, how was I any different from the cops or Nina? Was I just accepting that I’m as crazy as they seem to think I am?

  But it was explanation enough for Sam, I guess. He didn’t press further on anything, and I was in no hurry to discuss my spiraling mental state with a guy who had clearly seen me flatline on tequila.

  “A lot of packages you got there,” he remarked as he helped me grab them from his back seat once we pulled up to the post office. He had a large duffel bag there, along with a dirty-looking cricket bat. You can take the Lankan out of Sri Lanka—

  “I can’t even remember the last time I actually posted a letter, even back home. It really is a dying art, no?”

  “My parents send me postcards. It takes ages to get here and they get lost sometimes. Old-fashioned letters are a pain in the ass, if you ask me. This is just work.”

  “But isn’t most of your work online? With your social media marketing stuff?”

  Who was this guy, a fucking detective? I ran my thumb over my tooth.

  “Well, some customers have some very specific requests, and I try my best to comply. You got to do what you got to do to make rent, right?”

  He laughed a little at this. “I hear that.” His eyebrows squashed together when he laughed. Like a mix of a frown and a guffaw. It wasn’t unpleasant.

  We ended up at a small pizza place on the north side of town—Giovanni’s. It used to be a Mexican restaurant when I was in high school, but the sombreros that hung on the walls were now replaced by arty, black-and-white pictures of Italy, and the whole place looked fresh and new. The pizza wasn’t bad either. We split a Hawaiian, which was about as un-Italian as it got, but I was surprised to see Sam didn’t pick out the bits of pineapple. There’s nothing I hate more than people who let good pineapple go to waste. I mean, he did douse every slice in Tabasco sauce, but I was willing to let that go.

  “You got Tabasco on your sleeve,” I said, wiping off the red smear near his wrist with a napkin.

  “Thanks, amma.” Mom. Fucking seriously?

  But he grinned and I felt my edge fading away. What was it about this moron? Did I secretly miss Sri Lanka or something? Or was it that I cared so little about what he thought that I didn’t have to overanalyze everything I said? I’m starting to piss myself off. Besides, I shouldn’t be out enjoying myself. I should be worried about my dead roommate and potentially missing senile neighbor.

  “You know, I really didn’t mean to freak you out today.”

  “I know,” I relented. There was nothing I could do right now about Ida. I was probably overreacting anyway. She was probably in San Diego, sipping sherry with her sister as we speak.

  “And I know I have boundary issues. My last girlfriend, she was American, she used to say so too. I just thought . . .”

  “You thought it would be okay because I’m Sri Lankan?”

  “You said it! Finally.”

  “What?”

  “That you’re Sri Lankan.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I don’t get it. Are you ashamed of it or something?”

  “Ashamed?”

  “Yeah. You seem to hate it whenever I talk about it.”

  “I don’t hate it.”

  “Then what?”

  “There’s just, a lot that happened back there that I would like to leave behind.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t really talk about it. Especially not on dates.”

  Fuck. Slip of the tongue. Not what I meant.

  But Sam looked like God himself descended down on this pizza place and made it rain hundred-dollar bills.

  “We are on a date!” he proclaimed.

  “Shush. Don’t ruin it.”

  He didn’t stop smiling though. It was actually a little cute. Just a little.

  “I must apologize, then, my game is usually a lot better when I have the chance to preplan my dates.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I do all kinds of romantic stuff. Candlelit dinners, picnics under the stars, carving our initials onto a tree with a hunting knife, you know?”

  “Well, if you actually think that bringing a knife on a date is a good idea, then we have bigger problems.”

  26

  RATMALANA, SRI LANKA

  “WHO DO YOU THINK did it?” Lihini asked, pulling my braid off the side of the bed and stroking my hair. She had found me, terrified and crying in the dormitory before anyone else came. She sniffed the book and pointed out that it wasn’t blood, just red paint, and helped me scoop the ruined book into a sili-sili bag, and bundle all my sheets into the laundry room. We had to ask Miss Nayana for new sheets, but Lihini smoothly told her that one of the younger girls must have had an accident. It was so amazing how she always knew the right thing to say at the right time. She could make up a story or talk around the truth in the blink of an eye. I don’t know what I would do without her. Now we lay in bed together, whispering as always. Her, on the inner corner next to the wall, and me on the outer side.

  “It couldn’t have been one of the little girls,” I said. I had thought of nothing else since it happened. “No way.”

  “Maybe it’s the curse. Maybe Mohini did it.” Oh goodness, not this again.

  “Maybe,” I said carefully. I didn’t want to commit to anything. It was the best I could do to say sorry. I had to let her know that I believed her. Or at least that I pretended to believe her. That I didn’t just think she was making all of this up for attention or something. Even though, well, ghosts aren’t real, right?

  “But why would Mohini destroy the book?”

  “It’s the curse.” Her eyes were wide. I should change the subject.

  “You know, it could be her.” I pulled my hair over my face and made the hunched-over pose that Shanika usually made.

  “Who? Shanika?” Lihini looked thoughtful and sat up in bed. “I don’t think she really has it in her.”

  “She had it in her to try and scratch my eyes out, no?”

  “Fair point. Did you see her much today?” She pulled a pillow across her lap.

  “No. Maybe it was her, then. She’s nuts, anyway. Totally pissu.” She was. Pissu didn’t cut it. She was completely bananas and I felt angry every time I thought about her.

  A beat of silence passed. I had more important things to worry about than Shanika.

  “Sudhu, I tried to find you before assembly. I wanted to say sorry. About earlier.”

  Lihini gave me a small smile.

  “Forget it, sudhu.”

  “So how was the sickroom visit anyway? Did you get some toffees at le
ast?” We only got toffees if Miss Chandra was in a good mood, but it never stopped us from trying. Besides, I should try to keep Lihini’s mind off this Mohini nonsense. I didn’t care if she existed or not, but I really, really wanted her to stop talking about it.

  Lihini shook her head. “I think she was going to, but Perera sir came to talk to me, so then she must’ve forgotten.”

  “Perera sir came to see you?” I’d never heard of him visiting the sickroom before. That was usually left to Miss Chandra. He must have been pretty worried about her.

  “Yeah, he said he had come especially to see me. To see how I was doing.”

  “Ah, that’s good, right?”

  “I guess so. He kept telling me not to scare the other girls. He said to think about the little ones and how it would give them nightmares.”

  “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

  “I know what I saw, sudhu.” No point in making her upset. Especially now that I was leaving.

  “Yes, yes. No, I believe you. I was just thinking about how scared the small girls must be.”

  She narrowed her eyes a little, but dropped it.

  “He also wanted to see if I was okay with you going.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean, and?”

  “And what did you tell him, so?”

  Lihini shifted around again, hugging the pillow a little more tightly.

  “I told him I was happy for you. And I am. He said he’ll speak to another couple for me also, to see if they would be interested.”

  “Really?” I sat up in bed. “That would be amazing. Imagine if another family from America adopts you, and we can live close by to each other, and go to school together, and keep being best friends?”

  Lihini smiled. She looked very tired.

  “That would be amazing. Now lay back down before we get in trouble.”

  I dropped my head back on the pillow and reached for her hand. She had to know. She had to know how it was tearing me up to leave her here. How it would kill me if she never got adopted. If she had to go live at St. Margaret’s home with that horrible Sister Cynthia. What would she do when she got older? Maybe I could find her then, and ask Mr. and Mrs. Evans if she could live with us in America.

  “Sudhu,” she murmured, just as I was drifting off. “Sudhu, I did see her though. You believe me, right?”

  “Shh,” I replied. “Let’s just sleep now. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  We fell asleep with our arms wrapped around each other like we used to when we were little. I could feel her breathing near my ear. It made me feel so safe. She really was my best friend. The only family I’d ever known. How I wished what Perera sir said would come true, and we could both go to America together. I dreamed of the both of us holding hands as we went to our new American school, wearing jeans and tennis shoes with our hair in ponytails like I saw on TV. It was such a happy dream that I groaned a little as I felt someone sit on the edge of the bed, waking me up.

  I heard the singing first. Sleep clouding my mind, I almost thought it was a ghost. But as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized it was Shanika.

  Que sera, sera

  Whatever will be, will be

  I wasn’t awake enough to shout out. I felt locked inside my own body as she leaned in close, her hair an undone mess covering most of her face.

  Que sera, sera

  She smelled terrible—like vomit and sour breath and rotten food. Her nightdress was pulled away from her shoulder, and her scars almost glowed in the moonlight. And when she spoke, all tune and melody gone, every hair on my body stood up straight, and I didn’t even have the breath to scream.

  “When you die, can I have your skin?” she asked calmly, tracing a finger over my face, before getting up and walking out of the room, leaving me so afraid that I couldn’t move.

  27

  SAN FRANCISCO, CA

  I WAS LATER THAN I intended getting back from dinner with Sam. I didn’t even try to discreetly check my phone the whole time I was there. It was weird. The pizza was good. Giovanni’s was quiet. Sam had only mentioned Sri Lanka a couple of times. It really wasn’t such a bad evening. Pleasant, even.

  Did I want to talk to him about the fact that I saw his friend’s dead body in my kitchen? A part of me longed to—if anything, so I could be certain that Arun hadn’t told Sam my secret, or better yet, convince myself that I wasn’t losing my mind. But this was the first little pocket of normal that I’d had in a while, whether it was real or not, and I kind of didn’t want to mess it up just yet.

  When we finally pulled up in front of my parents’ house, Sam was telling me about some asshole professor who automatically assumed that he would be good at accounting because he was brown.

  “I mean, I don’t mind it. Let him think I’m the Usain Bolt of numbers. He’ll be in for a surprise soon enough.”

  “The Usain Bolt of numbers? Really?”

  “What? It’s a good analogy, no?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you always like this?” The smile hadn’t left his face.

  “Like what, exactly?”

  “Such a . . . you know—pandithaya?” A know-it-all. Or smart-ass.

  “Pandithaya? You’re one to talk.” Too much melody in my tone. I was starting to sound Sri Lankan again. I should get out of the car.

  But I stayed in my seat and turned the music up instead. The street was empty, and most houses hadn’t turned on their lights yet. I hadn’t left a porch light on, of course. I let myself drown in the inky darkness for just a minute. A cat crossed the street and disappeared into the night. At least, I hoped it was a cat, it was hard to tell.

  The blue Camry I had seen parked outside of Ida’s hadn’t returned. I don’t know why I instinctively looked for it. Maybe because this was a neighborhood of BMWs and Audis and Teslas, and the conservative car seemed rather out of place. I thought back to Sports Jacket and Chinos, who rang Ida’s doorbell earlier today—could that have been Mr. Williams? How dare he use Ida to get to me.

  Thinking of him triggered everything else I was worried about, of course.

  “Do you have any news about Arun?” I asked. I guess I had to bring him up sometime or other.

  “No.” Sam frowned. “You know, it’s so strange. He was never like this. He was such a, what’s the word, an oversharer, you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know, always talking. Couldn’t shut him up. You know how it is with Indians, no? They are so much more open with things.”

  Like things they found out about their roommates’ past?

  “So he didn’t say anything . . . particular before he . . . ?”

  “Nope. One day we were taking our break by the dumpster behind Peet’s, and the next day he’s just gone.”

  So Arun wouldn’t have had the time to tell him anything anyway. Under normal circumstances, this would have left me relieved. But once again Arun’s blank, dead face pierced my mind. I took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to open up to someone every once in a while.

  “Sam, I—I need to tell you something. About Arun.”

  He turned to face me.

  “What is it?”

  “I—I probably should have said something to you sooner, but I was, well—you have to promise me you won’t think I’m losing it, okay?”

  He gave me a smile. “I already think you’re a little nuts, but it’s what I like about you.”

  I rolled my eyes. Don’t make me regret this, asshole.

  But I had to tell someone before it drove me over the edge.

  “I don’t think Arun is okay.”

  “Don’t think he’s okay? You mean he’s in trouble?”

  “I mean he’s dead.”

  “Dead?” His eyes widened and he sat up. “What makes you say that?”


  “I—I saw him.”

  “Oh my god. You saw him dead? Did you call the police?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I mean, the police eventually came, right? Me not calling them was just a technicality.

  “And? Did they do an autopsy? Do you have any details? Oh my god.”

  “W-well, no. The body was, well, it was gone when they got there.”

  “What do you mean the body was gone? How could it just disappear? Do you think someone moved it?”

  The same questions that had been running through my mind. It was a small consolation to think someone else thought the same way I did.

  “I don’t know. The police came and there was nothing, and then they kept questioning me about how much I had drunk and Arun’s visa and it was like they didn’t care at all that—”

  “Had you—?”

  “Had I what?”

  “Been drinking?”

  What the actual fuck, Sam. And here I was, thinking you were a nice guy, not some asshole who jumped to conclusions.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Sam ran a hand through his hair.

  “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that, so.”

  “No, tell me, Sam. What did you mean?” There was an edge in my voice. I needed to tone it down.

  “I mean, I saw you the other day. Don’t get me wrong, I love that you like to cut loose. You’re like no other girl I’ve ever met, never mind that you’re Sri Lankan. But even I get a little confused sometimes when I’ve been drinking. It’s normal, you know?”

  I stayed quiet.

  “Hey, look, it’s not that I don’t believe you, really. It’s just, you know, even the other day, it seemed like you freaked out easily. You even mumbled something about Mohini, which was a real blast from the past. I don’t think I’ve heard that ghost story since I was a kid.”

  Was he right? Nina seemed to think I was imagining everything, and she knew me better than almost anyone else. I thought back to my shoes outside Ida’s, and the mop I had taken out of the utility closet again. It fucking killed me to say it, but Sam did have a point—it was easy to get confused after a drink or two.