Of Princes and Promises

by Sandhya Menon

  “No.” Rahul thoughtfully stirred more sugar into his coffee. “Because you were so oblivious to the fact that Alaric was using you and didn’t care about you at all. You were completely humiliated at the yacht gala, and you’re projecting that onto me now to warn me. But I have taken your warning into consideration and discarded it as not being relevant to this particular situation.”

  There was a sudden silence around the table. Rahul looked up to see all five of his friends staring at him, their eyes wide, their mouths open. It was a sure sign that he’d said something they considered wrong in some way. “What?” he asked when no one spoke.

  DE bit her lip and looked away, and Jaya reached across the table to squeeze her friend’s hand. Grey rubbed the back of his neck, and Leo and Sam just continued to stare at Rahul.

  “Are you… mad?” he asked DE, frowning. Why would she be mad at him for speaking the truth? He wasn’t mad at her for speaking what she thought was the truth.

  DE snapped her gaze to him, her green eyes flashing. “What do you think, Rahul?” She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, picking up her books with quick, angry movements. “There’s such a thing as being honest and then there’s just being a shithead.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and left.

  Jaya stood. “I’ll talk to her.” Quietly gathering her books, she gave Grey a kiss on the cheek and strode after DE.

  Rahul looked around at his remaining friends, his cheeks heating with confused shame and regret. Once again, he’d totally flubbed something and he had no idea why. “I…” He shrugged, but then the cafeteria lead was ringing her silver bell, signaling that it was time to make their way to their first class of the semester.

  “Last semester of high school!” Leo said as he stood, and Rahul could tell he was trying to brighten the tone. Leo spent a lot of time doing that after Rahul’s derailments. He turned to Rahul and smiled a little. “Let’s make it a good one.”

  * * *

  Rahul left his friends behind as he made his way across campus to the humanities building, the brisk wind catching at his clothes and hair. He needed the time to think, to dissect what he’d said to DE and why that might have made her mad. He could ask Grey later, or maybe even Jaya, but it was painfully embarrassing to have to do that all the time. He should be able to figure some of this stuff out for himself, dammit.

  A group of freshmen passed him, laughing and talking as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if social interaction wasn’t infinitely more complex than AP Physics with Dr. Monroe, who used to be an actual NASA rocket scientist before Rosetta poached him away.

  Rahul’s phone dinged in his pocket. Shifting his psychology textbook to his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. It was a Google alert, set up to inform him anytime his family was in the papers.

  Chief Minister Arti Chopra attends celebrity wedding with husband, Malik, and sons, Vivek and Rahul, the photo caption read. Rahul clicked on the picture to enlarge it. He was looking at a picture of his family dressed in glittering wedding finery, all dark-haired and smiling broadly for the camera. There was his mom, his dad, his brother, Vivek—and his cousin Pritam.

  It wasn’t Rahul in the picture, it was Pritam, looking right at the camera, his smile just the correct amount of confident and humble, dashing and down-to-earth. Pritam was a year younger than Rahul, and his clothes—always designer—fit well.

  His family had been using Pritam in their photo ops ever since Rahul had first been deposited at Rosetta in second grade. The first time he’d seen Pritam in his place in a photograph, he’d called home, wondering if the photographer or the newspaper had gotten it wrong. He’d been told promptly that it was no mistake, that this was what was best for the Chopra family. Two happy, smiling, socially acceptable sons.

  It usually didn’t bother him too much, seeing Pritam in his place. He’d had time and distance to accept this, that he was a shameful secret his family needed to hide. But after that debacle with DE… Rahul took a deep breath, his hand tightening around the phone, his chest aching with something he couldn’t even name. Was there any place where he belonged?

  Not bothering to answer his own silent question, Rahul put his phone away and continued his trek to class.

  CHAPTER 4

  CATERINA

  “He’s not in this class, at least,” Ava said, side-eyeing Caterina. Her entire friend group spent 95 percent of their time side-eyeing her while talking about Alaric or even the topic of dating now, as if they were afraid direct eye contact might reduce them to ash. “That’s good…?”

  Caterina maintained a carefully cultivated imperious cool as she studied Ava’s profile—her pronounced brow and famous dark, curly hair (she ran a YouTube beauty channel with over a million subscribers). Ava was of Spanish descent, and her parents were big in oil. “It’s neither good nor bad,” Caterina explained. “I told you, I couldn’t care less what he’s up to. He has nothing to do with me anymore.”

  “Of course,” Ava replied, but she and Heather exchanged a glance that Caterina wasn’t meant to see.

  “So I see they’re still a couple.” Heather aimed her cool blue gaze across the room at Leo Nguyen and Samantha Wickers. They were huddled up in the corner, laughing at something on his phone. “I honestly didn’t think that’d last more than a weekend.”

  Heather and Ava both turned to Caterina, waiting.

  This was the point in any conversation when she’d interject something sharp and witty, or derisive, depending on her mood, and her friends would laugh and agree. Caterina was like the motor to their conversational yacht; she kept things running; she gave them direction and momentum. But at that moment, she felt nothing but a deep, abiding sense of fatigue. As if just opening her mouth would cause her to lose precious oxygen and pass out. Her brain was blank; she found she didn’t care about Leo and Samantha or Alaric or even the fact that she was, once again, dressed in the hideously constricting Rosetta Academy’s maroon-and-gray uniform.

  “Cat?” Heather said, her dirty-blond eyebrows knitting together. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Caterina said faintly, wishing that for once in her life, she could actually say what she really felt. That, for once, her friends could really know what was going on with her. But her father’s words echoed in her mind: The face is more important than the flesh. If she wanted to be the one pulling the strings, if she wanted to maintain control, it was imperative that her people saw her as unflappable.

  Ms. Rivard, the AP Psychology teacher, chose to enter at that moment. She was dressed smartly, as usual, in a houndstooth pencil skirt and a gray chiffon blouse with a big loopy bow at the throat. She wore a discreet platinum-and-diamond Rosetta Academy teacher’s pin attached to her shirt. Inscribed on the pin was the Latin motto illuminare coronam—“illuminate the crown.” It glinted under the recessed lighting as she walked to the large oak desk. Ms. Rivard set her books down before turning to them.

  “Good morning, everyone.” She beamed around at them all, as if she were genuinely happy to be here. How peculiar. How could people enjoy jobs with rigid schedules and vacation time that you had to ask for and colleagues you had to pretend to like? “Welcome to your very first class of the semester, and for you seniors, the first class of your last semester in high school!”

  There were a few whoops and hoots, the vast majority of which seemed to emanate from Leo’s corner. Caterina gave him a withering look, noting briefly that Rahul Chopra was watching her, then turned back around. Decorum was a lost art.

  Ms. Rivard paced the width of the room, from the door with an inset windowpane to the large bank of windows that overlooked the mountains in the distance, covered in snow and fog. “Psychology. The study of the human mind. Is there anything more fascinating or complex? Or impossible? The truth is, we won’t ever learn everything there is to learn about the mind, not in this lifetime, anyway.” She studied their faces, her back to the windows. “Who among you would say you know your mind
completely? That you rule it, rather than the other way around?”

  A few people raised their hands, including Caterina and Rahul.

  “Mm-hmm,” Ms. Rivard said, nodding as she walked toward her desk. “There are always a handful. Okay.” She looked out at them again, her pale hands clasped under her chin, index fingers pointing upward. “Caterina. And Rahul. Why don’t you both come up to the front of the class? Oh, and bring your chairs, please.”

  Caterina frowned. “Why?”

  Ms. Rivard cocked her head, smiling. “I’m proving a point.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t get any more out of her, Caterina stifled a sigh and carried her chair to the front of the room. Rahul was a few steps ahead, carrying his chair in one hand, his feet clomping in shoes that were scuffed at the toe and heel.

  “Set the chairs up here, facing each other.” Ms. Rivard stepped aside and pointed to the vast empty space between her desk and the door to the right. “And then have a seat.”

  Caterina and Rahul did as they were asked. Rahul kept glancing at her, his big Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. Caterina looked up at Ms. Rivard, waiting.

  “Now I want you both to stare into each other’s eyes.” Ms. Rivard walked over to the light switch and dimmed the lights in the airy room. There were titters around the classroom.

  Caterina narrowed her eyes. “For how long?”

  “Ten whole minutes,” Ms. Rivard replied.

  “B-but why?” Rahul asked, his voice cracking. He licked his lips. “I mean, what’s the purpose behind all this?”

  Caterina almost felt sorry for him. But mostly, she just felt annoyed at being paraded in front of the class like a show pony.

  “I’ll tell you when we’re done, I promise,” Ms. Rivard said, patting his shoulder. She pulled her phone off the desk. “I’m setting a timer now. Look into each other’s eyes when I say ‘start,’ and don’t stop until you hear the timer go off. Got it?”

  They both nodded.

  “Start,” she said, and Caterina looked into Rahul’s brown eyes.

  RAHUL

  Why was he being forced to do this? It didn’t make any sense. If humiliation was what Ms. Rivard was after, there were so many other ways to carry it out. Asking for his opinion on the current winter fashion trends, for instance. Or making him perform the floss. Besides, Ms. Rivard didn’t really strike Rahul as the sadistic type.

  But Caterina was gazing into his eyes with her big, brown ones, like big bowls of melting, warm chocolate, and he had no choice but to stare back at her. It was weird. The longer he let himself look into her eyes, the looser he felt. Like some internal barrier that he hadn’t even known he had was crumbling, bit by bit, molecule by molecule. As minutes ticked by and he continued staring at her, the more intensely he felt that Caterina and he were the same person. Maybe not literally, but somewhere deep inside, where nerve fibers and bits of tissue lay. They were made of the same stuff. They weren’t so different after all. When they’d danced, she’d seen it, she’d felt it, just as he had. Of this he was sure.

  Another minute folded and melted and dribbled down, followed by another and another.

  And then things got really weird. Rahul began to… see things. Like a hairy mole, at the corner of Caterina’s mouth, that he was sure hadn’t been there before. And… wait. When had she grown that handlebar mustache? He blinked, but it was still there. Caterina looked extremely familiar now, except she wasn’t Caterina at all anymore. But who was she? The answer was on the tip of Rahul’s tongue, but it evaded him, jellylike and fluid.

  CATERINA

  As the minutes slipped by, Caterina lost track of them, scattered like grains of sand on a windy beach. The rustling and quiet coughing in the room vanished too, as if down a dark, silent tunnel. All that was left was Rahul’s deep brown eyes.

  She’d never noticed the strength there before. They emanated a light, almost, a quiet and steady brightness that she’d never seen in anyone else’s eyes. Suddenly she was flooded with memories of them at the dance, only her memories had the texture and quality of a moment that was taking place directly in front of her. As if she were watching a holographic projection of herself and Rahul. She saw him hesitantly wrap his arms around her waist, as if she were a very expensive, fragile glass doll, or the most precious thing he’d ever held. She saw herself put her arms around his neck and gaze into his eyes then as she was now. He’d said something that had made her laugh, though she couldn’t remember what it was now. She remembered the way it had made her feel in that dark moment, though—normal, almost happy.

  Rahul had been one of the only people who hadn’t judged her—either silently or out loud—for the things that had happened with Alaric and Daphne Elizabeth. He was one of the few who hadn’t watched in gleeful shock as she’d fallen from her throne, her Valentino dress billowing out, her crown flying off her head. He’d been tender. And comforting. And still authentically himself. He’d been exactly what she needed.

  Caterina blinked. Of course, Rahul was… so very Rahul. What made him all those things—tender, comforting, authentic—were things that placed him firmly outside her social circle. She was in the process of rebuilding her throne, and Rahul was an extra piece. There was no place for him.

  The timer rang out.

  RAHUL

  “Okay. Now, I want you to share with the class what you saw.” Ms. Rivard turned the lights back to their original brightness, which now felt searing to Rahul’s retinas. Ms. Rivard smiled at Caterina and then Rahul. “I’m willing to bet there was some weird stuff. Rahul?”

  “Uncle Bipin!” he heard himself blurt out, because the answer had just arrived in his consciousness, now that his mind and time were melting taffy. “That’s who you looked like!” He grinned, relieved at finally having the answer. But Caterina didn’t smile back. In fact, she looked kind of mad.

  “I look like… your uncle?” she asked, her pointy nose in the air.

  There were a few laughs around the classroom, which Caterina silenced with a single glance.

  Oh shit. Maybe that was too much honesty. “No, no!” Rahul leaned forward in his chair, eager to have her understand. “It was the hairy mole at the corner of your mouth. That, and your mustache.”

  Caterina folded her thin arms, her glare intensifying. “You are clearly not in control of your faculties, so I’ll wait for the episode to pass before I address what you just said to me.”

  Ms. Rivard laughed and clapped her hands together, as if she was delighted. “Rahul, what you experienced is actually pretty common! In an experiment run by researcher Giovanni Caputo, fifteen percent of healthy young individuals who had prolonged ‘interpersonal gazing’—aka eye contact—hallucinated a relative’s face in place of their partner’s face! Isn’t that fascinating?”

  Actually, it was. But Rahul couldn’t help but notice the coldness in Caterina’s gaze as she regarded him, as if he were a complete stranger. Dammit. He’d blown it. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?

  “Caterina,” Ms. Rivard continued, oblivious, the big bow on her shirt bobbing, “what did you notice? Any strange hallucinations? Or thoughts and realizations you’d never had before, perhaps?”

  Caterina continued the glacial treatment, bathing Rahul’s skin in ice. “No,” she said slowly, as if to make sure Rahul would hear. “Not a single one.”

  They returned their seats to their desks then, Caterina not even glancing at him as they walked back. Dammit. Dammit. He’d have to make this right.

  * * *

  His chance came right after class. Caterina’s friends Heather and Ava rushed off to their next class, which was across campus, leaving her alone. Rahul hurried out into the hallway and waited by the door for her, rehearsing what he’d say in his head as students from other classes rushed by. Keep it simple, Chopra, he told himself as he shifted from foot to foot. Keep it casual and cool and laugh it off. You can still salvage this. Talk about the dance. She has positive associations of
the dance, which you need right now.

  Caterina came gliding out a moment later, engrossed in her phone, her hair cascading forward and hiding part of her beautiful face as she stared down at the screen.

  “C-Caterina,” Rahul said, annoyed that he seemed to always develop a stammer when he spoke to her. “Hi.”

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes blank at first. Then, slipping her phone into the pocket of her uniform skirt, she came up to him. “Hi. Are you going to tell me more about your Uncle Bipin?”

  She didn’t smile when she said it, which made Rahul nervous. Was she serious? He forced a laugh. “Ha. No. Um. Sorry about that. I was just—”

  “Hallucinating.” Still no smile. God, she was making him sweat.

  “Right.” Rahul pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Listen, I just wanted to say, about the dance, I had a good time.” Whoa. That came out relatively well. No stammering, no anxious gulping, just a bit of sweat. A solid B performance. Rahul smiled to himself, pleased.

  Caterina continued to stare at him.

  His smile faded. “Um. And I was wondering—”

  “Rahul. Let me stop you right there. The dance was just a dance, okay? It was just the one night and it doesn’t mean anything else.” Her eyes softened for a moment just as his heart went crumbling to dust in his chest. “It can’t mean anything else. I’m sor—”

  “Caterina. I need to speak with you at once.”

  They both swiveled toward the male voice to see Alaric standing behind Caterina, looking slightly annoyed. A range of expressions crossed Caterina’s face that Rahul caught only because he’d spent so much time staring at her. Curiosity, annoyance of her own, anger, distaste. She turned back to Rahul. “Just a minute, Rahul.”

  He nodded and stepped off to the side, pulling his phone out to play a round of speed chess against kingedyourass, a Russian chess player he hadn’t managed to beat yet.