American as Paneer Pie Page 9

  I shut the door behind me, muting the thumping music that I would have had no problem dancing to in my room but couldn’t stand hearing here. It was strange. It was the first time I could remember that I missed Oakridge while in Detroit.

  chapter SIXTEEN

  I didn’t have to miss Oakridge or my friends for too long. The Monday after Thanksgiving, Noah, Avantika, and I were back together again.

  “You should have come to Maya’s,” I said to Avantika as she walked down her driveway to join Noah and me on the street. “You would’ve had fun.” And I bet she would have seen how uncomfortable I was on the dance floor, said something, and given me company around the dessert table instead of forcing me to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.

  Avantika shrugged, hiding her hands in her pockets. “I didn’t grow up with Thanksgiving. It was just a normal Thursday to us. Besides, I used the time to finish my op-ed for December. It’s about how the internet makes the world smaller. I wrote about how I get to talk online with my friends and family in India all the time, even though we live thousands of miles away from other.”

  “Neat,” I said, thinking about how Maya’s ajoba barely saw his family after he moved to America, since there was no internet then. Luckily, before I could feel myself getting sad again, the three of us began to walk down the street.

  Oakridge’s downtown was just around the corner from our neighborhood. Aai and Dad used to walk long distances to school as kids in India, so they never had any issues with me walking two streets down to the stores on Main Street in daylight when I was with Noah.

  “Have you started brainstorming for your op-ed yet?” Avantika asked.

  Noah shook his head on my behalf. “She thinks she doesn’t have a strong opinion on anything.”

  “We’re not all as lucky as you, Noah.” I grinned. “You have a strong opinion about everything.”

  “You do too. I told you that before. You just choose not to share it,” Noah said, picking up the pace. “Now come on, or it will close before we get there.”

  I sped up, thinking it was a good thing my bod-Aai-guard wasn’t here to slow us down. We were on a mission. Noah had written the first draft of his January op-ed for Mr. Crowe. Noah liked it so much, he wanted to mail it in to Musings, his favorite magazine, which published stuff written by kids. And we had to get it to the post office before they closed at 5:00 p.m. if he was going to meet their deadline for next month’s edition.

  I pulled the light-gray, bunny-eared hat Noah’s dad had crocheted for me over my own ears and tried to get everyone to pick up the pace so my legs, which I was positive were now two icicles, would not break off. Avantika looked even worse than me. Her teeth were clattering against each other so loudly, she could barely even contribute to our conversation.

  “Just think,” said Noah, a frosty puff emerging from his mouth like he was a dragon. “In six weeks, I could be a published reporter.”

  “You are … published,” Avantika said, shivering. “I … saw … your article … when I moved here. … Poop paintings … and swimming. … Remember?”

  “You are so cold. Do you like bunnies? Or foxes? Those are pretty much the only two hats my dad can make,” said Noah, pointing to his fox hat. “Or a sharkphin, but I highly suggest you not get a sharkphin.”

  I grinned at Noah and turned to Avantika. I didn’t want “sharkphin” to turn into a “Breadstick Boy” inside joke. “It’s that weird hat Noah wore when we first met you on Halloween.”

  “Ah,” said Avantika, shivering even harder. “I’ll … stick to … bunnies and foxes, then.”

  “Yeah, they’re not perfect, but they’re warm,” said Noah. “You need a thicker hat if you’re going to make it through this winter.”

  “Luckily, she doesn’t have to suffer for too long,” I said, sparing my molar-clanging friend some words.

  “Oh, right,” said Noah. “I almost forgot. India. Lucky you.”

  Avantika was lucky. So were Tanvi and Maya. They got to join the rest of the Desis in the country on their annual Christmas-break trip to India. Summer vacation was way longer, but India was just too hot then for a lot of the kids born here (and for Maya’s ajoba). And the monsoon was during summer too. There were too many mosquitoes and stomach bugs during the monsoon.

  We used to go every other year, on the odds, to India in December. It was such a strange feeling to leave Michigan freezing and get off the plane breathing in hot air in Mumbai, and I missed it. But a lot of doctors had left the clinic a few years ago, and Dad was working way more shifts than he normally did, including working almost every Christmas. So we had to skip the trip last December, when I was ten.

  “Come on. Ten minutes to five,” said Noah, glancing at his cell phone.

  We jogged onto Main, rushing for the post office. There was a big line in front of it, ten people long, gathered by the streetlamp draped in a Christmas garland and bright red bow.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” exclaimed Noah, throwing his hands into the air so quickly, he almost lost the manila envelope between the puffy, oversize fingers of his ski gloves. “Did the whole world decide to mail something on the exact day I need this to go out?”

  But as we got closer, we quickly realized the people weren’t in line for the post office. They were protesting in front of it. One wore a faded shirt with the union logo from the plant. The others had homemade signs and lawn signs for Abigail Winters. One man was as red as Aai’s cranberry lonche as he led the chant: “Let me hear you shout! Foreigners, out!”

  Avantika grabbed my elbow.

  “This is what happens when hate goes unchecked,” Noah muttered under his breath. “When people don’t speak up.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as Avantika.

  “Just run past them and don’t look at them,” said Noah, linking my other arm, as Avantika yanked the post office door open and we ran inside.

  Even though the doors were closed and the heat was blowing loudly, we could still hear the chants outside the post office. Luckily, no one was in line except for one lady with a familiar-looking gray bun, who was looking over some pamphlets the protestors were handing out.

  “Mrs. Finch?” asked Noah.

  The lunch lady looked up from her reading. “Oh!” she said, recognizing us. She quickly hid the pamphlets in her purple wool coat’s pocket. “Having a good evening?”

  We nodded. Mrs. Finch went up to the counter for her turn, and Avantika and Noah began whispering about how scary the protestors outside were. But I couldn’t participate. I was too busy staring at Mrs. Finch’s pocket and wondering who else in our town had papers full of hate hidden in theirs.

  chapter SEVENTEEN

  Three weeks later a few snowflakes were finally falling, despite the unusually warm winter evening, during our last swim practice before my first swim meet as a Dolphin. It was also the start of Christmas break, and since Avantika was going to India for three weeks the afternoon of the meet, we had decided to have another sleepover tonight, this time at my house, right after practice, while her parents finished packing.

  I put off thinking about what old movie I should ask Dad to find in his DVD collection for Avantika and me to watch and focused on the pool. The aqua-blue water was full of movement from all the relay teams and individual practices going on. But despite all that friction in the water, our two-hundred-yard-medley relay team was getting along great.

  That’s because we were swimming great. Harper and I were consistently within a second of our tryout times, if not matching them. Kendall’s breaststroke form was getting better each week, and Aidy had gotten really fast at the fly, even better than she already was, if that was possible. She even beat Lizzie’s old time on it. Coach Turner had no doubt we were going to beat our biggest competition, the Preston Porpoises, tomorrow at our first meet.

  “We should celebrate,” Aidy said as we fought off the post-shower shivers while changing into our sweats in the locker r
oom.

  They were navy blue with a gray dolphin over our hearts, and so plush that I felt like I was in a cocoon the moment I got the sweatshirt over my misshapen swim cap.

  “How about a group dinner?” asked Kendall. “We could go to Joe’s again.”

  Please. Not another Breadstick Boy joke I won’t get to be a part of.

  “I’m tired of Breadstick Boy,” said Harper.

  I breathed a little easier. Maybe they would pick someplace closer to home, and Aai could wait in the parking lot while I ate with my team before my sleepover with Avantika.

  “How about the steak house?”

  I closed my eyes and braced for the sharp stings all around my scalp as I pulled the swimming cap off as slowly as I could. The steak house was in downtown Oakridge, right around the corner from our house. But the steak house meant I’d be the one asking all the questions, and the answers would still make me look like an outsider as I interrogated the server to find out what broth was in the soup of the day, if the goat cheese had animal rennet in it, and if the fries had beef tallow, before eventually giving up and nibbling on some leaves while everyone else got to stuff themselves. I didn’t want leaves. I was starving after this swim. Besides, I needed to get home for our sleepover, and Aai needed time to cook the popcorn on the stove like we lived in the 1980s or something.

  “I have an even better idea,” said Harper. “School’s out. So why don’t we order pizza and have a sleepover at my house? We’re already in matching PJs,” she added, modeling her Dolphins sweats.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, unzipping my duffel bag with the bright purple advertisement for some medicine on it, which a pharmacy rep had given Dad.

  “Is it your mom again? She is so strict,” said Kendall, looking sympathetic.

  “No, that’s not it,” I said. “I have something tonight.”

  “More important than team bonding?” asked Aidy, looking annoyed. “You can’t keep missing team bonding. Is it some Indian thing again?”

  I slouched in my spot, the burden of Aidy’s words on my shoulders. “It’s not that. I … I have another sleepover.”

  I felt my throat grow dry as I watched Aidy give Harper a look.

  “With Noah?” Harper asked.

  I shook my head. “Someone else.”

  “Who else could it possibly be?” Aidy asked, pulling her coat on.

  I stared at the tiny tiles below my feet, envious of how similar they all were to each other. “Avantika.”

  Aidy’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. It really is an Indian thing.”

  There they were. Those words that felt like an anchor, pulling me down. Like School Lekha, or any version of me, wasn’t worthy of being included with Aidy. Like I wasn’t good enough to be a part of her team because I was just too different. Just too Indian. My insides tightened into a knot as I stood there in silence.

  “Come on, Aidy,” Harper said, stuffing her towel into her wet-bag.

  “What? At some point she has to decide.” Aidy looked at me. “Do you want to fit in with us or do you want to fit in with her?”

  Harper moved next to me. “It’s before our first meet together. Teammates stick together, remember?”

  I turned my back to the girls, grabbing my bobby pins from my bag. How was this happening? After a lifelong sleepover drought, it was finally a sleepover monsoon? Maya had gone to India once in the summer, right before school started, during the monsoon, and come home with a stomach bug. I could sympathize. My belly was aching during this downpour.

  I had invited Avantika to my house. She was leaving for India the next day. We were going to pig out and watch movies and crack up just like we did at her house. But this was the first time anyone else from school had ever invited me for a sleepover. I wanted to fit in. And this was my team. Teammates stuck together. And Aai had promised she would think about the next invite I got, if it was reasonable. Plus, Avantika was leaving for India the next day. She probably should be resting before her twenty-hour trip to India.

  “Okay.” I nodded, turning back to them, my bindi covered, as I forced a smile. “I’m in.”

  I rubbed my hand over my tummy, wondering just what I was going to say to get out of the sleepover with Avantika and convince my mom to let me go to the team sleepover, when my team practically crushed me in a group hug.

  “Call her and cancel,” Aidy said, drawing back from our huddle.

  “I don’t have a phone.” I was stalling, but it was because I was starting to feel a little barfy, thinking about how to spare Avantika’s feelings while still making sure Aidy, Kendall, and Harper really thought I was one of them.

  “Lucky for you, I do.” Kendall pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

  “Shouldn’t I make sure my mom says yes first?”

  “No.” Aidy giggled. “What you should do first is cancel. Your mom already said yes to a sleepover tonight. What does it matter if the location and people at the sleepover change?”

  I bet it would matter to Avantika if she found out, I thought as I pulled my emergency contact list out of my bag and found Avantika’s number on it.

  “Put it on speaker,” Aidy added.

  I nodded, my stomach feeling heavy. It was what Aai always told me to do when I used her cell phone, to avoid nuking my brain. But this felt different. This wasn’t out of concern for my health. This was to hear someone else get hurt.

  I tried to straighten my slouching spine a bit. “Sometimes there’s too much static on speakerphone … ,” I tried.

  “Not Kenny’s. It’s brand-new,” Aidy replied.

  “Right.” I looked over the keys on the shiny new phone, but my hand didn’t budge. It was like it was so heavy, I couldn’t move it. But I had to do this. Nothing I could say would change anyone’s mind anyway. So I dialed, my belly throbbing when Avantika picked up.

  “Hey, I’m pretty exhausted after practice.”

  Aidy giggled loudly until Harper elbowed her. “Shh!”

  “What was that?” asked Avantika on the other end.

  “Nothing. I’m at the pool. Anyway, I’m really tired and … and we have our big meet tomorrow. Would you mind if we canceled tonight?”

  Avantika paused. I felt terrible. She was disappointed. But after a breath I could hear her smiling on the phone again.

  “Totally. I understand. I should probably help my parents pack anyway.”

  I exhaled. The lie had worked. And Avantika would never know everyone heard me cancel on her.

  “I’ll see you before you leave tomorrow,” I added, trying to remind myself I was a good friend.

  “Sounds great. Bye!”

  “Bye!” shouted Aidy, before doubling over the bench in a fit of giggles.

  “Who said that—”

  I hung up as fast as I could.

  “Easy-peasy,” said Harper, heading around the lockers to the exit. “Now just tell your mom plans have changed.”

  Still feeling a little nauseated, I rushed out to Aai, who was waiting by the lobby desk by herself, since Dad was still at the clinic. I looked back. Aidy, Kendall, and their parents started talking to Harper’s mom by the exit. It was like Diwali all over again.

  “Avantika isn’t coming over tonight,” I said shakily, even though that part wasn’t a lie.

  “She’s not?”

  I shook my head, trying to sound as natural as I could. “I forgot to tell you. They’re busy packing,” I added, a little shocked at how easy it was to come up with such a big fib. “And lucky for me, my team is having a sleepover at Harper’s tonight. And you promised you’d think about letting me go.”

  “If the circumstances were right,” Aai said. “You know I don’t like you sleeping at a stranger’s.”

  “She’s not a stranger. I’ve gone to school with her forever. She lives by the river. And it’s not Diwali. Or Sankrant, or Holi, or Gudhi Padwa, or Ganpati, or any of the other hundreds of holidays we have. Please?”

  “Give me a minute to think, Lekh
a.”

  “If I keep missing team events, how can I be part of the team? Please. I just want to be normal, like everyone else.”

  Aai sighed as we neared Harper and her mom under the exit sign. “You are normal. But you’re not like everyone else. You’re you.”

  “You coming?” asked Harper, hopping impatiently from foot to foot.

  I looked at Aai, who began the eternity-long process of introducing herself, explaining we were vegetarian, and asking if Harper’s mom kept any guns in the house. Mrs. Walbourne looked annoyed when Aai followed up with, “Are you sure?” But after the Walbournes passed the test, Aai patted me on the head and said, “I hope you girls have a great time tonight.”

  I beamed. “I’ll pack my stuff and see you guys soon,” I said, waving to Harper as I ran across the frosty parking lot and got into our car.

  “It’s just too bad Avantika couldn’t join you guys,” said Aai as she started the car.

  I looked outside the foggy window, running my finger across the cold glass to draw my cow on it. Just like the condensation I wiped off the window, my excitement disappeared too, as the guilty feeling started churning at my intestines again. Where was that delicious digestive when I needed it?

  Oh, right. At Avantika’s house.

  chapter EIGHTEEN

  As the lights twinkled brightly on the large artificial Christmas tree in the family room behind us, I stared at the table full of food laid out before me, Kendall, Aidy, Harper, and Harper’s six-year-old brother, Harrison, in the Walbournes’ small kitchen. It was loaded with candy and chocolate and an extra-large cheese pizza. I smiled, thinking about how Dad used to teach me the order of the planets by reciting a song that said, “My very educated mother just served us nine pizza pies.” After I reminded Dad that Pluto had gotten kicked out of the planet club, he ordered a “pizza pie” in its honor, and since then, every time Aai made pizza, Dad would start the meal by holding his slice up against ours as if we were clinking glasses, but instead of “Cheers,” he’d say, “To our dear friend in the sky, good old pizza pie.”