Chapter 1 #2
Wrong, another voice pops up in support. You had alcohol for the first time in your life!
And you couldn’t even do that right comes as a quick and easy rebuttal from—
“Don’t worry,” Amrit says, interrupting the argument flaring between the two Krishnas in my brain. He pinches my cheek, making
warmth prickle under his touch. “If I ever come to the US, the first thing I’m going to do is hit you up.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He bumps his shoulder with mine. “It’s a date.”
Before I have the chance to make any use of that signal to salvage the night, the balcony door slides open once more, and
Srishti pokes her head out. “Krishna, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Chakna is here, and I—Are you sitting next to
someone’s barf?” Her nose scrunches up with disgust.
Srishti’s my favorite cousin—a title previously held by Priti, before . . . well, before she decided to become a Grade A bitch
instead. Srishti’s a year younger than me, but we’re a pair of inseparable nerdy queers, only out to each other in our extended
family. She’s also probably the only person I know who’s read even more than I have. We’re barely halfway through the year,
and she’s already met her reading goal of thirty books. Mine’s withering at ten, unfortunately.
“That’s my barf,” I say, ears pricking at the mention of chakna. I’m perennially hungry and have the appetite of a teenage boy, so it’s
a wonder my metabolism keeps up with me. It works overtime, and I don’t give it nearly as much credit as it deserves.
“???, ???,”* Amrit says. “I’m sure you’re famished.”
He knows me entirely too well.
He gets to his feet, and I try, but I can barely keep my head up, let alone my five-foot-three frame of flesh, bone, and blood that’s more chai than water. Thankfully, Amrit grins down at me and sticks his hand out, pulling me up, and I stumble against him.
Inside, everyone’s huddling around the kitchen island, which is piled with chakna—Lay’s, Kurkure, Bikaner aloo bhujia, Doritos,
and dips to go along with it. Divija didi, angel that she is, is paying the Swiggy delivery guy at the front door.
Not needing any more motivation, I grab a disposable cup and pile it with snacks. I’m starving and severely hangry, and the
loud chatter and music are not helping.
Srishti drags me to the corner once I’ve filled the cup to the brim with all the chakna I can probably jam in, her eyebrows
raised. Her short, straight hair is pinned back with orange butterfly clips, matching the rims of her glasses and oversize
T-shirt. She looks like a middle grader—severely out of place here.
“So?” she demands.
I don’t respond; my mouth is stuffed with aloo bhujia.
“Krishna!” she hisses. “After all that talk last night about grabbing his face and kissing his perfect lips—as unappealing
as that sounds to my asexual ass—I’ve been dying to know. How did it go? And why was there barf?”
“I nearly threw up all over him.”
“You what?”
I painfully chew and swallow the mouthful of bhujia, the salt coating the snack only furthering my dehydration. “I think it
was the chole bhature.”
“Or the four shots of vodka you chugged earlier.”
“Not you too, please,” I say, grimacing.
“Priti already gave me shit about it. Jumped at the chance to say I told you so the minute she could. Speaking of, the two of them—Rudra and Priti—were on the balcony when I ran out. And Priti, she was crying. Or at least I think she was, because her eye makeup was running down her face.”
“Priti?” Srishti looks just as baffled as I feel. “Ice Queen Priti?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“That’s so weird.” Srishti frowns at Priti, who’s standing to the side with Rudra, both drinking beers straight from the bottles.
“Although, she has been off this whole summer. I know she’s always avoided you, but usually she’s at least cordial with the rest of us. I’ve
barely spoken a word to her this time. Who knows what’s going on with her?”
I certainly don’t know, but my curiosity is piqued. Not that I’ll ever find out, because Priti hates me. I’m the last person
in the world she’d ever deign to confide in.
Believe it or not, we used to be best friends once. Sharing Barbie dolls and playing with them for hours, watching cartoons
while devouring Nani’s buttery pav bhaji, and attending Mulund’s summer camps together. But that was before Papa got a job
in the US and we moved abroad when I was ten.
Somewhere along the line, the 7,509 miles between Priti and me made us drift apart. Because when I came back the first summer
after we emigrated, I found I’d completely lost Priti. She had a new best friend now: Rudra.
Ever since, my trips to India have been ruined by her constantly making faces in response to everything I do and say. Sure,
my acquired accent, slang, and mannerisms have everyone here believing me to be cooler than I am, and Srishti often jokingly
(and proudly) introduces me as her One and Only American Cousin, but Priti’s more sardonic about it.
While Desis brought up in India are unnecessarily enamored with the US, which isn’t all that great, they’re also quick to judge, like my cousins automatically assuming I wouldn’t sleep in the room without the AC because I’m too delicate.
Or, if you’re Priti, mocking me at the dinner table in front of everyone for pronouncing words and sentences wrong in Hindi.
Just because I’ve spent almost half my life in the US doesn’t make me any less Indian. I’ve been brought up by the woman who’s
also Priti’s aunt. Growing up, we might’ve been worlds apart, but our values are the same, and Priti forgets that. Or maybe
she knows it and she just doesn’t want to miss out on the chance to provoke me, to prick me where it hurts most.
“Off topic,” Srishti says, dragging me back to the present. “But he’s looking at you.”
“Who? Amrit?”
“No, Rudra.”
I start turning my head in his direction, the one she’s not-so-discreetly glancing in, but she smacks me. Hard.
“Ow!” I protest, rubbing my arm.
“Don’t you know the rules?” Srishti whisper-scolds me. “When someone says a hot guy’s looking at you, the last thing you do is turn to look at them.”
“Did you just say hot and Rudra in the same sentence?”
“Why, you don’t think he’s hot?” Srishti leans toward me. “Okay, you can look now. He’s talking to Priti again.”
I turn back to look at them, threading my eyebrows together. Priti’s whispering something to Rudra. “I . . . guess? He has
a nice ponytail.”
“Fits his whole mysterious-guy-in-a-hoodie vibe.”
“Did you know that ninety-five percent of mysterious guys in hoodies are stalkers?” my cousin and Srishti’s younger brother, Manas, says, walking up to us. “Don’t tell me you guys are crushing on Rudra.”
Srishti glowers. “Were you seriously eavesdropping?”
“You’re loud.”
“Get out of my face.”
My attention is still on Rudra, who, by the way, does have a nice alignment of features. Dark eyebrows, deep-set eyes, square jaw, sharp nose. And, of course, there’s the ponytail
in question: dark, wavy hair that usually falls just short of his shoulders, now in a messy bundle, stray strands framing
his face.
Huh.
But he isn’t someone I’d crush on, even in my dreams. My type talks. I’m into sunshine boys, like Amrit. And I used to have a huge crush on this cute sunshine girl in my sophomore year. She
was the whole reason I figured out I was bi.
As if sensing I’m staring at him, Rudra suddenly looks in my direction. There’s a sort of coldness to his features, much like
Priti’s, a jarring contrast to the momentary tenderness I spotted when he handed me the water earlier.
I jerk my head away immediately, embarrassed to have been caught staring at Rudra, of all people, even though he technically got caught looking at me first. Priti was probably griping about me to him.
God, to think those initial summers in India I used to be jealous of Rudra because I hated that he took my place as Priti’s
best friend, even though none of it was his fault. It was Priti who let me down.
They’re perfect for each other, in every way, I think bitterly, even though I’ve long put that envy behind me.
I find that Srishti and Manas are still arguing, so I head to the island to stock up on more chakna, when Amrit approaches, looking painfully sad. My hopes crumble to dust, and he doesn’t have to say it for me to know. But he does.
“Hey,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I have to go.”
“Right now?” Amrit’s house is five minutes away, and I haven’t had the chance to say a proper goodbye. This horrible night is coming
to a close a lot quicker than I anticipated.
“Mom’s already called twice, and we have to leave for the airport in a few hours.” Amrit cracks a lopsided smile. “You know
how it is with dads.”
I know exactly how it is. I know that even though Amrit’s flight isn’t until seven in the morning, they’re going to end up
at the airport three hours early because Desi dads are super paranoid about that sort of thing.
“So this is really it, huh?” I say, swallowing thickly.
I feel shittier about this than I thought I would, than I was prepared for.
“I guess it is.”
“Have you booked an auto yet?”
“Yes, it’s waiting for me downstairs.”
“I’ll drop you,” I say, setting my cup aside. But I don’t even make it two wobbly steps before Amrit takes my arm.
“Krishna,” Amrit says firmly but kindly. “You’re probably still out of it. Sober up and hydrate yourself. I’ll manage.” And
for one wild moment, when he leans in toward me, I think he’s about to finally kiss me.
But his arms go around me, and he hugs me instead.
Surprisingly enough, I find myself feeling grateful, because despite everything, I don’t think I’m mentally or physically prepared for a kiss. Not right now. Not with a boy who’s leaving, who I’m never going to get to see again.
I shut my eyes, my chin resting in the crook of his shoulder, savoring his warmth, before he pulls back, his eyes glittering.
“I’ll see you around, Krish.”
“Have fun at the wedding” is all I can get myself to say before he steps away, putting space between us again. I don’t know
what to feel, what to think right now. All I know is I’m going to miss this human version of a golden retriever.
As he wades through the crowd and to the door, pausing briefly to thank Rajeev bhaiya for hosting the party, I know I’m going
to regret this tomorrow. But my feet don’t move, rooted to the floor, as I watch him leave.
I can feel Priti’s and Rudra’s gazes on me, burning into the side of my cheek, but I don’t turn to them, too tired, too dehydrated,
and more than a little crushed.
The petrifying feeling of knowing I’m headed to college with zero romantic skill or experience begins to settle in. Maybe
it’s time I accept the truth.
This is who I’m always meant to be—studious, high-strung, high-achieving, risk-averse, inexperienced Krishna Kumar, who’s yet
again found herself at the end of a house party without having closed the deal.
A split second before Amrit walks out the front door, he turns around and mouths See you soon at me. I mouth It’s a date back at him, making him smile again.
Srishti comes over and loops her arm through mine, and her citrusy scent replaces the aroma of Amrit’s lavender-and-mint soap.
“It’s okay, boo,” she says. “You can cry on my shoulder if you want. My tee is waterproof.”
“No thanks.” I laugh and lay my head on Srishti’s shoulder as the door shuts behind Amrit, watching my Raj walk away from me.
Too dramatic, Krishna.
Guess I am going to end up being the only college freshman who’s never been kissed, after all.