Chapter 18
EVERETT
M y parents died when I was thirteen. It’s unfortunate because I can’t claim that I don’t have any memories of them.
I remember everything.
If it had happened when I was a baby or even before like second grade, it would’ve been easier to deal with, right?
I’d have always grown up with my grandma, and I wouldn’t have known anything different.
But that wasn’t the case. I had to adjust to a new way of life.
That took months, and honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same as I was before that day.
The day they died.
I was asleep, and it was around midnight.
I woke up to the worst sound I’d ever heard: my grandma wailing.
I immediately knew something was wrong, so I didn’t move from my bed.
I just sat there, hugging my knees and trying my best to hear what was going on downstairs.
I could hear the voices of our neighbors, Jahnvi’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Patel, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
When I heard the stairs creak, I immediately lay back down and pretended to be asleep.
For some reason, the only thing I could think of was how mad my mom would be if she caught me up again at midnight.
She always told me that I was as grouchy as a bear fresh out of hibernation in the mornings when I didn’t get enough sleep.
I heard my bedroom door swing open and footsteps in my room.
They were heavy, so I knew it wasn’t my grandma.
The person turned on the blue lamp on my bedside table, and I remember making a big act of being woken up.
I grumbled and rubbed my eyes, pretending that I hadn’t been up for the past half hour.
It was Mr. Patel, Jahnvi’s dad.
“I’m sorry for waking you up, Everett,” he said softly as he sat on the corner of my bed. Jahnvi and her family were Gujarati, but only Mr. Patel knew how to speak in Tamil, which was what our family spoke.
He spoke in Tamil with me that night.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, already knowing the answer. With this much fuss, something definitely was up. I never would’ve guessed the next few words that came out of his mouth though. I remember asking, “Where are my parents?”
That night is something I’ve never been able to recount. I mean, sure, I can tell you what I did. I cried and hugged a book against my chest the rest of the night after Mr. Patel left. I didn’t move from my bed for hours until Mr. Patel dragged me out for breakfast a few hours later.
But the emotions I felt? They are something I could never put into words. They were forever etched into my brain, but I could never explain them to anyone.
I don’t even remember what book I had been clutching that night. My mom had always been on my case for not reading enough. “Go, look at Jahnvi,” she’d say. “I always see her at the library. Why can’t you be more like her?”
The day before the accident, she’d grabbed a random book off the shelves of the library and given it to me to read.
And I haven’t touched a book for leisure since. But I’ll never return that one she gave me.
“You don’t like reading?” Jahnvi spoke softly, but even that was very loud in the pitch-silent library.
Well, almost silent. The printer I was using was ancient and took forever, making loud beeps.
But the security guard had fallen asleep on his chair outside, so I wasn’t too stressed.
I looked behind me from the corner where I was printing my flyers.
Jahnvi was by the bookshelves, one hand holding a book open so that she could read the flap and one hand holding her phone flashlight.
The dim white light illuminated her face, making it look like she was telling ghost stories.
It’s not that I didn’t like reading. I just couldn’t.
But that’s not what I told her, of course. “Jahnvi, I despise reading.” I laughed. “Like, I would rather get burned alive.”
“Okay, well, maybe you just haven’t found the right book!”
“I doubt it.” I turned away from her back to my printer.
The printer stopped its dull whirring noise, and the last flyer popped out. I picked up the warm paper and straightened it out in my hands. Walking over to a desk near the printer, I grabbed a rubber band to keep all the flyers together. I planned on taping them around town tomorrow.
Without the printer, the dark library was even quieter. I could hear a faint chirping of crickets from outside and Jahnvi’s footsteps as she walked up behind me.
“You know, I can help you,” she said softly.
Tentative Jahnvi was someone I hadn’t met before. I turned around. “Help me with what?”
“I, well, could find you a book you like?” She smiled at me, still holding a book in her hands. Something was off; I could sense it.
I leaned on the table. “Jahnvi, why would you help me if you don’t get anything out of it?”
“Rude!” she hissed. “Maybe I’m just trying to do a nice thing!”
“Ha! Are your fingers crossed behind your back?”
She continued to glare at me and crossed her arms. “You were...right.”
“You’ll have to clarify; that happens a lot.”
She smacked my arm. “About the library thing. I can’t keep sneaking around at night; you’re right. I, well, need you to teach me how to drive.”
I scoffed, “Sorry to tell you, Jahnvi, but I think that ship has sailed. You failed, what, four times?”
“Hey, it was three times! And look, they weren’t even my fault. I just kept getting bad instructors. I bet you didn’t pass your first time!”
“I did pass my first time.”
“R-really? Anyway, that’s not the point! Can you or can you not teach me?”
“Can’t you ask your parents?”
“They’re, um, too busy?”
“So, they gave up on you and your driving capabilities?”
“Just answer my question, Everett,” she told me through gritted teeth.
I was really just messing with her anyway. If teaching her how to drive would keep her from walking dark roads, then I would be more than happy to help her. Well, if I could teach her how to drive. I’d seen her drive down our street before.
“I can teach you how to drive, Pickles. Just, please don’t kill me. I’d really love to live long enough to see nineteen.”
“I’m not horrible!”
“Remember that one time you ran over Ms. Smith’s mailbox?”
“It was placed in a very weird spot, okay!”
“R i-i ght.” I laughed. She was smiling too, “Whatever. Tomorrow after school, I’m leaving to get sugar bags—”
“Sugar bags? Like sacks? What are you cooking that needs whole sacks of sugar?”
How was she always so clueless? I paused for a minute to collect myself before answering. “Hey, Jahnvi, I don’t know if you’re aware, but I do have that super big catering order for a huge Indian wedding where I have to make pounds of sweets. And for that, I need sacks of sugar.”
“Oh, why can’t you just get them ordered? My dad gets them from a bunch of guys who unload them right into our restaurant storage room from their truck.”
“And, obviously, that costs more, and I want to save every dime I can.”
“Ohhh.”
“Yeahhh.” I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “We’re leaving right after school tomorrow, so meet me at the entrance. Now, let me walk you home.”
“But I haven’t gotten to my side of the deal—”
“Oh please Jahnvi! Don’t make me read a book. I’m already forced to sit next to you behind the wheel; don’t make me pick up a book too!”