by Sabina Khan
“I’m so sorry...I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?” He pulled his hand out of the locker while he gingerly touched his forehead with the other. It was bleeding. Great. Now I felt awful.
“I think I’ll live,” he said, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a most appealing way. He looked at his fingers, which had a smudge of blood on them. I pulled a pack of Kleenex from my locker and offered it to him.
“I’m so sorry...” I said again, clearly unable to say anything more coherent. He was really tall, I observed while he dabbed at his forehead with a wad of tissues. “Do you think you should go see the nurse?” He was still bleeding.
“Nah...I’ll be fine, it’s just a little cut.” Of their own volition, my eyes wandered down from his face and I noticed the ends of what looked like a tattoo peeking out from under the neckline of his blue T-shirt. They were some sort of swirly lines, the black ink standing out prominently on his brown skin. I couldn’t help wondering what the rest of the tattoo looked like.
“By the way, I’m Shiv,” he said, crumpling up the now bloody ball of tissues. It looked like the bleeding had stopped.
“I’m Callie. I don’t remember seeing you here before.” I knew most of the kids in our grade. It wasn’t a very big school, and a lot of us had gone to the same elementary school.
“We just moved here a week ago. So I’m still finding my way around.” He looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m going to get my books out of the locker now,” he said, bending down but keeping his eyes on me. “So don’t say I didn’t give you a fair warning.”
God, his eyes were delicious. I felt like I was drowning in a pool of hot chocolate. Get a hold of yourself, Callie. I didn’t normally swoon over boys, but I had to admit there was something about Shiv. And it wasn’t his exotic looks, the dark, smoldering eyes or even the black hair that curled enticingly at the base of his neck. After all, thanks to my mom’s Indian side of the family, there had always been plenty of eligible boys paraded in front of me since I’d turned sixteen. But none of them had interested me even the slightest bit. Most of them seemed to me like momma’s boys, incapable of finding a girlfriend on their own. Plus I had always been too focused on school to pay attention to them. Thankfully, my parents treated all interest from the Indian aunties as nothing more than Bollywood-style entertainment. But there was something about this guy that had me all hot and bothered.
I shook myself mentally. What I needed was to pull myself together. Shiv was looking at me expectantly and I realized he was waiting for a witty retort. Unfortunately, I had none so I just gave him a watery smile and blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “Why don’t I show you around? I mean, it’s the least I can do, considering that I wounded you.”
Really, Callie? I said to myself. That’s the best you can do?
His eyes brightened and he smiled again. Something warm and fuzzy bubbled deep inside me. Well, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. I would show him around, he would say or do something asinine and I would get over the instant crush that I seemed to have developed in the last fifteen minutes. End of story.
He got his books out of the locker, slammed it shut with a resounding clang and stood up. We walked together toward the plaza where all the ‘cool’ kids hung out during lunch. I was strangely curious to see how the Bitch Squad would react to him. That was my personal name for Dahlia Evans and her groupies. I didn’t even know all their names, but they hung around Dahlia all the time like bees swarming around their queen. More like Queen Bitch.
As I walked toward the plaza and saw Dahlia and her entourage, I just wanted to see her face when I walked in with Shiv. I checked him out surreptitiously, trying to see him the way Dahlia might. She would see a tall, gorgeous hunk with dark tattoos on his neck and arms. I realized now that there were more swirly lines showing from beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. Once again, I found myself wondering what they looked like.
Dahlia looked up when she saw me approach. I wish I had a video camera to record the way her mouth shifted from its usual disdainful droop whenever she saw me to a slightly open look of disbelief when she noticed Shiv standing next to me. I couldn’t help myself. I moved the slightest bit closer to Shiv as we walked right past them to where Ben was sitting with his basketball buddies. Ben was my best friend, had been ever since that day in grade two when he had stood up to Dahlia for me. Dahlia and I had history; I’d hated her since elementary school, ever since she took my lunch box, in which my mom had packed my favorite chutney sandwiches. I loved the potato slices, layered with spicy tamarind and cilantro paste, topped with the salty Amul cheese slices, my favorite cheese from my years in Kolkata.
It was hard at first, after we moved. I had to leave behind all my friends, my cousins and all the things I knew and loved. But I had made friends quickly and adjusted well. But Dahlia, who was used to being the center of attention, didn’t appreciate the newbie from India with the weird lunches. So she took my sandwich and held it up for everyone to see. She called it a puke sandwich, squeezing it until the green sauce dripped on the floor. I didn’t know what to do, especially when everyone turned to stare and talk about puke. That’s when Ben had stood up and walked over to Dahlia. He took the sandwich from her and bit into it. Then he proclaimed that it was the yummiest he’d ever eaten. That was ten years ago. Ben and I had been inseparable ever since. He practically lived at our house, having developed a taste for my mother’s spicy Indian cooking. And he always looked out for me.
“Hey guys,” I said now, walking up to them. “This is Shiv. He just moved here.” The guys all shook hands, mumbling introductions. I could see Ben sizing him up. He was always very protective of me, especially when it came to other guys. Everyone would always tease us about our close relationship, but I never saw Ben in that way. He was my best friend, and nothing was worth jeopardizing the closeness we shared. But I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed watching other guys squirm under his intense glare when they first met him. I watched Shiv now and I couldn’t help feeling impressed. Ben could be intimidating to those that didn’t know what a softie he really was. At six foot two and with a muscular build, he was quite the imposing figure. But Shiv returned his gaze with an equally unwavering look. He was asking Ben about the basketball team and I noticed that the other guys were warming up to him. But I could read Ben’s face well enough to know he wasn’t going to make things easy. I decided to rescue Shiv before things became awkward. Just then the bell rang conveniently, signaling the end of the lunch period.
“Guys,” I said, “sorry to break this up, but I promised Shiv I would show him where the chemistry class is.”
We took off down the hallway toward my next class. I felt a small thrill knowing that I would spend the next period with Shiv in chemistry and that Dahlia would be there too. I knew it was petty, but I deserved to watch her squirm a little. I was enjoying the anticipation on her face when we walked in, so I didn’t notice Mr. Burke standing outside his history class until I nearly bumped into him. He was glaring at me.
“Miss Hansen, I’m surprised you are still here.” He looked at Shiv and something in his face changed. It was barely discernible, but I caught it nonetheless. “And who is this?”
Shiv put out his hand immediately. “Shiv Kapoor. I just moved here. It’s my first day. Callie offered to show me around.”
“Did she now?” Mr. Burke said, looking unimpressed. He turned his gaze back to me. “I take it that you’re feeling much better now? Then you must be well enough to come to my office after last period.” Great. Now he’ll never let me take that test again. Just what I need.
“Yes. Mr. Burke. I’ll be there.” I could feel my face getting warm, and I really wanted to just go into class. Mr. Burke gave me one last look of disdain before turning around and heading into his own classroom.
“I hope you’re not in trouble because of me,” Shiv said as we walked in.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” I said, walki
ng over to my usual seat. I looked at the empty seat next to me. It didn’t look like the kid who usually sat next to me was coming today, which was no surprise since he had only shown up a few times since the beginning of the semester. I gestured to Shiv that he could sit next to me. I had just taken out my chemistry textbook when the clattering of high heels signaled the arrival of Dahlia and her entourage. I wondered how they were still in this class since all four of them seemed to share a brain.
Dahlia walked past me, slowing down just long enough to take a good look at Shiv. Her gaze lingered at the base of his throat, where the dark blue swirls of his tattoo were visible. I watched her mouth go from a sexy pout to an awkward grimace when she realized that Shiv gave her nothing more than a fleeting glance and then turned back to me. Twice in one day. That must have been a record for her. I had a strong urge to let out a hoot of laughter, but I managed to control myself. During the entire period Dahlia and her friends whispered to each other and shot darts at me with their eyes. Shiv was blissfully oblivious to the turmoil he was causing. No doubt the Bitch Squad couldn’t figure out why on earth he would want to sit with me. I had never enjoyed chemistry more.
Afterward, I showed Shiv to his next classroom and then didn’t see him for the rest of the day. I was preoccupied with why Mr. Burke wanted to see me as I walked down the stairs to his office on the lower level. He was on the phone when I knocked, so he gestured for me to sit down. I looked around while I waited. His office held an eclectic array of décor from all over the world. There were tiny statuettes of gods and goddesses from different cultures lining the shelves on one wall. A stone tablet engraved with what looked like Sanskrit words perched on a metal base on a little table next to his big desk. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a mythology buff, but then again, I only saw him in history class. He finished up his conversation and hung up.
“So, Miss Hansen. You said you were feeling unwell earlier today, so I agreed to give you another chance to write the test.”
“Yes, and I really appreciate it. I was going to go home, but then I started feeling a bit better and decided to stay,” I said.
Mr. Burke looked at me skeptically for a moment. “Miss Hansen, I feel that your work hasn’t been up to your usual standard. I read your last essay and frankly I was not impressed. It lacked focus, and you rambled on quite a bit. I know you have your sights set on a good university, so I will give you a chance to pull up your grade.”
I gaped at him in disbelief. I always got good grades and worked really hard for them. I had no idea what he was talking about. I did not ramble.
“I will let you do some extra credit work,” he was saying, ignoring my shocked expression. “You will come to my office every day after school and work on the assignments I give you. Is that clear?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I got up to leave, I was bristling with resentment. I would have to cut back on my after-school tutoring hours. I’d been saving for a car for summer, and now Mr. Burke was messing everything up. I stomped all the way home, glad that my parents weren’t back yet. I just needed to be alone to figure out how I would deal with Mr. Burke and my plummeting history grade. I ate some crackers and hummus then got ready for work.
The tutoring center was a ten-minute drive from my house and when I got there the place was already humming with kids of all ages. I walked up to the reception desk to sign in and say hi to Carla, the owner. Then I went to my usual room to spend the next three hours helping my students with their math homework. On the way home I stopped for a latte because I knew I would have to stay up late doing my homework. By the time I got home it was getting dark and my parents’ car was in the driveway. I was lucky they shared a ride to work at the university and I could use the extra car. But that would change in the fall when my dad started his new job and my mom would have to use her own car. Now it looked as if I would have to get used to riding the bus everywhere. When I walked in I found them chatting excitedly. It sounded like she was making dinner plans for the weekend.
“Callie,” she said, her voice several octaves higher than usual. “I’m so glad you’re home. You’ll never guess who I met.”
I could guess. She’d met another Indian family and had invited them to dinner. And they had a son who was around my age and, oh my, it was all so exciting.
“I met the nicest couple at the store today...you know that new Indian store around the corner from Starbucks? I was just buying some mangoes and cilantro...I thought Dad could make mango salsa for dinner...what was I saying...oh yes, the couple that I met, they just moved here from California a week ago. But they’re actually from Kolkata. So of course I said that they simply had to come over for dinner, and they said this Saturday would be good.”
My head was reeling. My mother tended to go off on several tangents during a single conversation. It was hard not to get entangled in her excitement about the new couple, the new store and my dad’s mango salsa. I looked at her affectionately. She was a lot to handle after a long day, but there was something very infectious about her enthusiasm for...well, just about anything. She was like that about the course in Eastern mythologies she taught at the University of Washington. There was always a waiting list for the course, and whenever she had students over for her monthly Mythology Club dinners, I could tell that they were enthralled by everything she said. There was something about her, her skin the color of a mocha latte, her long, black hair, usually knotted up in a stylish bun at the base of her neck, and her dark eyes, always intense as if they could see right through a person. But I’d always felt it was her accent that gave her an air of mystery. Her education in one of Kolkata’s most prestigious schools had left her with a refined accent when she spoke in English, and my grandparents’ love of Bengali literature made her equally enchanting when she spoke in her mother tongue.
I watched her now, getting dinner ready while my dad was making his delicious mango salsa. I liked to watch them together. There was something about the way they moved together, like two parts of a well-oiled machine. Their movements were almost choreographed, as if one could read the other’s mind, knowing what their next move would be. They worked perfectly in unison, maneuvering around the kitchen, never bumping into one another as they went about emptying and refilling the dishwasher, getting ingredients out of the refrigerator, putting dishes away. In less than half an hour dinner was ready and we were sitting in our respective recliners. We weren’t really a family that ate at the table. When we had first moved to Seattle my mom had gone back to school for her doctorate, and dinners were usually something from the freezer that could be heated up in the oven and eaten in the family room while my mom worked on her thesis. But somehow she’d always made time for me, asking me who my new friends were, inviting them over for cookies and ice cream and throwing the best Halloween parties ever. Over the years eating in the family room had become our thing. That and watching American Idol. My mom and I loved the show, and my dad had long ago given up trying to get us to watch football instead.
Now as we ate my mom continued gushing about the new Indian family. In the back of my mind I already knew this must be Shiv’s family, and of course I was right. A few minutes later she casually brought up the fact that this new couple happened to have a son and wondered if I had seen him at my school yet.
“Actually, Mom, I hit him in the head with my locker door at lunchtime today,” I said nonchalantly, as if violence was just a regular part of my daily routine. I waited a few seconds for this to sink in. And then it all started. My dad just grinned as he calmly ate his chips and salsa while my mom unleashed a torrent of horror at having a clumsy daughter. She calmed down only after I told her he was very nice to me afterwards and that I had made up for it by showing him around. Somewhat mollified, she began to plan what kinds of Indian sweets we could bring them as a welcome gift, which, of course, I would walk over to their house later that evening. I hadn’t been planning to tell her about the whole Burke situation, but I couldn’t thin
k of a better way to distract her. So I threw myself under the bus.
“Mom, Dad...there’s a problem at school,” I started. I could literally see their ears perk up. When it came to school, my parents were über-involved.
“What kind of problem, Callie?” my dad said. “Is everything on track with your university applications?” He was very keen for me to attend his alma mater, UW, where he taught anthropology.
“Yes, that’s all fine. But Mr. Burke is giving me a hard time. He says my mark is dropping and that I have to stay after school to do extra credit work.”
I was hoping they would feel as indignant as I did, but I had no such luck.
“Well, if that’s what needs to be done, then just do it,” said my dad, ever the voice of reason. My mom looked a little miffed, but I could tell from her lack of argument that she basically agreed.
“I’ll have to cut back on my tutoring hours and also my volunteering,” I mentioned, hoping that they would realize just how much this would cramp my style. I volunteered at the local retirement home, and I hoped my mother would find it unacceptable that the sweet old ladies there should be deprived of my awesome company. Also, I wouldn’t have time to watch Vampire Diaries, which I religiously recorded so I could watch at night. Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. It wouldn’t do anything to help my case.
I was not disappointed. My mother took the bait and said, “Why don’t I go and meet with him next week to see if he can’t let you bring the work home?” She turned to my dad. “Paul, you’re off early on Wednesdays, why don’t you come with me?” Dad mumbled something about catching the game on his only evening off, but my mom had selective hearing when it suited her. Either way, I was happy. Hopefully Mr. Burke would get off my back.
