Nice and Mean (12 page)

“Hi,” I said, “can I speak to Sachi please?”

“Who is this?” The voice did not sound happy.

“This is Marina.” I checked my hair in a car window. “From school,” I added when he didn't say anything. “From her video class.”

There was a pause. “Sachi is not in a video class.”

“The elective,” I said. “With Mr. Phillips. At Jacobs Middle School?” Had I gotten the wrong number?

“Just a moment, please,” the man said, and then I heard him call, “Sachi!”

I shook my head. The life of the non-cell-phoned.

“Sachi,” said the voice, “what is the meaning of this?”

SACHI'S VIDEO
NIGHTMARE
LIFEMARE #10.0


INTERIOR. SACHI'S KITCHEN—EVENING


Close-up: Sachi's mother's hands. They throw a ball of dough against the counter and shape it into a flat, perfect circle.


Sachi and Priyanka, cooking. Pallavi, underfoot.


The phone RINGS.


Sachi, her mother, and Priyanka continue their work.


SACHI'S FATHER (off-camera)


Sachi!


Sachi looks questioningly at her mother, who takes the spoon from her.


SACHI'S MOTHER


He sounds upset. Go.


Sachi wipes her hands on a dish towel and exits.


My father was standing with the phone pressed against his chest, forks and knives lying in piles on the table. “Sachi,” he demanded, “what is the meaning of this?”

His tone chilled me. “What—what do you mean?”

He stared at me with hardened eyes. “There is a girl on the phone.”

“Yes?” Was I supposed to know what he was talking about? “Who?”

“Marina. She says you are in a video class with her.” He spat the words.

Like the time on the street with the taxi, I froze. “I—I, uh—”

His glare didn't soften. “This is what you have to say?”

Before I could come up with anything, my father put the phone to his ear. “I'm sorry, Sachi is not able to talk to you right now. Can she call you back?”

I could hear talking on the other end. “I see,” said my father, and then again, “I see.”

He rested the phone back against his chest.

“Your friend Marina is in an emergency,” he said, “and I am going to tell her she can come here.”

“Marina Glass?” Why would Marina—

“Afterward,” my father continued, “your mother and I will have a long talk with you about this
video
class.”

He returned to the phone.

SACHI'S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #10.1


Black screen.


The sound of a heart, BEATING fast.


A rush of WIND.


CUT TO: a video camera, surrounded by flames.


CUT TO: Sachi, motionless.


A BEEP. SACHI'S FATHER hangs up the phone.


“Neeta,” my father called. “Make a few extra rotis. Sachi has a guest coming for dinner.”

My mother came around the corner and into the living room, slapping a chapati back and forth between her hands. “A guest? Now? Who?”

“Sachi's friend Marina,” said my father, folding his arms, “from her video class.”

The chapati flopped over my mother's fingers. “What do you mean, video? I thought we settled that ages ago.”

“Sachi?” asked my father. “I think you have something to tell us.”

I knew they expected nothing less than a full explanation, so I went ahead and told them: “I forged the signature on the permission slip.”

“You
what
?” My mother's voice sliced the air like a knife. “You forged the signature? You deliberately disobeyed? That is completely unacceptable! What child of mine—”

Darkness seemed to fill the space around my head.

“Pallavi, no!” Priyanka's voice rang into the living room.

“Aagh!” Pallavi shrieked.

Priyanka thumped in from the kitchen. “I told Pallavi not to pour the oil, and she did, and now it's all over the floor.”

My mother made a sound of exasperation. “Pallavi, come out here. Tanish, will you—”

“Of course.” My father walked briskly toward the kitchen. Pallavi came running out, her shirt covered with oil and her face streaked with tears. “I didn't mean to,” she sobbed.

My mother motioned her over and began wiping Pallavi's hands with her apron. “Sachi,” she said, “go finish helping with dinner. We will talk about this”—her mouth tightened—“video business later.”

When the doorbell rang, I raced to answer it. I needed to intercept Marina before my mother could glare in her direction.

I threw open the door to an unusual sight: Marina, with fancy hair, weighted down by two large bags and a purse. Was she running away? Had there been a fire? Where was her family? And how long was she planning on staying?

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

I waited. Didn't she want to explain what was going on?

“Is everything all right?” I asked finally.

She shrugged. “I'm fine.”

I stepped back so she could fit through the doorway. “Do you want me to hang that up?” One of the bags was the kind my mother used to store her fancy saris, and Priyanka and I didn't have room in our closet for something that big.

“No, thanks,” said Marina. “I'm going to put it on soon. I just need to stay here until, like, 6:45. Then I have this thing to go to.”

“Oh.” A
thing
? What kind of a thing? I couldn't believe she wasn't going to tell me what was going on. “Is everything all right?” I asked again. She didn't look like she had been crying. “My father said you had an emergency.”

A flush colored her creamy complexion. “It's not really
an emergency,” she said. “I just needed someplace to go.”
So you came here?
I wanted to say.
You don't even like me.

“Sachi.” My mother came out of the kitchen, her apron covered with flour. “You are not going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Friend.” If the situation had not been so awful, I might have laughed. “Ma-ji,” I said, using the formal expression, “this is Marina Glass.”

Marina held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I cringed, knowing that just moments before, my mother had been blotting chapatis with a paper towel. I hoped she hadn't gotten any grease on Marina. And that Marina knew the salwaar kameez under my mother's apron was Indian clothing, and not what Pallavi had once called “funny pajamas.”

My mother's eyes were traveling over Marina's bags. “Sachi,” she said, “you'll need to change the sheets on Priyanka's bed.”

Marina started to say something, but my mother cut her off. “Priyanka,” she called, her face turned toward the kitchen. “You'll be sleeping in Pallavi's room tonight.”

“What?” Priyanka came through the swinging door drying a bowl and wearing an irritable expression. “You're letting her have a sleepover just like that? Oh,” she said when
she saw who it was. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Marina shifted her bag like it was straining her arms. “I'm Marina.”

Priyanka's eyes stayed fixed on Marina as she rubbed every last drop of water from the bowl. “I know.”

“Oh.” Marina was obviously embarrassed, and I wanted to sink into the floor. I didn't think you were supposed to admit that you knew people if they didn't know you.

“You don't need to worry about sheets,” Marina told my mother. “I just need—I mean, I was hoping—” I had never seen her stumble over her words before. “Sachi's dad said that I could stay here before I go to this—thing.”

My mother raised her eyebrows. “A ‘thing'?” I guessed I wasn't the only person not satisfied by Marina's explanation.

“Um, a Bar Mitzvah?” Marina said it like a question. “One of those parties for when Jewish kids—”

“I know what a Bar Mitzvah is.” My mother did not sound amused.

“Oh, okay, well.” Marina seemed to disappear into her bags.

“Sachi, give your friend a place to put her belongings,” my mother said. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

As Marina followed me down the hall, I wondered why she hadn't just told me about the Bar Mitzvah. Was she
afraid I'd be jealous? All right, I was, but that didn't mean she needed to act secretive.

I opened the door to my room and was hit with a flash of panic. My
Jabber Monkeys
pencil case sat right on top of my backpack, and Ganesha, Priyanka's stuffed elephant, was fully visible on the bottom bunk! I was sure Marina didn't have anything like that in her bedroom, and I didn't want her to tell people about my babyish things.

“Here, you can hang your dress in the closet,” I told Marina. While her back was turned, I stuck my pencil case in my backpack. I was debating what to do with Ganesha when my mother called, “Dinner is ready!”

“Come on,” I told Marina, “let's go.”

As Priyanka and I carried bowls to the table—my mother wouldn't let Marina help—Priyanka hissed in my ear, “You'd better not tell Ma and Papa that I knew about Video.”

“I won't,” I said impatiently, then tried to smile as I set the rice in front of Papa. Gosh! Did Priyanka really think I was going to begin the conversation by saying,
Have a nice meal, everyone—by the way, Priyanka let me bribe her
? I wished our seats weren't across from each other so I didn't have to look at her.

As we began passing around the food, my mother explained
each item to Marina, just as she always did to our non-Indian guests. “Okay,” Marina kept saying, and then another “okay” when my mother asked if she wanted some of that food on her plate. I guessed it wasn't any different from when Flora came over, but Marina seemed like the kind of person who would whisper about it to other kids in school. And that went double when we started eating with our hands—though my mother had provided Marina with a fork and spoon.

Pallavi acted silly the entire time, purposely eating with her left hand until my mother gave her a look. As soon as she switched to her right, she asked Marina, “Are you sleeping over?”

“No. I'm—going out,” Marina said with a wary glance to my parents, as if she knew they thought it was strange.

“Where?” Pallavi asked.

Marina took a forkful of rice. “A Bar Mitzvah?” She said it like a question.

“What's a par mistfah?” Pallavi asked.

Marina giggled. “Bar Mitzvah.”

Pallavi tucked her legs underneath her so she was tall enough to lean on the table. “Far blitsfah?”

Marina shook her head and smiled.
“Bar. Mits. Vuh.”

Pallavi grinned, showing her newly missing front tooth. “Par. Bits—”

“No!” Marina laughed. “Bar—”

“Pallavi, that's enough,” my mother said. “You can practice saying it later.”

Pallavi's face clouded. She smeared her hand around on the plate.

Across the table, Marina hunched over her food, her eyes cast down. I couldn't believe her! Couldn't she see it wasn't a joking evening? Even Flora knew enough to act formal in my house. It was just Marina, with her giant bag and fancy hairdo, who didn't seem to realize what was going on.

When Marina and I got to my room, I was dismayed to see that it was only six fifteen. What would we do for a whole thirty minutes? But Marina was all business, bending to open her duffel bag, rifling through her clothes, and pulling out several pouches, including one that must have contained pounds of makeup, it was so large. I pressed my ring deep into my finger. I was going to have to watch her put on makeup, and she had no idea what she had done to me. Life to her was just one huge makeup bag and Par Blitsfah.

Finally she stood up, clutching her pouches to her chest. “Should I get ready in your bathroom?” she asked.

“Um . . .” I shared the bathroom with my sisters, and I
did not want Pallavi bursting in on her. On the other hand, I wasn't sure where else to put her. It wasn't like Priyanka and I had a table devoted to putting on makeup.

“Here.” I unplugged the lamp from my desk and put it on top of my bureau, next to my mirror. “Is that okay?” I hoped Marina would be done before Priyanka came in and accused me of moving the entire room around.

“Um.” Marina looked it over. The reflecting light made the wall shockingly bright, but I didn't know where else I could set up. “Sure.” She headed over to the corner of the room and took out what seemed like dozens of tubes, pots, and brushes, all glossy black with thin white writing. Even my mother didn't have that much makeup, and hers was all unmatched and ancient.

I thumped down onto Priyanka's bed. Ganesha fell onto his side, and I shoved him into the corner with my elbow. How could Marina have spent so much money on a thing like makeup? It was all I could do not to give my knuckles a good crack.

Marina noticed me looking. “Do you want some?” she asked, holding out a brush.

My face grew hot. “No, thank you.” Of course she thought I wanted what she had. I turned on Priyanka's bedside lamp, grabbed the nearest book from her shelf, and pretended to
read. The sounds of my family washing dishes drifted down the hall, and I hunched deeper into the pillow, trying to push aside my thoughts about what would happen once Marina left.

After a moment I realized that what I had taken was Priyanka's French book, and that I must have looked pretty stupid reading
Le Petit Prince
for fun. But who cared—who on earth cared what Marina Glass thought after what she had done? Ignoring the click of makeup pots, the zipping of bags, and the crinkling of the dress, I read every word on the page, whether I understood it or not.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” said Marina finally.