The Aroras had a four-bedroom, single-story ranch with robin-blue shutters and stained wooden shingles on its exterior walls. The house had small, dark rooms, but his mother had tried to spruce the place up over the years. She’d hired a contractor to install a skylight in the family room and brand-new appliances in the kitchen. She had Mohan Lal and Barry Uncle get rid of the acrylic paneling that lined the corridors. Siddharth had been excited about her plans to tear down the wall between the screened-in porch and the family room. He’d gone with her to look at new carpeting and light fixtures, but then the accident happened.
He pushed open the front door and found that the family room was empty. With his backpack still on, he scurried through the kitchen, passing the laundry room and the guest room to get to his father’s office. Ever since Mohan Lal had signed the contract with Walton, he was always in there. Siddharth sometimes woke up in the morning to find his father awake in his office from the night before, typing with two fingers on his new computer, or babbling about Maslow into his microcassette recorder. When Siddharth complained about the situation to his brother, Arjun told him to be more supportive. “You’re gonna have to keep Dad on track. Mohan Lal is a lazy man, so you’re gonna have to help him focus.”
He pushed open the office door, but the room was empty. He scrutinized his father’s messy desk. Piles of books and papers formed a small city beside the computer. He was relieved to see a coffee mug next to the keyboard, not a whiskey glass. He picked up the mug and placed it in the kitchen sink, then ran toward the other end of the house, to his father’s bedroom. Pushing open the door, he saw a mummy-shaped lump on the bed. That lump was Mohan Lal, and he was almost certain that it wasn’t moving — that his father had stopped breathing.
“Dad,” he said. He went up to his father and shook him.
“Son,” said Mohan Lal, his voice scratchy. He coughed, then propped himself up. “Welcome home, son.”
Siddharth was relieved, but irritated. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Dad.”
“Your father was up late working last night. He needs to catch up on his sleep.”
“Dad, it’s not normal to sleep in the middle of the afternoon.” He was about to leave, but Mohan Lal called him back. Siddharth paused, wondering if his father was going to ask him about school today. If he asked, Siddharth would tell him all about Luca and Sharon.
Instead, Mohan Lal said, “Son, come back and wake me in another ten minutes.”
Jerk, Siddharth thought. He headed to the kitchen and opened a bag of Doritos, then topped them with cheese and microwaved them. He poured out a Coke and sat by the round kitchen table on a wrought-iron chair that had been reupholstered by his mother several years earlier. After he finished his snack, he picked up the cordless phone to call his brother, though as usual, Arjun wasn’t home. His roommate said he was at the library, but Siddharth knew he was probably out drinking beer or screwing some girl. That was what people did at college, according to Sharon.
His mind returned to Sharon and what had happened today. She was his friend, and he’d acted like a coward; he would have to make it up to her. His heart was thumping rapidly — he needed to calm down. He needed to watch something. He threw on The Karate Kid, one of his favorite movies. He had seen it almost twenty times but still liked anticipating what would happen. He had discovered that rewatching a light movie could allow him to stop imagining certain things over and over, like the image of glass from the windshield piercing his mother’s eyeballs, of her seat belt slicing her neck. Movies allowed him to stop thinking about lots of things — if she had thought of him before she died, if she knew that it was all coming to an end.
* * *
As he rode the bus to school the next morning, he felt that it was going to be a bad day. Luca was going to say something to them, and then he would have to stick up for Sharon. He would defend his friend, even though Luca would mock him. Even though Luca would call him a faggot. Fortunately, the morning was totally uneventful. Nobody at school said anything to him, and he felt like he was invisible — even to his teacher, Mr. Latella. Sometimes he minded being invisible, but today it was a good thing. As the hours passed, he told himself that he’d blown everything out of proportion. He told himself that everything was totally fine.
He felt calm and contented as he plunked his tray of soggy pizza and chocolate milk onto his lunch table. While Sharon ate one of her peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, he asked her about her trumpet lesson, and if her mother and brother had made up yet. But she only responded with nods and one-word answers. He got nervous and started talking about his own life for a change. He told her about Mohan Lal’s book contract, explaining that his father would soon be a famous author. He told her that once they were rich, they would probably buy a house in Fairfield or Woodford, that his father would trade in their minivan for a Mercedes.
“Great,” said Sharon, arching her dirty-blond eyebrows. “I’m real happy for you.”
He finished his pizza and wiped the grease from his lips with a paper napkin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching. His stomach tightened, and he grabbed his neck. Shit, he thought. Fucking shit. It was Luca Peroti, and Eddie Benson and David Marcus were following behind.
The three boys sat down at an empty table nearby. At first they just sat there snickering, but then Luca started coughing. Siddharth could tell it was a fake cough. He smiled at Sharon and rolled his eyes, but she kept her gaze fixed on her plastic cup of pudding.
Luca mumbled “slut” loud enough for both of them to hear, and the other two boys started coughing too. Eddie coughed and said, “Sharon.” Then miniscule David Marcus coughed out the word “Is.” Luca kept on going with “slut.” “Sharon.” Cough. “Is.” Cough. “A slut.” Cough.
He told himself that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t untangle his neck muscles. He turned to Sharon, whose face was bright red. She said, “Get a freaking life, Luca.” The three boys chuckled. Siddharth wished she hadn’t said anything. He wished she had just remained silent and let the moment pass. He noticed that her lips had begun to quiver and realized that now was the time. The moment for him to act had arrived. But he couldn’t move. All he could do was grasp his neck and stare at Sharon. He noticed she was wearing hoop earrings today, not her usual silver studs. His mother had once said that hoop earrings were cheap. He wondered if Luca was right about her. Maybe she was a slut.
Luca and his crew restarted their chanting.
“Just leave us alone,” said Sharon. “If you had a life, you would leave us alone.”
Eddie removed his baseball cap and started looking around. “I thought I heard something,” he said. “Must have been a fly.”
Luca said, “Kid, I think you’re right. It was that slutty fly over there. I think she was talking about your mom.”
Both of Sharon’s fists were clenched. “Jesus, Luca. For God’s sake, I didn’t even do anything.”
“Yeah, right,” said Luca, still laughing.
“Those drawings,” she said. “They aren’t even mine.”
Siddharth couldn’t believe it. Was she betraying him?
“Sure,” said Eddie. “They belong to some other slut.”
Sharon turned to Siddharth with teary eyes, her lips pursed. He clutched the table and readied himself to speak. Yes, he had to do it. He had to do the right thing. For Sharon.
“Say something,” she whispered.
“Yo gaylord,” said Luca, “you gonna save your girlfriend?”