Over My Head Read online

  “No no. It’s nothing like that,” Dad says, then paces back and forth in front of us, running his hand through his short black hair.

  “Kids, we don’t want you to worry,” Mom says. She looks frazzled, her auburn hair escaping from her bun. In the summer her hair is always up because it’s the only way she can deal with her severe case of humid weather frizz.

  It’s a good thing I didn’t inherit that. Poor Doodles, however, is not so lucky. But she doesn’t care. Some days she doesn’t even brush her hair. In fact, right now she looks like Einstein, but without the mustache.

  “We have to be economical,” Mom is saying.

  Economical. Isn’t that what we always are? We have to be the most economical family in all of Doylestown. We have no cell phones, no cable TV, we’ve got old cars, and nearly 100% of my clothes have been purchased from clearance racks. Guess I can forget about getting that dress from This Is It! Of course, I don’t really need it now.

  Mom says, “We have a more practical need for that money. We—”

  “We found,” Dad interrupts, “that for much less money, we can get a family membership for the entire summer at the Fanny Chapman Pool. Which is what we’ve done. Including swim lessons for you girls.”

  “Yeah!” Doodles leaps off the couch, arms in the air, as if someone just scored a touchdown. Ten year olds are cool like that. Practically anything excites them. “Everyone goes there,” she says. “All right!” Doodles runs and squeezes Mom and then she wraps her arms around Dad’s narrow waist.

  Hari and I don’t move. We, obviously, are not thrilled. How exciting is it for me to belong to a pool, seeing as I don’t swim and never plan to? And forget swim lessons. That is not going to happen. As for Hari? He’s in college. Nothing excites him anymore.

  “I gotta tell Bethany,” Doodles says. “Can I call her?”

  “Of course,” Dad says.

  “But in a minute,” Mom says. “We need you to sit just a while longer.”

  While Doodles sits, I slowly shake my head. No Shore. No lifeguard. No dress. No Gary. No love. No point in going on.

  At once I’m reliving that horrible moment with Gary all over again. “Michelle?” I said to him. “You want to go out with Michelle? She’s at least nineteen.”

  “There’s something about an older woman,” Gary said and he turned the color of pink lemonade.

  “What about before?” I said, my words coming out too fast, too breathless. “You wanted to tell me something before when we were by Planet Smoothie.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Oh yeah. That. Turns out, after my week away at basketball camp, I’m working at the Y as a summer counselor. So we won’t be able to hang together as much as you’d hoped.”

  “As I’d hoped?”

  “Yeah. You know. You keep talking about us spending lots of time together.”

  I stood there frozen, like some storefront mannequin, only in crappy everyday clothes. And I realized just how right Megan was. I waited too long. I’m always waiting like some pathetic passive loser destined to spend the rest of her days alone and unloved.

  After one long horrible moment, I turned on my heel and left, tears filling my eyes.

  “Sang?” Mom says now. “You okay?”

  I ward off a fresh batch of tears by breathing deeply and blinking fast. “Yeah. Perfect.”

  “Oh, honey,” Mom says, squatting in front of me. “It’s the swim lessons, isn’t it? I know how you feel about swimming, but these lessons are an opportunity to overcome your fears. Don’t you want to learn how to swim?”

  I shake my head.

  “Sweetheart, it’s a safety issue.” Mom touches my hand with her always chilly fingertips. “We want to protect you. What if someday you fall off a boat?”

  “So I won’t go on a boat.” I pull my hand away. “And I won’t take swim lessons.”

  Mom pats my knee and stands. “We’ll talk about this later. Your father has something more to tell you all.”

  God. What else? Cardboard bungalows for everyone?

  Dad clears his throat. “Right. Well, for one thing, we just found out we’ll be having a visitor. Remember your cousin, Raina?”

  “Who’s Raina?” Doodles asks.

  “You haven’t met her yet,” Mom says. “She wasn’t in Delhi the last time we visited. But Sang, you should remember. Raina is the one you were so close to when you were little.” When I give her a puzzled look, she says, “The one with the teeth. Remember?”

  I nod. At the time, Raina and I had had the same front teeth missing, and we would spit lime soda between our teeth into the little garden by Taoji Ravinder’s building. The word ‘taoji’ means older brother uncle in Punjabi. My dad has two older brothers. Taoji Ravinder is my oldest uncle. He’s also my favorite.

  “Mom had said spitting was unladylike,” I tell Doodles, after explaining about the teeth. “But Taoji said we were planting more lime trees and to keep up the good work. Pretty soon me and Raina were ‘planting’ trees up and down the street.” After I say this, I notice Dad staring out the window at nothing. “Dad, is Raina okay?”

  “Hmm?” He looks at me. “Fine. No problem. She’ll be staying with us for a few weeks or so.”

  “Wait,” I say. “She isn’t, you know?” I tap my forehead.

  “Now, I know last time we had someone stay with us, there were issues,” Mom says.

  Understatement. During my sophomore year, Chachi spent a few months with us, but it felt like forever. She’s my dad’s sister-in-law and wife to his younger brother who had died a few years back. While she was here, Chachi stole money and food and set me up to take the blame. She was definitely not right in the head.

  “We want to assure you,” Dad says carefully, “Raina is nothing like that. I honestly don’t foresee any problems. So she will live here for a little while. Sound okay?”

  This is a typical Dad moment. He pretends like we have a choice in things and our opinions really matter. But this is the Jumnal house. If Dad decides my cousin is coming, then she is. Case closed.

  “Can I call Bethany now?” Doodles asks.

  “Well—” Mom begins.

  “Sure, go ahead,” Dad says, and Doodles bursts out of the living room and tears up the stairs.

  “But, Akash,” Mom says.

  “All done.” Dad claps his hands. “Class dismissed.” Hari and I stand.

  “Akash,” Mom says, “you have to tell—”

  “Right right,” Dad says. “Sangeet, you’ll have to share your room with Raina. That’s it.”

  Okay, I’m not wild about this idea. But as usual, I don’t have a choice. “Whatever you say, Dad.”

  “That’s a good girl,” he says.

  *****

  “We know it’s money trouble,” Hari says, tossing a balled-up sock in the air and catching it. We’re both sitting on his bed. After the family meeting ended, Hari and I immediately gravitated up to his attic bedroom to figure things out.

  “But we’ve never had this type of problem before,” I say. My eyes wander around the room, taking in Hari’s laptop on his desk, and his sci-fi paperbacks and creepy green hand coin-snatching bank on the shelf. This room once harbored Chachi, but she is long gone, Hari is here, and all should be right in the world. But it isn’t now, is it? “What’s different now?”

  Hari tosses the sock again and catches it. “Me. College. The expenses are too much.”

  I sit up. “But you got loans. Scholarships.”

  “Not enough. Mom and Dad pay. A lot.” He throws the sock into his overflowing laundry basket. “Why didn’t they say something?” He stands hands on hips and stares out the window at our little fenced backyard.

  Now I’m thinking about Dad’s face. He looked really miserable. “Hari, what if we’re in real trouble?”

  “We couldn’t be. They didn’t even bother me about getting a summer job yet.”

  “True. And Raina’s coming. We wouldn’t exactly be having a houseguest if we were lo
sing our house, right?” Hari doesn’t answer. “Hari?”

  His stubbly jaw juts out and I can tell he’s just made up his mind about something. My dad does the very same thing. Hari grabs his keys from the dresser top.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To get a job—where else?”

  As he races down the stairs to save the day, I shout, “Try Coffee and Cream!”

  After I hear the front door of the house slam, I grab a quarter from his nightstand and stick it in the coin bank’s slot. There’s a grinding noise as the green hand lifts higher, higher, then snatches that quarter away into the depths of the box. This bank used to crack me up.

  Today it doesn’t seem funny at all.

  Chapter 3

  “I know Megan’s crazy about him,” Anna Kaprowski says in a low voice, “but isn’t David a little…you know?” She wrinkles her nose.

  It’s around 9:30 at night and we’re at a last-day-of-school party at her house. Anna and I both look to the opposite side of her pool where David stands. He’s still in his corduroys but now in a fresh Jabba the Hutt T-shirt. Even though the sun’s down, it’s still hot and humid. In the glow of the citronella candles, I can see David’s hair is stuck to his head with sweat. Maybe he doesn’t own shorts. Maybe he has ugly legs and doesn’t want anybody to see. Maybe he can’t swim either.

  “He’s not that strange,” I say.

  David’s eyes are riveted on Megan, who is wearing a pink and black polka dot bikini. She does a cannonball into the deep end and the backwash soaks David’s pants. “Yeah!” he shouts and claps like a kindergartener who’s just been told it’s milk and cookies time.

  “Okay,” I say. “He is strange. But I think it’s sweet how much he adores Megan. And she adores him.” I lean back on the chaise lounge and cross my freshly shaved legs.

  “I know,” Anna says, lying back on the lounge next to mine. We both sigh.

  I take a sip from my soda can and think about that ridiculous “falling in love” plan. Of course now it’s even more ridiculous since I don’t even have anyone to say “I love you” to.

  “I just hope David doesn’t wear that shirt to my birthday party,” Anna says. “It isn’t mean to say that, is it?” She gives me a worried look. I smile and shake my head. There’s nothing mean about Anna. She’s what my grandmother would call “a real doll.” Actually, with her white-blond hair hanging in ringlets around her face, she does look like a doll I used to have.

  It’s kind of amazing Anna isn’t completely spoiled, considering her family is rolling in dough. Her parents always throw her incredible birthday parties. Last year’s was a girls’ night out at a spa, complete with massages and mud baths. This year, they’re going high class by having the party at the James Michener Art Museum in the center of town. They’ve rented out this huge room and the sculpture garden for the night.

  My parents haven’t mentioned anything about a party for my own seventeenth birthday, which is coming up in August. Maybe it’s going to be a surprise party. Maybe there won’t be any party. Or any presents. Economical, right?

  At Anna’s there’s going to be dinner, and dancing outside in the sculpture garden. But how can I go now? What if Gary shows up there with Michelle Baldarasi?

  Or maybe he’ll take Trish. I can’t believe I thought he was shy. I picture him at the party with both of them, his arm around each of their waists.

  “Hey ladies,” Jonathan Crispin says from behind us. Jonathan is one of those potentially hot guys, who, once his acne goes away, will probably be gorgeous. “Coming in?” he asks. “I could use a chicken fight partner.”

  “Go on, Sang,” says Anna, ever the gracious hostess.

  But Jonathan is not about to tempt me to my death, because I will die by drowning. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday. I just know it. “You go,” I say. “Have fun.”

  Anna glows with pleasure and jumps into the pool. Jonathan follows.

  I look around at the professionally landscaped grounds. My family never had this kind of money but we always got by. What happens if a family suddenly doesn’t get by? I wish I could help. I can’t even get a real job. Sure, I’m going to be dog sitting, but that will barely give me enough money for movies and cappuccinos. What if I started a huge pet-sitting business? I could be like those New York City dog walkers with fifty pets on a leash. A lot of people go away in the summer. Hmm.

  I take a swig of soda and just about choke when I see Gary arrive, towel around his neck. He’s waving to me like nothing’s wrong. Like there’s been no flirting. No deeper connection.

  I grip the arm of the chair. He’s coming toward me. He’ll sit in the empty lounge chair beside me and make pleasant chit chat. In no time, he’ll have me helping him win over Michelle Baldarasi. Assisting him in picking out his and hers fatigues and matching nose rings. Coaching him on the most romantic ways to tell her he loves her.

  I jump to my feet, walk the opposite way around the pool, and make a quick escape into the house. I follow the sound of voices into the kitchen, where I find Jackie and Monique talking and laughing.

  “Hey, Sang,” Monique says. “Come join the Hot Chicks in Bikinis club.”

  “I’m underqualified,” I say.

  This sets off several minutes of body complaints, including my too-long torso. Jackie thinks her butt is too big. Monique says her boobs are too small. After we all reassure each other that we are not hideous but in fact absolutely fabulous, especially in our bathing suits, the subject quickly shifts to guys.

  “I think Jonathan is asking Anna if he can take her to her party,” Monique says, ever the gossip.

  “That’s a relief,” Jackie says, but as always, her eyebrows are puckered with worry. “I was afraid she’d have to go to her own birthday alone.”

  I picture myself at the birthday party slouching in a corner. The only dateless one, wearing some hideous dress I found in the back of my mom’s closet.

  “So, Sang, what about you?” Monique says, giving me a sly wink.

  “Me? I’m fine. Great. It’s summer, right? Lots of big plans.”

  “No, I mean did Gary—”

  “You know what?” I set my soda firmly on the counter. “Forget guys.”

  My friends exchange glances.

  “No, seriously,” I say. “Look at us. We’re attractive. We’re smart. We’re funny and nice.”

  They nod. They even raise their soda cans and say, “Truth!”

  “And we’re better than this,” I say.

  “Uh oh.” Jackie lowers her can. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, okay?” I say, strangling my soda. “I just think there’s more to life than guys.”

  Monique tilts her pointy chin at me. “There is?”

  “Of course there is,” I say, trying to convince myself. “It’s a big world. I mean, we can make amazing plans. Accomplish all sorts of things. Right?”

  “Such as?” Monique asks.

  “Well,” I say, casting a look around the sleek high-priced kitchen. “Maybe we can cure hunger. Or end poverty.” I think of my parents and swallow hard. “Okay, so Daddy doesn’t give us a new convertible. So we aren’t all confident and experienced. So we don’t have a tattoo, can’t get a job or even a driver’s license yet.” My friends look puzzled, but I don’t care. I’m on a roll. “I say we can still make a difference.” I quirk an eyebrow, thinking I might actually be onto something here. “We can definitely do something important.” I raise my soda high. “Who’s with me?”

  There’s a moment of silence. Then they fall all over themselves laughing. I set down my soda, surprised at how much this bugs me.

  Monique slaps my shoulder. “You’re funny.”

  “Right,” I say, pretending to be in on the joke.

  As I leave the kitchen, I hear Jackie whisper, “Poor Sang. Gary must have dumped her.” And Monique say, “Were they even going out?”

  My spirits hit an all-time low. Why did I ever look forward
to summer?

  I pass Dalton, who’s coming out of the powder room in his bathing suit, his clothes and a towel rolled in a ball under his arm. Dalton’s torso is farmer-tan white. This, combined with his glasses, makes him look like the honors student poster child that he is.

  “Hi Sang,” he says. “You look...” His eyes travel up and down my body. He gulps, making his Adam’s apple bounce. “…nice.”

  “Thanks, Dalton.” I realize he’s looking at me the way I wish Gary would. Dalton’s had a crush on me for a while, but I definitely don’t feel the same way about him.

  I can’t explain why not. He’s nice. He’s cute in a harmless guy kind of way. So why can’t I be crazy about him? He likes me, I like Gary, Gary likes Michelle. It’s all so unfair.

  Dalton’s smiling at me now. I notice his dimple on his left cheek, which would be a mirror to my own dimple, if I were smiling.

  But I’m filled with an overwhelming sadness. Sadness for myself and for all the lonely and pathetic Daltons and Sangs in the universe. So many people powerless to get what they really want.

  At once I think of what I said about making a difference. Of Megan saying I should stop being so passive. So why can’t I change things? Why can’t I make somebody’s life happy? Why can’t just one person be happy, if only for a minute?

  “Dalton,” I say, before I change my mind. “Kiss me.”

  He rips off his glasses and wow, does he ever.

  *****

  Why can’t life be as perfect as Jake Gyllenhaal? I’m lying on my back in bed trying to get into Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, which is on my summer reading list for Honors English. But instead I’m staring at my wall at the Prince of Persia movie poster. At Jake Gyllenhaal dressed as the hero with his long hair blowing around his chiseled face, his muscular arm gripping his sword, and passion smoldering in those eyes. He is definitely absolutely perfect.

  Unlike me. It’s not just my extra long torso, it’s the line of zits I keep getting along the edge of my forehead, no matter what cleanser I use. It’s my horrific social life. Spending so long liking one guy, only to end up with the guy I’d been avoiding all along. Not that Dalton isn’t great. But I don’t feel anything when I’m near him. There are no sparks. Okay, there were some sparks during that amazing kiss. But after that, nothing. I can’t ever imagine saying “I love you” to Dalton.