OVER MY HEAD

OVER MY HEAD, Chapter 5

5 

"Thank you, Chachi," Raina says, accepting a glass of lemonade from my mom. 

The word "chachi" sends a chill rippling along my neck and down my back. Granted, Mom is Raina's chachi, and Dad is her chacha, or younger brother uncle. But to me, Chachi will forever be my nasty aunt. 

Mom must be thinking the same thing, because she says, "Why don't you just call me Aunt?" Raina looks worried, like she might have offended us, until Mom adds, "After all, I am your only American aunt, right?" 

Raina smiles sweetly. "Yes, Auntie-ji." 'Ji' is a way of saying honored one. "And thank you so much for dinner. Everything is so delicious." 

I practically snort. Mom does okay Italian food, but Indian? Well, she tries. All day today she was in the kitchen poring over an Indian cookbook, chopping onions (and nicking a finger in the process), measuring spices, simmering stuff. The end result? The dahl is too salty and the aloo gobi dish has no salt at all. The rice is sticky and the cabbage and peas dish is slightly singed. Overall, not a bad effort for Mom. 

I've left just about everything on my plate. I have zero appetite. This money problem is driving me crazy. What could put a family $150,000 in debt? Gambling? Ha. My parents don't even buy lottery tickets. Blackmail? Not with their ordinary lives. 

Last night I'd decided I couldn't take it anymore. I just had to get to the bottom of things. The house was quiet. Hari was out at work, as usual. Mom was out with Doodles on a walk. Dad was reading on the couch. It was the perfect opportunity. I sat next to him. He set aside his book, wrapped his arm around my shoulders and asked, "So, how's my girl?" 

And I asked him point-blank, "Dad, what is up with the whole money thing? I'm worried and I really need to know." 

"Not to worry," he said. "It's not your concern." 

"But, Dad, it is my concern. I'm concerned." 

He studied me for a moment. "All you need to know is that everything is under control. Okay, princess?" He gave me his toothy fake smile. 

"But what happened?" 

"Sangeet," he said in his warning voice, "this conversation is over." And he waved bye-bye to me like I was three. 

Now I'm staring across the dining table at Raina. Since she arrived this afternoon, I've been wondering if she knows something. 

I realize I've just absent-mindedly forked some cabbage into my mouth. I try to think of a nice way to spit it out. Raina is sitting with perfect posture across from me, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. So I swallow the cabbage and wince. 

Since we're only a few months apart in age, somehow I expected Raina to look a lot like me. But she's shorter, probably only 5'3" or so to my 5'6", and she's slender. I'm sort of average and a little hippy. Her skin is much darker than mine, and surprisingly, her hair is cut just above her shoulders. I expected her to have one of those typical long Indian braids running down her back. Raina is also spectacularly beautiful. She has light caramel eyes that sparkle and a gorgeous wide smile. I'd hate her if she weren't my cousin. 

Raina is listening attentively to Doodles going on and on about selling ice pops to sweaty kids in the park. "I'll charge fifty cents and make twenty five cents for each one. Everybody loves ice pops." Doodles crosses her arms over her Charlie Brownish yellow and brown striped T-shirt. Once again, her hair is tangled and unbrushed. I swear the kid doesn't look into her mirror at all. I've tried to give her style tips now and then, but it's no use. She's saying, "I'm gonna make lots and lots of money so we won't have to ever live in a box."