I'm On Your Side

7 | A resolved past... somewhat

So my best bet is my SAT score, which is 1100 right now.

Yeah. That's after taking two SAT prep courses, and my SAT score still remained the same. Although my math score increased, but my mom didn't care about that when I pointed it out―she likes to look at the big picture, which is what colleges look at... unfortunately (this shouldn't even bother me).

"Yeah, I know," I say and just when I think I can get back to "reading" Julius Caesar, my mom appears at the end of the staircase in an Indian dress. I don't even know why she even bothers to dress up herself because my mom likes to self-deprecate herself a lot and then afterward, show up in a dress, looking all pretty with a smile.

She's like a teenage girl, but with an actual fat body, not those girls who say they are fat, but are actually ten pounds underweight.

I have to admit, though, I get pretty mad at her for it. I don't understand how she can feel bad about her body and then―literally―a second later, looked all glammed up. Maybe it's because I'm jealous―something that I'm afraid to admit, I guess, since this is the first time I'm admitting it―because no matter how hard I try to focus on my "good" parts, a flawed part of my body always catches my attention and plummets my mood.

Yup. I'm jealous of my mom: the lady who made (oh, I meant, makes) me feel ten times worse about what Mason said to me. Not like she was supposed to make it better. I mean, what was I expecting? A heart-to-heart conversation?

Ye―no. No, I was not (I should take this as another lesson to not open up).

"Arjun, how do I look?" she asks Dad (I'm gonna stick to "Dad" now) with a smile.

"Good," he says, as he puts his wallet in his front pocket. I find it hard to believe that word coming from Dad's mouth because he's usually fat-shaming Mom (I'm sticking to "Mom" too) whenever she eats something or doesn't work out, which, I mean, she barely works out, so that's pretty often.

I guess Mom's too oblivious to notice Dad's fake-ness because she says, "Can you take a picture?" She pulls out her phone and throws her hair back behind her ears before handing her phone to Dad.

"We have to go, Bhavya," he says, "everyone else has left already." By everyone else, he means Aditi and her family, who are always the first and last to leave family friend parties. It's been a long since Aditi and I have talked, I realize. Not like I care or maybe I do.

I've always confided in her, but now that Mason and I are hanging out (or were), it's like he's slowly replacing her because Aditi's my only friend.

Well, second friend if I take Mason into account. But, for today and future purposes, I don't think I will.

I'm back at square one, baby.

Not that I care and not that Aditi cares either because the girl has a large friend group—she has nothing to lose if we drift apart. I do, though, but whatever: friends are shit.

"Isha," Mom says, coming up to me and I roll my eyes, evidently knowing what's coming next.

"I know," I say before she can continue.

"If you know, then why aren't you doing something about it?" she asks and I look at her in confusion for both not knowing how to respond to that question and taken aback by her sudden response.

"What?"

She sighs. "Use your time wisely, Isha."

"Yeah," I grunt, "I will." I'm still mad at her for what she told me earlier when I confided in her (I'm still regretting that) and I think she knows it too because she forms a face of distraught as she opens her mouth.