❝People are so selfish. Those you help are the ones who turn against you.❞
—Munshi Premchand
S I X T E E N
"Don't you just love," Mira aggressively peeled the skin off her clementine, "when older white men assume they know what ethnicity you are? Like they don't even bother asking, it's just 'Oh, you're Indian, right?' As if China, Japan and India are the only countries in the entire Asian continent." She set down her peeled clementine and started on the second one. "Like do you see me going up to them and asking, 'Oh are you violently racist, balding, and having trouble satisfying your wife with your micropenis?' Of course not." She spread her arms out as if demonstrating her congeniality. "White men come in all flavors. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt."
I clasped my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from spitting out my drink. A normal bystander would assume that some context had been given to this preamble. But no. All those words literally just left her mouth the minute I sat down with my lunch.
"Should I even ask?" I managed to get out after gulping down my water.
She rolled her eyes back so aggressively for a moment I only saw the whites of her eyes. "Just good old Mr. Kirkland trying to teach US history by incorporating, and thus, insulting literally every person of color in the room. Now that I think about it — how come all history teachers are old white men?"
"What better person to teach us history than the ones who rewrote it themselves?"
She quirked a brow. "Fair point. Hate it. But fair point."
I studied her. "How are you doing? Since..."
Chewing on a clementine slice, she shrugged. "Fine I guess. I'm dealing." She paused for a moment, staring off into the distance. "Do you ever look at your life and think 'wow, I'm literally a complete waste of space?'"
"Am!" I snapped, sitting up straight.
She held up a hand. "Relax. I just mean my life feels kinda blah right now. Like what am I really doing with my life? You have your art and Howard. Jeremy and Eli have soccer. Everyone around me has hobbies and goals and ambitions. And I have...nothing."
"That's not true. You have an incredible voice."
She shot me an unimpressed look."Yeah, I'm sure that'll come in handy when I'm trying to be the next Beyoncé or Ariana Grande." Crossing her arms, she sighed and sunk lower in her chair. "I have no clue what I want or what I'm going to do with my life. I've barely made a college list. But, let's be real it doesn't matter to me where I go as long as it's less than a four hour drive from you."
I emitted an uneasy laugh. "Am, tell me you're kidding. You can't base your entire college decision on me."
"Why not?"
I spluttered. "Because! This is a huge decision. It's deciding the next four years of your life. You need to go where you're going to thrive and be happy."
A crease of confusion set in between her brows. "Uh...yeah exactly. That's precisely why I'm applying to places near you."
I parted my lips to protest, but a resigned breath leaked through and I regarded her endearingly.
"I mean, unless you don't mind us being thousands of miles apart and only seeing each other twice a year."
My chest stung. "Of course not. That's not what I—"
"Is it alright if I join you ladies?" Noah hovered by our table, tray in hand.
Mira and I shared a glance.
YOU ARE READING
My Dearest Enemy
Teen Fiction***New chapter every Friday*** Cami has one wish. To get accepted to the arts program at her father's alma mater. But after facing constant rejections from magazines to publish her work and being told her drawings are "too detached" and "impersonal"...
