A Few Hundred Poppies

2. Brown Privilege

Sure, at the Fullers' barbecues, we'd sloshed around with half of the town's police force, but I'd never really met the deputies who dosed on the night shift. From up close, the two were depressing as hell. Last night, the drunk teenagers from the college party next door had awoken Mr. Fuller up and he'd called up his pals at the police station. They'd cruised in in the Volvo, insisting on recording our statement.

In spite of all the drama, Ma marched into my room at 6:30 sharp, adjusting her dupatta over the royal blue salwar-kameez she loved to wear to work, sporting her finest frown. Our relatives often said that I was the spitting image of her, but my nose was much flatter, and whereas her hair was wild, mine was much tamer, albeit curly like hers. Among the things we had in common, my favourite was a pair of arched eyebrows and curious doe-like eyes, both of which were jet black and occasionally erupted bursts of vanity from me.

When I refused to get up for school, she shot me a disappointed look and started lecturing me on the importance of being motivated every single second of my life, which is stupid and impossible. I didn't know what she was ranting about - my grades were literally flawless, I socialised with the aunts and uncles whenever she forced me to, I didn't do crystal meth, and I hadn't shown up at her door pregnant. This girl just wanted to sleep.

Once she left, I locked myself in the washroom and attempted to dose off in the bathtub with a dry towel thrown over my figure. Until, of course, Bapi started pounding on the door ten minutes later. As he was midway between punching the door with his fist again, fuming, I swung it open to find him suppressing a smile at my misery, knotting up his tie with the free hand.

Despite repeatedly trying to drum into their heads that I'd be late anyway and that there was no point in interrupting Mrs. Flaxen's class, they dragged me outside with a mango (sent most enthusiastically by my uncles in Bangladesh) in my grip, locked the door to the house, and hurried off to catch the train to London.

Squirming under Mrs. Flaxen's reprimanding glare and pursed burgundy lips, betting myself on whether she'd let me in or not, I tried not to make the panting from the sprint obvious. With a last pointed look, she let me shuffle into the classroom with a lowered head, my ears burning with embarrassment. I settled down at the back, involuntarily noticing that the new guy was nowhere to be seen although Mrs. Flaxen's English was mandatory for everyone. Well, at least today can't be worse than yesterday.

To put it simply, I was wrong.

-

You'd think that after two years of helplessly running laps around the school field, you'd be stuck doing the same thing in the third year of high school, but the P.E. substitute just had to go and ruin my life. Planting two sprawling feet firmly upon the ground, she announced that this year we'd be graded on swimming, and we had fifteen minutes to change into the swimsuits (which, thankfully, weren't gross hand-me-downs).

I groaned exasperatedly as soon as the sub was out of earshot, mentally listing off all the horrible things I'd done in the last few days to deserve this. If I knew this would happen, I would never lie about watering Ma's casa blancas and let them die.

I accidentally overheard Ruby complaining to the rest of the cheerleaders that it wasn't fair since she hadn't swam against anybody in a year. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, because I didn't know how to swim. At all.

As if that wasn't enough trouble on its own, even when merely standing beside the pool, I was shuddering at the sight of the chlorinated water from time to time. And the ripe cherry on top - I was completely alone - Lee and Art hadn't come to school today, and Ever and Troy were busy with the other jocks.