OVER MY HEAD

OVER MY HEAD, Chapter 4

When I get back into my house, it's poor me. In just fifteen minutes I have the dreaded meeting with Dalton while he's on break from his deli job at The Little Store. That's how long it'll take to walk there if I move fast. 

I look at my clock. I should really get going. I hear Doodles opening drawers in her room. I'd better check on her. You know those ten year olds. Always fusing their fingers together with superglue, or cutting their hair with pinking shears. 

"What's up?" I ask. She's sprawled out on her rug beside a large white poster board, a red marker in her hand. 

"I'm making signs," she says. "To sell ice pops. I'm gonna put all the money I earn in there." She points to a glass cookie jar she swiped from the kitchen. "You can put your money from Poopsie watching in there too. When it gets full, we can give it to Mom and Dad." 

"Oh. Great." I should tell her not to bother. I mean, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. "So, you're going to be like the ice cream man?" 

"Without a truck. We're going to be rich." She smiles. 

"Oh. Sure. That's great, kiddo." 

Back in my room, I pace and gnaw on my thumb. How could this happen? How could my parents owe so much money? I wish I could talk to Hari about this, but he's working at his new job at Coffee & Cream. Plus he's like Doodles. He feels so great about helping out. What if I tell him the truth? Maybe he'll insist on quitting college. 

I look at my clock. Twelve minutes till Dalton time. I really really should go now. 

The phone rings! I pounce on the cordless beside my bed. It's my grandmother, and she's a real talker. This could take an hour. I smile. "Hey, Grandma. What's new?" 

"Nobody in my neighborhood," she says. 

My mom's mom lives in a retirement community in Seattle called Festive City, but according to her, it's more like "Fussy City." "God help you if you have a weed!" she'd say. I recline on my bed, ready to hear all about her cranky neighbor Phyllis. 

She says, "Is your mother there? I have that flight information for her and I need to confirm some details." 

I sit up. "You're coming to visit? That's great!" I immediately wonder if Grandma's visit will happen the same time as Raina's. Grandma has never really meshed with the Indian side of the family. Indians instantly include everybody in their family. Uncles treat nieces and nephews like their own children. Cousins are like brothers and sisters. Even in-laws are treated as the closest and dearest of relatives. I think this freaks Grandma out. To her, in-laws are more like strangers you have to be extra polite to. So she usually keeps her distance, even not visiting for the holidays if she discovers an Indian relative will be coming too. Her excuse has always been, "I just can't understand the accent. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable." 

"I'm not coming, dear. Raina is," Grandma says now. 

"I know, but...what?" Wait. How does Grandma even know Raina's name? She barely gets my dad's right. 

"Can't you hear?" She's shouting now. "Is this better?" 

I pull the phone away from my ear. "Much." 

"Trying times," she says. "What would Phyllis say if she could see inside my house right now? Suitcases and clothes everywhere." 

"Suitcases?" 

"Suitcases," she screams. "Still, Raina seems like a lovely girl. Though I don't really understand her much, it's the-" 

"Accent," I say. "I know."