“I don’t know, he seems a little, um, lacking in authenticity.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s exactly what Mason”—I catch myself just in time—“would have said.”
“You think?”
“He would have called Richard human aspartame.”
Asha barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “You see? Special bond. That sounds exactly like him.” We’re both quiet for a minute, and I can almost hear Mason’s voice in my mind. Asha must be thinking something similar, because when I look at her, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. Then she says, “All right, well, I’ve gotta go catch up with Lincoln.” She stands, straightening several bracelets that have gotten tangled at her wrist, and throws the strap of her bag over her head.
“Wait,” I say, wanting to hold on to the connection that I let lapse, desperate to keep the conversation going. “You didn’t tell me how you got pinned with destruction of property.”
She laughs again, and the sound is so contagious, I laugh, too, before I even know what we’re laughing at. “We snuck intothe cafeteria kitchen and threw out all the pork products. The hot dogs, the deli ham, everything.”
I gasp. “You did not.”
She nods. “We did. Did you know that pigs are smarter than chimpanzees? They can play video games, for fuck’s sake! We should eat some of the bros in our grade before we eat pork.”
Only Asha could end up breaking the behavior code while maintaining the moral high ground. I grin. “Well, that explains why there’s been no BLTuesdays at lunch recently,” I say. “And the other part of the ‘we’ was Lincoln?”
“We are coconspirators,” she says, rolling the word around in her mouth like it’s delicious. “Poor kid, he insisted we make a statement. He painted ‘Who’s the pig now?’ on the fridge in red paint, but then he tracked paint all the way to his locker. I confessed in solidarity.”
“Very loyal of you.” I nod.
She pauses now, looking at me. “So is that what was twisting you into an emotional pretzel? Richard’s slithery behavior? Or Mason?”
Yes on both counts. Plus … “There’s something else.”
“What is it?” I can almost feel the trademark Chawla intensity bubble forming around us as her eyes hold mine.
Where to begin? “I’m defective.”
The criticism breaks her intent gaze. “What?” she asks, incredulous.
“They didn’t make me right in the factory.”
Asha puts her hands on her hips. “Hattie, speak English. What the hell are you talking about?”
Spitting it out is the only way. “My mom made me go to the doctor and they ran a million tests and it turns out I have the same thing as my dad and am now slowly, inevitably going blind.”
The admission sits like a stone on the window ledge between us. A stone that I would love to pick up and hurl through the window. What’s going to happen now? I steel myself for all the questions she’ll undoubtedly have, the confusion about what exactly that means and what there is to be done.
But there’s no interrogation. Asha touches my arm. “That’s brutal,” she finally says.
“Yeah.”
“And having watched your dad going through it, knowing exactly what you’re in for …”
“Makes it worse,” I finish.
“Well, so we’ll handle it. One day at a time.” I notice the “we” in there and I almost cry from the comfort. She’s got her intensity face on. I can feel her energy encircling me. “Shit, I can’t believe you’ve been holding this on your own. How are you feeling?”
“Honestly, right now I’m just feeling relieved to have told someone. And to have it, you know, be you.”
“I’m glad you told me.” Then she grins. “No wonder you’ve been assaulting people in the hallways.”
I groan. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been coping the best.”
She waves my guilt away. “Totally normal and understandable.”
