Fifteen Lanes (12 page)

Parvati returned, grinning all over her face. She handed me one samosa and broke off a small piece from another, holding it up to Shami. I felt rather than saw him turn his head away.

“Keep trying,” I said. “He’ll take it eventually.”

We started walking again and Parvati did her best to get Shami to eat, in between tucking into her own samosa. In the end he didn’t have more than a few bites but I still felt a measure of satisfaction. Every bit of food that went into him felt like a victory.

It was close to midnight by the time we reached the shanties
under the bridge. I was ready to drop from exhaustion and wondered if we were really going to have to make this trek every night. Lots of girls didn’t. They just slept in doorways or on the sidewalk in our own neighborhood. Lots of them got attacked as well though. It was worth the walk to sleep surrounded by people we knew, even if they were Parvati’s friends more than mine.

Several people greeted her as we wove our way through the corrugated metal and tarpaulin structures looking for a few feet of empty pavement. Finally we came to a patch large enough for all three of us to stretch out. Parvati helped me ease Shami off my back. He’d fallen asleep after his small meal and we didn’t want to wake him. She held him while I spread the sari on the ground and then gently laid him on it. Without discussion, we settled ourselves on either side.

Kidnapping was another hazard of life on the street, though baby girls were more often stolen than boys. Boys could be sold to beggars, who used them as props to get bigger handouts, but girls could be sold to brothels. They were far more lucrative. Babies sometimes disappeared from the brothels themselves. No baby had ever been stolen from our home but I knew several aunties whose babies had gone missing. Everyone knew it was the brothel owners. They sold them to traffickers who resold them in distant cities far from the protection of their families. The brothel owners made money, and it was a powerful way to punish mothers who’d resisted allowing their children to follow them into the trade.

I was almost asleep when I was aroused by a thud, quickly followed by a shriek. I sat up to discover Parvati rubbing her shoulder and recoiling from the raised foot of a young man.
The stubble on his face was as patchy as grass in the dry season. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

“Get up, thief,” he snarled.

Parvati scrambled to her feet, planting herself firmly between the boy and Shami. I jumped up too and reached down to pick up Shami, taking in our situation at the same time. There were half a dozen of them. The boy who kicked her was the oldest. The youngest looked to be about Adit’s age. I stepped closer to Parvati so our bodies were touching.

“Where’s my money,” demanded their leader. He seemed genuinely furious, but that didn’t impress me. From what I’d seen of life many people spent every moment of every day simmering with anger.

“I haven’t been working.” Parvati glared back at him defiantly.

Parvati never understood the value of pretending humility. I cast my eyes downward, trying to communicate my own respect.

He backhanded her across the face. Her head cracked sideways with the force of the blow. Blood spurted from her lip and hit my cheek. I caught her as she staggered into me, but she righted herself quickly and again met his gaze.

“Have you seen me begging?” she demanded. “I haven’t been working.”

I silently willed her to be quiet.

“We’ve all seen you throwing your money around. If you’re not begging for it, you must be stealing. Either way, you owe me my cut.”

What had Parvati done? Surely she wouldn’t steal from her fellow beggars. There was a hierarchy in every begging
community, just as there was for sex workers. Beggars worked in teams under the supervision of middle-level lieutenants who reported to gang lords. Whatever beggars earned on the street had to be turned over to those they worked for. Parvati knew that. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she had bought her jeans. Was that the meaning of her sly smile?

“What if I do have money? What’s it to you? I didn’t earn it begging. You have no claim to it.”

Why couldn’t she have just lied?

“I own you. That means I own everything you earn. What do I care how you earned it? It’s still mine. In fact, you should be grateful your money is all I take from you.”

“You would have to force a girl, wouldn’t you, Suresh? No girl would let you touch her voluntarily.”

We reached for her at the same time, me to pull her back and him perhaps to kill her. We met halfway and he knocked Shami from my arms. I leaned over to pick up Shami, who was already struggling to his feet, stunned.

Parvati dove for the boy’s neck, wrapping her hands around it. Shami headed unsteadily toward them but I caught him and wrapped my arms around him. Several more boys joined the fray. Parvati was knocked to the ground. I left Shami to go to her. Kicks connected with my back and sides as I shielded her. Suddenly Shami was beside me, taking blows meant for me. Tears streamed down my face as I beseeched them all to stop.

When we were all three on the ground bleeding and inert, they stood back to savor their victory.

Suresh leaned down to Parvati, shoving his hands into every one of her pockets until he found her money.

“Don’t ever try to cheat me again,” he warned.

Parvati’s unflinching stare said it all. He laughed, but it was a reed-thin imitation.

We were silent after they left. I carefully examined every inch of Shami. He’d have some bruises in the morning but there was nothing broken and only minor cuts. It was still agony to see him hurt. He winced when I held him close and buried my face in his hair.

Parvati reached over and stroked Shami’s head. “Don’t worry, Noor. One day I will make Suresh pay for that beating.” Her beautiful new T-shirt was smeared with dirt, the
I’m a Princess
obscured.

If anyone else had made the threat, I would have put it down to bravado, but it was Parvati. I didn’t doubt her.

“Be careful, Paru. Suresh is protected. If you defy him, he’ll only do worse to you.”

Neither of us knew how right I was.

I didn’t know where VJ normally sat, but I noticed that he chose a table in the epicenter of the cafeteria, guaranteed to ensure we could be seen from every direction.

“Can you give us a moment?” He looked around at the girls who’d followed him in. “Grace and I need to have a private talk.”

A couple of the girls shot me hostile looks but they melted away at his request.

“What do you want to eat? I’m buying.”

Still reeling from the last five minutes of my life, I had no idea what to say. I’d never spoken to this boy before and he was offering to buy me lunch. Would it be more rude to refuse or accept?

“Chips?” I suggested hesitantly.

“Not going to happen, my nubile nymph.” He pursed lips that any girl would kill to have—kissing her, or just stuck on
her own face. “I’m not going to be the one to destroy your perfect feline physique, so let me rephrase: Do you want a veggie wrap or a salad?”

“Salad?”

“Perfect choice! Aren’t you clever.” With that he sauntered off, pausing at least a half dozen times on his way to the food line to chat with people, all of who seemed utterly charmed by him.

As surreal as the last twenty-four hours of my life had been, this took bizarre to a whole new level. VJ Patel was the local version of royalty. There wasn’t anyone in the school richer or more famous. Everyone knew he drove around in an armored car with a personal bodyguard, though apparently school regulations required the bodyguard to wait in the parking lot. The stories of his lavish parties and excessive drinking were legendary. In fact, legendary pretty much summed up VJ Patel. So … what was he doing with me?

It was possible he felt sorry for me, but I wouldn’t have pegged him for a particularly altruistic guy. The numerous times I’d seen him on the front of the lifestyle section of the newspaper it was never in connection with anything charitable, unless he was attending a fundraising art auction or gala.

I wasn’t thrilled about being his latest charity until a more hideous thought occurred to me. He was concerned about me gaining weight. A wave of nausea swept over me. Did he believe the hype that I was a slut? Given the photographic evidence, it was hardly surprising. The only question was, did he want me for himself or was he planning to follow his dad into the film industry, perhaps starting with a porn flick? As shocking as my behavior was to the average westerner, it
had to seem worse to the Indian students. Their own films had only recently allowed kissing. Even imported western films were heavily censored.

VJ appeared with a large Greek salad, placed it in front of me and dropped into the chair across the table. I stared at the salad. With the knot in my stomach I wouldn’t be able to force down a single bite. I cleared my throat. He grinned.

“What’s on your mind?” he said. “Spit it out.”

I tried to think of a tactful opener. “I really appreciate you rescuing me,” I started. “But, you should know I’m not … I’m not …”

He arched his perfectly shaped brow. He was so good-looking he was pretty. “You’re not what?” he prompted.

“Available.”

“Available for what?”

I blinked and made the mistake of shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth with the hope that it would give me time to think.

“Sex?” he asked, leaning forward across the table. “Are we not going to have sex?”

I couldn’t chew. His face was inches from my own and he was talking about sex. My face was suffused with heat.

VJ leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. I quickly chewed, swallowed and resolved to give up vegetables for the foreseeable future.

“Well, Gracie,” he said, “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to swear it won’t go any further.”

“Who would I tell? Everyone hates me.”

“This secret you could probably sell to the press.”

“The last thing I want is more attention.”

His tone was so dramatically earnest that I wasn’t sure if he was serious, but his dark eyes searched my face as though he really was trying to decide if he could trust me.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I like boys, Gracie. That’s the truth of it. I like you too, obviously. As a person, I think you’re very interesting … but not in
that
way.”

My mind was reeling. In all the stories I’d read and heard, not one said VJ Patel was gay. I was never obsessed with him or anything, but I was a major Bollywood film fan. I felt this was something I should have known. I’d seen him in at least three films playing a teen heartthrob, and I’d read countless articles detailing his latest romances. I had to hand it to him: if he was telling me the truth he was a better actor than I’d given him credit for. At another time I might have been disappointed—like every other girl in the school, I’d harbored a small crush on him—but recent events had decidedly dampened my romantic inclinations.

Still, it was hard to reconcile the boy before me, claiming his lack of interest in girls, with all the stories. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“You don’t understand?” A smile played about his lips. “How shall I explain?” He thought for a moment. “As much as I hope we can be friends, at no point are you going to get any. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

I laughed.

VJ frowned. “That’s a little harsh, pet.”

“I’m sorry.” I tried to stop grinning but I couldn’t help it. I was just so massively relieved. “So, if you aren’t interested in me, why’d you bail me out?”

“Who said I wasn’t interested in you? You’re the school slut. I think that’s positively delicious.”

“I’m not really a slut.”

“Don’t be so quick to give away your power. Remember, there’s no such thing as bad press.”

“Look at that, she’s already got her claws into another guy.” Madison’s voice rose above the usual cafeteria babble. I looked over to discover that she wasn’t at her usual table. She, too, had chosen to sit in a central spot. But it was who she was with that took my breath away. Flanked by her usual entourage, she sat directly across the table from none other than Todd.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, more to myself than to VJ.

He followed my gaze. “Ah, an alliance of your enemies. What can it mean? The intrigue of it all! This just keeps getting better!”

I gave him a cool look. “I’m glad you find my life so entertaining.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t hang out with you otherwise.”

“Is nothing serious with you?” I knew I didn’t have enough friends to risk losing the only person willing to speak to me, but I was starting to wonder if VJ was really friend material.

He straightened his face and looked so determinedly solemn that I found myself smiling.

“There are many things I find serious. Declining achievement levels in rural schools, female infanticide and my mother’s suicide attempt after my father’s affair are all things I consider very serious. A bunch of children displaying their pack mentality by attacking a vulnerable girl is distasteful but hardly catastrophic.”