Secret Keeper (9 page)

Jay was good, there was no doubt about that. Just from this quick sketch she could tell that a finished painting
would be beautiful. If only the subject he was portraying didn’t seem so powerless. Why had he drawn her like that?

The next afternoon, she took the sketch to the rooftop and waited. After a few minutes, his shutters opened and he leaned out, smiling as he saw the unfolded bird in her hand. “What did you think?”

“It’s good,” she said. “But it doesn’t look like me.”

“Why not?”

“The girl in your drawing seems … oh, I don’t know, so much younger and weaker than I am. Plus she’s stupid. A storm’s coming and there she is, still sitting outside. She could at least have taken cover under the shelter.”

“I didn’t set out to make you look weak. I drew it as it came to me.”

A voice in the back of her head was telling her to shut up, but for once she didn’t listen to it. “Did you know I’m a champion tennis player? And that I scored the highest marks in my class ten years in a row?”

“No, but-”

“Did you know I can throw a cricket ball as hard as any boy in this town?”

“I’ve seen you play, but-”

“You’re obviously completely mistaken about me.” Why was she so angry? And she’d never bragged about her accom plishments before; she used to get embarrassed when Baba boasted about them at dinner parties. Now she was doing it herself, and to this odd stranger. What was
wrong
with her?

“Give me a chance to fix it, Osh. Let me paint you. The
real
you. Smart, powerful, strong. I can do it, I promise.”

Asha was quiet. What could it hurt to let him paint her? She came up there every day anyway, and she’d been enduring his staring for weeks now. “Oh, all right. Do what you need to do. Just don’t ever tell my mother we had this conversation. Or spoke at all. I’m already walking a thin line.”

“Quite a thin line I’m walking over here, too,” he said. “My mother’s the kindest woman on the planet, so she doesn’t scold or nag much. She does, however, sacrifice so many flowers before the gods and goddesses for my sake that her prayer room’s turned into a botanical garden.”

Asha had to smile; Grandmother’s prayer room was also well stocked with flowers and fruit in honor of Baba’s job quest. “They don’t want you to paint, do they?”

“They think I’m insane. But it’s something I have to do. Something I was born to do. Can you understand that?”

She nodded. “I have a dream too,” she said slowly.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t say anything, and she recognized the attentive silence she herself offered when someone was about to confess something important.

The truth came pouring out before she could stop it: “I want to be a psychologist.”

“I’ve heard of that, but tell me more.”

“It’s a mender of the mind. Someone who helps people release their secrets so they can be free.” She laughed, amazed that she’d told him more than she’d even told Reet. “Doesn’t that sound like I need a mind healer myself?”

“You’ll be perfect,” he said. “A confidante for those in trouble.”

Asha shrugged, refolded the sketch, and flew it back to him. “All right. Paint away. Make sure this time she looks like me.”

He caught and crushed the paper in his fist. “I’ll do my best. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“I’m not going to wear the same clothes every day,” she warned.

“You don’t have to. I’m going to paint you in the green salwar you wore the first afternoon you arrived. The one with the white flowers embroidered on the hem and sleeves.”

He was talking about her traveling salwar, the one that she loved because Baba had picked it out.

“And I’m not going to wear shoes,” she added. “I like being barefoot.”

“You don’t have to. Your feet are beautiful; they were one of the first things I noticed about you. I love your high arches and the ankle bracelets you sometimes wear.”

Reet insisted on Asha’s wearing the bracelets when she dressed up, and she’d grown to like the jangle of them herself. But why were her cheeks so hot? Was it because this was the first time anybody had used the word “beautiful” when talking about her?

Settle down, he’s talking about your feet, not you. But still.
“My hair gets messy in the wind,” she said before she could stop herself. “I don’t always keep it in a braid.”

“I like it loose. It glows in the sunlight like silk. In fact, I’m going to paint it like that.”

The double thumps were becoming more regular; now, each time Jay spoke, her heart pounded out an extra beat.

“Osh, time for tea!” It was Reet.

Asha and Jay smiled at each other one last time across the gap, before Asha turned to go. Suddenly she was conscious of the swing of her long braid behind her, the way her feet landed as she took each step, and the melody of ankle bracelets accompanying her like dance music as she left the roof.

THIRTEEN

A
SHA CAME UP WITH TWO PLANS TO KEEP HER SISTER SAFE
from the Y.L.I. She wasn’t happy about either of them, but they were all she had. Plan A: Confront the family, which required just the right timing.

“The astrologer said they’re a good match,” Uncle said as the elders in the family discussed the proposal one afternoon.

“He’s an only son
and
the eldest grandson,” Auntie added. “I don’t know if you’ll find any situation better than that.”

“Like you,” Asha muttered to Raj in the corner where the two of them were drinking their tea. “That means
you'll
get your pick of girls, too. Just like the Idiot.”

Raj frowned. “I would never pick a girl because of the way she looks through a pair of binoculars. I can’t stand
this.” He put his cup down and stalked outside with his cricket bat as though he wanted to bash someone over the head with it.

Reet sat next to Ma, listening to her future being discussed as though she herself wasn’t even in the room. Uncle, Grandmother, and Auntie reviewed the suitor’s wealth, status, behavior, education, career potential, and child- rearing capacity. The fact that he was still a student weighed against him; he should be established in his career before venturing into marriage. But Reet would be well taken care of; the boy’s family was one of the richest in town; the stars were aligned in the right places.

“Should we accept this proposal?” Uncle asked once they’d finished their full evaluation.

“Yes,” said Grandmother.

“Yes,” said Auntie.

Ma kept silent, and so did Reet.

Asha took a deep breath. It was time to implement Plan A.

She stood behind her sister and placed her hands on Reet’s shoulders, announcing in a strong, loud voice: “Reet doesn’t want to get married. So you’ll have to say no to this ridiculous proposal.”

The conversation screeched to a halt. Reet’s shoulders tensed under Asha’s fingers. Three pairs of disapproving adult eyes immediately focused on Ma.

Across the table, Ma’s expression flickered and then faded, reminding Asha of how the small television screen at Kavita’s house sometimes lost reception.

“These girls were given entirely too much freedom in
Delhi,” Uncle said, swiveling his head in that horrible figure eight. “They don’t know how to behave properly.”

Too much freedom?
Asha thought.
Hah!
“She doesn’t want to get married,” she said again, trying to muster as much confidence in her voice as she had the first time. “Right, Reet?”

Nobody spoke or moved, except for Uncle, whose head was still dancing with disapproval.

“I trust my elders to make the right decision,” Reet said, but her voice was flat.

The atmosphere lightened; the conversation resumed. Uncle launched into yet another description of the new flat and expensive furniture that Lusting Idiot and wife would receive as wedding gifts from his parents.

Reet half turned in her chair so that nobody else could see her face. “Sorry, Osh,” she mouthed, and her eyes flicked over to their mother. “Can’t do that to her.”

Asha sighed. “No worries,” she whispered, bending to kiss her sister on the cheek.

She went upstairs and pulled a brown paper bag out from under their bed. Carrying it up to the roof, she left it in the shelter of the small tin overhang and walked to the wall. It was about to rain again, and neighbors were beginning to close windows and yank laundry off the lines. Down on the cricket pitch, her cousin wasn’t even bothering to break into his buddies’ game.

Asha was glad that the darkening sky was starting to make people scurry inside. There was something heartening about seeing others dash for cover when you were about to brave a storm. It made you feel ready to take a risk, even
willing to try something crazy. And that was good, because it was time for Plan B-and Plan B was absolutely insane.

Asha desperately needed to hash it over with someone before she set things in motion. How she wished Kavita were here! Not only would Kavita listen to Asha’s ideas, she’d add details and anticipate trouble spots. But Kavita was far away in Delhi; Asha hadn’t heard from her friend in weeks. She thought for a moment of finding Raj and telling him what she was about to do, but she didn’t want him
or
Reet to bear any of the consequences. She’d do the deed; she’d take the punishment. Still, it would be wonderful to talk the plan through with another human being.

Asha turned around to study the shutters shielding Jay’s room. Where was he, anyway? Usually, five minutes or so after she came out to the roof, his window would fly open and the two of them would start talking. But there was no sign of her neighbor across the way.

Monsoon clouds, dark and heavy, drew closer to each other. Crows screeched warnings from the coconut trees as the wind began to pick up. “Tuni!” Ma shouted from below. “Where
is
that girl? Does anybody know?”

“She’s upstairs, Ma,” Reet’s voice answered. “Probably resting.”

Windows banged as Ma and Auntie hurried to stormproof the house. The boys on the field called their cricket game and dispersed. Rain was starting to fall; slow, steaming drops that hissed as they landed. Asha watched a pattern of dark gray spread across the lighter dry expanse of roof.

Raj, heading into the house through the side yard,
looked up, glimpsed his cousin, and grinned. Asha basked in the affection she saw in his face; she’d worked hard to earn it. Sadly, though, that smile was probably the last he’d give her for a while, because the first step in Plan B involved robbing him. She was going to have to borrow a racket, balls, one rupee, and a pair of shorts, a shirt, and a cap in order for the plan to work.

The goal of the plan was to make sure the Y.L.I. never wanted to see Reet again; Asha was going to have to shame him so that he slunk away with his head down. What was the best way to put a boy like that in his place? A girl had to beat him soundly, as the American player Billie Jean King had humiliated her nemesis, Bobby Riggs. Three straight sets in front of all those watching eyes.

Asha knew Plan B had lots of pitfalls; maybe she should discard it altogether. Even the weather might not cooperate-Raj had been grumbling about the storms that had been drenching the tennis courts on Friday afternoons. Her cousin might catch her borrowing his things. The getaway part was even trickier. How would she sneak out of the house without anybody seeing? Even if she did manage to escape, the college boys might guess that she was a girl
before
she got to win the tournament. And what if she couldn’t even remember how to hit the ball over the net?

She stood up and began pacing the roof. “The name’s Gupta,” she said, trying to make the pitch of her voice sound less like a girl. That was all she’d have to announce to the boys who organized the tournament, and thankfully it was a common enough name. Her voice squeaked the first two times she practiced it. Lightning flashed, followed by
the deep rumble of thunder. Asha tried to imitate it: “The name’s Gupta. Boom!”

The storm was intensifying, so she ducked back under the angled sheet of rippled tin. She’d come to the hardest part of her plan, the step that would set things in motion. Bringing her braid in front of her shoulder, she stroked its length. Her sister combed Asha’s hair out every night before bed, humming or singing while she eased out the tangles. Then Reet wove it into a single thick, heavy braid. It was so long now that Asha had to move it out of the way before she sat down. How had Jay described it? “Glowing in the sunlight like silk.”

It was no use; she had to save Reet. She had to do what came next.

Opening the paper bag, Asha pulled out a pair of sharp kitchen shears, closed her eyes for a moment, and pictured her sister’s face. Then she held up her long, wet braid. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she sliced it off as close to the nape of her neck as she could manage. Snap! The braid dangled like a heavy rope from her hand, and she glanced again at Jay’s closed window.

She wound the orphaned hair into a flat, tight coronet, took a few pins out of the bag, and pinned the spiral back into place. Hopefully, she’d avoid Reet’s nightly brush, and nobody would be able to tell that her braid was no longer attached to her scalp until after she’d carried out her plan.