Hirsh Sawhney - South Haven

“Please, Barry, not now,” said Mohan Lal.

Arjun said, “Dad, she was my mother. I deserve to hear this.”

When Mohan Lal widened his eyes at Arjun, Siddharth cringed. He knew what those eyes meant. They meant that if Arjun said another thing, Mohan Lal was going to go ape shit. He was going to shout, or raise his hand behind his ear — things he had always done, but with much more frequency now.

Siddharth was relieved when Arjun got up and went to their bedroom. Unfortunately, Barry Uncle kept on going: “Listen, Mohan, we’re in America now, and that’s the way things work here. That truck driver, he won’t pay anything. But this guy’s insurance company should pay up.”

Siddharth felt it was his responsibility to step in. He said, “Barry Uncle, trust me, it’s not like we need the money.”

“Boy, your father isn’t exactly M.S. Oberoi. He’s got mortgage payments. You two boys will go to college one day.”

Siddharth wanted Mohan Lal to say something to defend their family’s honor. He wanted him to tell Barry Uncle to mind his own business. Mohan Lal seemed strangely calm though. He ate a couple bites of pizza. He downed his whiskey, then sighed. Siddharth didn’t see what was coming, and he jumped in his chair when Mohan Lal slammed his fist into the table. The plates shook and the glasses jingled.

Mohan Lal stood up. “Barry, you’re an ass,” he said.

“Easy there, boss,” replied Barry Uncle. “Take it easy.”

“Dad!” said Siddharth.

Mohan Lal pointed his finger in the air. “Leave, you bastard. Get out of my house, Barry.”

Barry Uncle stood up and placed his hand on Mohan Lal’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s change the subject.”

Mohan Lal switched into Hindi, or maybe it was Punjabi — Siddharth couldn’t tell the difference. All he knew was that he wished his father would stop shouting at his best friend. But Mohan Lal wouldn’t stop.

Barry Uncle grabbed his briefcase and rushed toward the front door. He said, “I know you’re upset, boss. But you can be a stubborn ass sometimes.” He then got into his Honda Accord and sped down the driveway.

After the fight, Barry Uncle tried calling a few times. Mohan Lal either hung up on him or told the boys to say he wasn’t home. Soon Barry Uncle stopped calling. One evening Arjun said, “He’s, like, your only friend, Dad. You need to talk to him.” Mohan Lal called Barry Uncle a swine. He said he wouldn’t speak to him for as long as he lived.

Siddharth didn’t know what to make of Barry Uncle. There were little things he liked about him. He let Siddharth change the gears of his car, and he let him take little sips of his whiskey. But Siddharth was well aware of his mother’s feelings for the man, and he began to wonder if Mohan Lal had banished him out of loyalty to her. In that case, he was definitely on his father’s side. He was glad to see the last of Barry Uncle.

As they drove to Deer Run Elementary School on that chilly February evening, a light snow wetted the windshield of their rust-colored car. His stomach gurgled with dread, which mounted as they approached the town center. Soon they were passing the Carter Family Horse Farm, which was adjacent to South Haven’s public library. Over the past few months, Mohan Lal occasionally picked him up from school, and they would get donuts and eat them in the library parking lot. They parked as close to the horses as possible, and Siddharth got out of the car and laced his fingers through the chain-link fence. One of the ponies, which had a blond mane, sometimes came over and licked his fingers, and they started referring to it as Buddy. Whenever they visited Buddy, Mohan Lal remained in the car, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup and listening to reports about the aftermath of the Gulf War. Siddharth stood outside alone, inhaling the musky air, staring at the desolate fields and graceful horses. He occasionally looked over his shoulder to check on his father, who responded by blowing him a kiss or just smiling. Siddharth felt good in those moments. He hadn’t said a word about them to anyone — not to Arjun, nor to Ms. Farber, his school psychologist. He hadn’t even said anything to his only friend at Deer Run, Sharon Nagorski.

It was thanks to Arjun that he had enrolled in Deer Run Elementary back in September. Arjun had said he needed an after-school program now that they were a single-parent family, and Deer Run was the only South Haven school that had one. That term— single-parent family —made him feel like punching a wall. It was a term that should have applied to the people on television, not to real people who he knew and loved.

At first, Mohan Lal was dismissive of Arjun. But he later said that Arjun had a point and instructed him to handle all of the arrangements. Siddharth looked on as his brother pretended to be their father and phoned the principal of Robert Treat Elementary, where he had attended first through fourth grades. Once all the arrangements were finalized, Mohan Lal told Arjun that he was proud of him for sorting everything out. He said that one day Arjun would make a good father.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Arjun. “One day you might make one too.”

Siddharth said, “Take it easy, Arjun. He was just trying to be nice.”

The rest of the summer, Siddharth had dreaded the prospect of beginning at a new school, but once the year actually started, he saw that transferring definitely had an upside. At Deer Run, he was no longer the little brother of the great Arjun Arora, straight-A student and flag bearer. At Deer Run, he was no longer the kid with the dead mom. The problem was that at his new school, he was the new kid, a nobody who people avoided. At his new school, he only had one friend, Sharon Nagorski. The other kids called Sharon a loser. Luca Peroti and Eddie Benson called her “Sharon, the Friendless Wonder.”

Mohan Lal pulled into Deer Run five minutes before the PTA meeting was supposed to start, parking beside the derelict tennis courts. For Siddharth, being at school for the second time in one day was a prison sentence. But accompanying his father had still seemed like the best option. Arjun was putting the school newspaper to bed, and Siddharth wasn’t in the mood to be alone. More importantly, going with his father meant he could prevent him from doing something stupid.

As they navigated the slushy asphalt, he clutched his father’s woolen overcoat. That way, if Mohan Lal slipped, Siddharth could break his fall. When they reached the school’s entrance, they dried their winter boots on a large red mat inscribed with the word Owls. Owls were the Deer Run mascot.

Mohan Lal muttered, “Owls? This is a place of learning, and owls are the stupidest of birds.”

Siddharth rolled his eyes. He saw a sign that read, PTA Meeting in Cafeteria, and led his father in that direction. As they walked, he told himself to look on the bright side, just as Arjun was always telling him. His mother used to say the same thing. The bright side was that he would get to show his father where he stood in line for chocolate milk and foot-long hot dogs. The bright side was that he would get to show him where he ate lunch with Sharon Nagorski. To Siddharth’s surprise, the positive thinking did the trick, loosening him up.

The cafeteria had dizzyingly tall ceilings, and twenty tables with attached orange benches. One of its walls contained a glass case displaying student artwork and class pictures. Another wall was made almost entirely of windows. It looked out onto a blue Luciani Carting garbage dumpster and two flagpoles, one for the blue state flag and the other for Old Glory. Mohan Lal dashed in front of him and headed to the back of the room, near the spot where you cleared your lunch tray. A little stand had been set up there, with two coffee urns and a tray full of pastries. He made himself a cup with cream and sugar, then picked up a glazed donut. “Eat something,” he said. “We’ll have dinner later tonight.”