Hirsh Sawhney - South Haven

He turned back to Luca, who was sliding down his window. “Yo Niggerski,” shouted Luca, “you look hot today! Would you be my girlfriend?”

From her driveway, Sharon glanced up at the bus and scowled, then stuck up her middle finger.

Siddharth crouched down, focusing his gaze on the worn knees of his blue jeans.

“Freaking dyke,” said Eddie. “Her mailbox is mine.”

* * *

Luckily, the rain picked up, and by six o’clock, loud booms of thunder were rattling the windows of the Peroti household, causing Luca’s little brother to howl. Mrs. Peroti said she would drive them from house to house to get some candy, but Luca said that would be lame. Mrs. Peroti served them tortellini for dinner, and the boys watched a movie called Re-Animator , which Mohan Lal had rented for Siddharth. After reading the back of the case, Mohan Lal had said it was a work of science fiction, and science fiction taught young people to think critically.

The movie ended up being about a scientist who developed an injection that could bring dead things back to life. In Siddharth’s favorite scene, a decapitated body grasped its own head and performed oral sex on a woman. Siddharth ended up having a great evening and wondered if the universe was finally on his side.

Mrs. Peroti drove them to school in the morning, which meant that he avoided another encounter with Sharon. But the thought of facing her in class made his stomach churn. During English, he tried smiling at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. As he walked to science later that day, he thought about visiting the nurse to see if he could go home early. But it was Thursday, and Ms. Farber was usually home on Thursdays. He stopped in the bathroom to cup some water into his mouth and ended up arriving three minutes late to class. Mr. Polanski said he would give him a detention if it happened again.

Today they were going to do an experiment that involved comparing the masses of various liquids. By the time Siddharth got to his lab station, Sharon had gathered most of their materials — goggles, glass beakers, and a triple-beam balance. She looked up at him and said, “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would something be wrong?”

She yawned and stretched her arms. “Well, I’m pretty exhausted.”

He strapped his goggles onto his head. “Why, what did you do last night?”

“Jake came over. We were watching scary movies until three in the morning.”

“You mean he slept over?”

“What did you do?” asked Sharon, ignoring his question.

“Your mother let him sleep over?” Siddharth didn’t know why, but he felt himself growing hard. He felt disgusted with himself, and with Sharon too.

Smiling, she wrote their names on their lab sheet. “Come on, Siddharth. Why do you always gotta make such a big deal about everything?”

As the temperatures dipped toward freezing, Siddharth started daydreaming about his brother’s holiday visit. Once Arjun was back, it wouldn’t matter that Marc didn’t have any time for him. Arjun would take him to the mall. They would stay up late talking. Siddharth would show him off to Luca Peroti and Eddie Benson. He would show off Eddie and Luca to Arjun. He would prove to Arjun that he was definitely a regular guy — so what if he didn’t play sports?

On a mid-December evening, Arjun called to say he had a change of plans. Instead of flying to Connecticut for winter break, he was getting a ride in a van to rural Tennessee, where he would spend Christmas with other college students building houses for poor people. Siddharth was hurt. Angry. He couldn’t fathom why his brother would want to do something so lame and taxing.

“Let me guess,” he told Arjun, locking himself in the bathroom with the new cordless phone, Ms. Farber’s most recent purchase. “You’re doing this to impress your girlfriend.”

“Don’t be a child,” said Arjun. “I’m doing this because I believe in justice. Look, I have a week off in February. I’ll definitely see you then.”

“Whatever.”

“Siddharth, what did I tell you about trusting people? You gotta trust me. I’ll see you in February.”

Over dinner that night, Mohan Lal said he was glad Arjun was putting his money where his mouth was, but that he hoped this charity nonsense wouldn’t interfere with his studies. Ms. Farber said that Arjun was setting a great example, and she thought that the four of them should plan something similar for the summer.

“Fabulous,” said Marc, who then made a gagging sound.

“Siddharth, honey,” said Ms. Farber, “I know this is disappointing, but it actually might be for the best.”

“The best for who?”

Ms. Farber explained that an old friend from her Manhattan days was finally getting married, and that the wedding was being held in Atlantic City on the final weekend of Arjun’s February vacation. “Mo,” she said, “Arjun could watch the boys. We could turn it into a little vacation.”

“Vacation?” said Mohan Lal. “You think my book will write itself?”

“Jeez, Mohan,” she replied. “God forbid we spend a night alone.”

A few days later, Ms. Farber booked a two-night February package at a boardwalk hotel, which included four meals, a live show, and thirty dollars of tokens for the slot machines. Siddharth cringed at the idea of her and Mohan Lal being alone together in a hotel room, but he calmed himself with the thought of having his brother all to himself. Besides, February vacation was still two months away. A lot could happen between now and then. Ms. Farber could be hit by a bus, or perhaps move to Indonesia. No, that would be bad. That would be bad because Mohan Lal would have to grieve for another woman.

* * *

The next morning was the second-to-last day of school before Christmas vacation. The sky was bright blue, but the temperature hovered around freezing. As Siddharth headed to the bus stop, he couldn’t free his mind from thoughts of Atlantic City. He had once gone there when he was seven or eight, for one of Mohan Lal’s marketing conferences. On the first night there, they went out to a fancy restaurant, where the waiters pulled out their chairs and brushed away their crumbs. He had loved all the luxury and attention. He ordered mussels for dinner, even though his mother said he wouldn’t like them. She was right, but to prove a point he had eaten every last one and said they were great.

Siddharth reached the top of his street, pausing in the middle of the quiet intersection to wait for Timmy Connor. He placed his foot on a frozen puddle, causing it to shatter. When they were small, this area would often freeze over completely, and he and the Connor brothers used this ever-present patch of ice as a makeshift skating rink. Surrounded by sand and salt, the puddle now looked like a miniature ocean, complete with its own beach. During the Atlantic City trip, while Arjun had bathed in the ocean, Siddharth remained on the shore building a sand castle. As he stood there now, waiting for Timmy, the memory was still so vivid in his mind. He could taste the bitter mussels. He could see his Velcro sneakers, the silk scarf his mother tied around her neck when it was windy. But what was the point of these memories? That weekend was gone forever.

Looking up, he saw Naomi, Timmy’s mutt, trotting toward him. Siddharth’s mother used to keep a water bowl for Naomi by the Aroras’ front steps. The dog nuzzled up against him, and he scratched below her jaw. The tip of her left ear was oozing blood; a few gnats were swarming around it. “What’s wrong?” asked Siddharth. “Where’s Timmy?”

The dog wagged her tail and offered him a paw.

If he waited any longer, he would miss the bus, so he started walking. Naomi remained by his side. He saw that many of his neighbors had placed Christmas candles in their windows, and a few had put up menorahs. This year, Ms. Farber would light a menorah at the Aroras’, and she would buy him a compact disc player for Hanukkah. His neighbors’ lawns were blotched with snow, so he stuck to the street to avoid ruining his suede shoes. As the road curved to his left, he passed an enormous oak. The tree stood in front of a tiny brick house, which a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses had recently purchased. Naomi abruptly halted and started barking.