Love, Hate & Other Filters(36)
I step over to her and hug her, my soapy hands dripping on the floor.
She steps back. “I have to take the nazar off you.”
“Mom, it’s okay. No one gave me the evil eye. I’m good.” My whole life, any time I had any sort of school achievement, or even when I get what my mom refers to as “compliments of envy,” or especially when I would suddenly get sick, my mom would take the nazar off. Sometimes preemptively.
Don’t fight her on her superstitions, I say to myself. WWHD? What would Hina do? Hina would quietly give my mom this little victory to assuage her concerns. I walk over to the fridge, take out an egg, and hand it to my mom.
She carefully takes it in her right hand and sweeps it over my head while she recites a quiet prayer asking God to remove the evil eye and keep me under his protection. The whole ritual barely takes two minutes, and it gives her peace of mind.
She smiles and hands me the egg. “Now go put it outside in the pot with the jasmine plant. I’ll bury it later. Be careful—”
“I got it, Mom. Don’t worry.”
My mom goes to join my dad in the living room.
I start for the back door, but I lose my footing and slip on the sudsy water I dripped all over the floor when I hugged my mom. I throw my arms out to balance myself so I don’t fall on my ass. I’m impressed with my catlike recovery, but sticky egg white and yolk drip down my fingers because in my effort not to fall, I’ve crushed the egg in my hand. I can imagine my mom’s freak-out if she’d witnessed this sacrilege, so I quickly wash off in the sink and sweep up any remaining eggshell and dump it into the sink. I turn the water on and run the garbage disposal. My mom got the calm that came with the ritual, so I’m not going to tell her about this. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.
Cautiously he slides out of his parking spot.
The moment before, just before. He panics.
She makes him hesitate.
A small, dark-haired girl holding her mother’s hand, looking up at her, a smile like sunshine, her dress red as a poppy bursting against green grass.
Collateral damage.
Sweat drips off the hook of his nose.
He bites his cheek. Hard. Blood fills his mouth.
At least now, they will know his name.
His right foot bears down hard on the accelerator.
Violet fills the ride to school with spring break tales of kissing Parisian boys and exploring the villages of the C?te d’Azur. I nibble on the rose-scented macarons she brought me from Paris. But for once, I share stories, too. Good ones. Great ones. Life-altering ones. The stuff origin stories are made of. I devour the last macaron as we turn down senior hall.
That’s when I see Amber and Kelsey, two of Lisa’s best friends, leaning against my locker, arms crossed in front of their chests. Scowling. They both wear their matching cinnamon-brown manes in perfect, shiny ponytails that would make my mom weep with joy. We’ve been in school together since sixth grade, and in that entire time, I’ve probably exchanged fifteen words with both of them combined. If that. You can usually find them huddled with Lisa every morning, laughing or gossiping until Lisa breaks away to walk to class with Phil. When they see me, their scowls only deepen; they both straighten up.
My laughter comes to an abrupt halt.
Amber steps forward with one hand on her jutting right hip as Violet and I approach my locker. She stares down at me. “You know what I think?” she begins.
“That your parents shouldn’t have given you a stripper name?” Violet responds.
I stifle an anxious chuckle because Violet always has my back. But sometimes she escalates before I even know if the situation calls for escalation.
Amber’s mouth opens to a perfect “O” of surprise.
I put my hand on Violet’s elbow and pull her back a couple inches. “What do you guys want?” I ask. I notice we are drawing the attention of a few people in the hall. Luckily it’s still a bit early, so senior hall isn’t at full capacity.
Amber clears her throat and tries again, face sour, jaw tight. “Maya, don’t even think about going to prom with Phil.”
I laugh out loud. I expected them to hurl home-wrecker insults at me, so this is actually a relief. “That’s why you came over here. All shirty?”
“What’s ‘shirty’?” Kelsey asks, disgusted.
Violet speaks up before I can respond. “It’s none of your damn business who Maya goes to prom with.”
“Wait. Why are you even bringing this up? Isn’t Phil taking Lisa to prom?” I ask. My heart starts beating faster.
Amber and Kelsey look at each other nervously. Amber shrugs and lowers her voice. “They broke up.”
The news strikes me like an anvil. Truly, I’m not sure if I should be thrilled or ready myself for a shitstorm. Maybe both. Violet doesn’t immediately respond, either, so I know she’s in at least as much shock as me.
Kelsey fills the silence. “Phil promised Lisa he wouldn’t go to prom with anyone else. So Maya can’t go with him.” She pauses, straightens her shoulders, and adds, “We came to warn you.”
My brain is still spinning. Violet steps into Kelsey’s personal space; Kelsey stumbles back a step. Violet is at least a couple inches taller than Kelsey and far scarier.
Now everyone is watching. I feel like I’ve crossed into some surreal world that I can’t wrap my mind around. But right now my only job is to make sure this absurd scene doesn’t turn into some ridiculous faux girl-gang turf war, so I pull Violet away and step in front of her.