American as Paneer Pie

The next afternoon I stared at my reflection in the Oakridge Sports
Club locker room mirror, pulling at my swim cap like it was pizza
dough. Whoever invented the swim cap must never have grown her
hair down to her waist. I stretched the rubbery cap into a hungry
mouth, letting it swallow the large frizzy bun that nestled my black
curls together. I yanked the front of the cap down toward my
eyebrows. Bye-bye, bindi birthmark. My head felt like one of those
overripe green grapes Noah and I always tried to squeeze out of their
skin at lunch.
A locker behind me slammed shut with a metallic clang. I didn’t
have to turn to know who it was. In a split second, happy, normal
Home Lekha disappeared, and even though we were nowhere near
the middle school, School Lekha appeared. I felt my shoulders
slump, and I took a step to the side, cleansing the mirror of my
reflection as Harper neared. We were both eleven, but she was a
whole head taller than me. Her short thin wisps of shiny red hair
hugged her earlobes as she easily snapped a swim cap on.
I felt her green eyes on the misshapen lumps in my cap. “Ready for
tryouts, Leh-kuh?”
I wanted to correct her. I wished my mouth would just open and
say, “It’s Lekha. LAY-khaa. You’ve known me since fourth grade, but you
still can’t say my name right.” But School Lekha only thought about
what she wanted to say and never said it out loud. So I just nodded.
“Good luck. See you in the pool.”
“You too,” I said softly, following Harper out the locker room
door, my toes clenching at the thousands of little white tiles that
made up the flooring around the pool. They were wet and cold, not
exactly the feelings of comfort, but they were home to me. I inhaled
deeply, taking in a whiff of the chlorine fumes of the Sports Club
pool.
Harper was talking to the cluster of boys splashing in the water in
front of the bleachers where all the parents sat. From his seat there,
Dad was staring at his phone when Aai spotted me and nudged him.
He quickly tucked his phone into his bag and got up to give me a
hug.
Aai patted my head. “Think positive and do your best, okay,
Lekha? If you make it or don’t, it doesn’t matter, as long as you give
it your all.”
Dad knelt down before me, silver strands of hair peeking out of
his mustache. “Himmat karke,” he said, telling me to be brave.
“Badha kadam,” I responded softly. It meant “take that step
forward.” It was part of a Hindi phrase Dad had learned in medical
school that meant “we’re in this together.” Dad had first said it to Aai
when they got married and left their families in Mumbai to move to
America. Aai said it gave her strength. It seemed to do the opposite
for me.
“I can’t hear you,” said Dad.
“Badha kadam,” I said a little louder.
A few of the boys in the pool began to snicker.
My cap was over my ears, but I could still hear it loud and clear. I
didn’t have to turn to know what they were laughing at. They were
laughing at my parents. At us. People always did around here, even if
it wasn’t out loud or even with their mouths. The exasperated breath
that huffed into the phone when the bank teller couldn’t understand
the questions Dad was asking, even though he was speaking in
English. The rolling of eyes from the cashier at the grocery store
when Aai held up the line, scanning her receipt to make sure all the
coupons had been tallied up correctly. The finger-to-the-forehead
gesture the fifth-grade boys made when I first started elementary
school. They were all different ways of laughing at us. It was like no
matter where I went or what I did, the laughter always figured out
some way of finding me.
I glanced at the boys out of the side of my eyes as I headed toward
the start of the lanes.
“She needs a lawn mower,” giggled Liam, a short brunette boy
from my English class. He made an engine noise with his lips.
“You’re terrible, Liam,” said Harper.
The other boys laughed even louder than before, filling the room
with the sound of hollow splashes and my embarrassment.
I frowned, passing the bleachers, unsure of what Liam meant. Was
he talking about our yard? Aai had banned herbicides and pesticides
from our grass years ago, so it was full of weeds. Or was it about my
hair? I patted the lumps in my cap, wishing I could be my normal,
funny, sometimes punny self in front of Harper, or Liam, or anyone
from school. But it seemed like the only person who knew both sides
of me was Noah, who was standing poolside, taking a million
pictures of me with a bright flash.
“Noah,” I groaned, rubbing my eyes until the spots dancing in
front of me disappeared. “This better not make it into the Gazette.”
Noah sometimes hung out here when I swam, while his parents
played racquetball on the other side of the club. “You didn’t say ‘off
the record.’ That means I can use it. It’s for my ‘Hidden Talents of
the Sixth-Grade Class’ piece. So far it’s Emma and you.”
I chewed on my lower lip. An article about me swimming was
better than one about raas, but I didn’t want to be in any piece, let
alone one that was also about Emma. Her hidden talent was not so
hidden. She painted pictures of bird droppings. I tried to focus
Noah’s investigational skills on something else.
“Any scoop on the new neighbors?” I flapped my arms back and
forth, loosening up. We had seen the moving truck arrive this
morning, but we had yet to find out who the belongings belonged to.
And, more importantly, if there were any kids our age.
“Negative.” Noah fiddled with his camera. “Still just a bunch of
boxes with no people.”
Although I wouldn’t admit it to Noah, I was secretly hoping it
would be a girl. I wanted to have sleepovers like Harper and her
friends, and Noah just wasn’t interested. He only wanted to sleep in
his own bed with no one else in the room. He didn’t even let his shih
tzu, Cookie, snuggle up to his feet at bedtime because the one time
she did, his feet fell asleep before he did.
Coach Turner whistled, motioning for all the swimmers to take
their places. “Let’s go! Remember, top two girls and the top boy make
the team. The rest of you, I wish I had more openings, but there’s
always next year.”
I stretched my neck up and down. I had tried out last year when
there was a spot open but didn’t make it. And in a year I’d be twelve.
I had to do this, and I had to do it now.
“Do a really cool dive and maybe I’ll get the front page.” Noah
gave me a fist bump. “Don’t look so nervous. You’ve got this. Pretend
the sharkphin hat is here, cheering you on,” he added, heading back
to his spot as Coach Turner called the swimmers to their places.
I snapped my goggles on, letting the whole room turn a shade of
cool aquamarine, and walked toward Harper, reminding myself that
swimming timed laps in the hundred-yard IM was something I had
done so many times, I could do it as naturally as I could walk.
Harper stared straight at the water as I took my place next to her,
on my starting block. Liam and the other kids took the rest of the
lanes.
“Swimmers ready?” Coach asked.
His whistle blew sharply before we could even nod. But I was
ready. I jumped in, letting the cold water welcome me. My legs
became spaghetti as I dolphin kicked underwater. I stared down at
my lane line in a swirl of blue. One … two … three … and inhale. I
drew in a heap of oxygen and was off, churning my arms in the
butterfly until I tapped the far end of the pool.
A quick turn and it was time for the backstroke. The pool was full
of splashing water. I didn’t know if it was from Harper or from me,
and I didn’t want to look to find out. Not until the last lap.
One more turn and tap on the pool wall. It was breaststroke time.
My biceps burned as my arms went forward, sideways, and down,
faster and faster, until I tapped the edge of the pool.
This was it. Freestyle. I turned my head from side to side, arms
whipping the blue. It was time to look. I glanced to the side. Harper
was right in front of me with a good lead, thanks to her backstroke
and breaststroke. I ignored the pain in my legs and zipped forward,
my hand in line with hers, seen briefly through the foam. I sliced
into the water, faster, almost dissolving into the splashes until I
finally tapped the edge.
I pulled my goggles off and glanced at the scoreboard. My name
was in the middle of the alphabetically arranged kids. Lekha Divekar:
1:09.30. My fastest time ever.
“We tied!” exclaimed Harper from my le.
I scanned the scoreboard. Harper Walbourne: 1:09.30. She was
right. We had tied. Although it may not have seemed like it in school,
the way kids flocked to Harper but avoided me, she and I were
equals. We had both made the swim team.
I grinned at my parents, who were clapping in the stands as Noah
took picture after picture, and then turned to watch Liam finally tap
the edge. He was five seconds slower than me. I watched as he stared
at the scoreboard and saw his numbers. And as awful as it was, as
horrible as it made both versions of me sound, I couldn’t help but
feel a little good inside when the smile was wiped off his face.
Because for once, it meant no one was laughing.