Not You Please

Chapter 5

How’s school?” Dad asks as I join him and Mom for dinner.

Ah, small talk. It should be illegal at home with your own parents.

“The usual. Mrs. Khanna announced some new activities to be held this year:- declamation, turn-coat debate, and panel discussions.” I try to concentrate on the whiff of burnt garlic rising from the curry I just served myself, instead of the long crucial year ahead.

“Are you participating in any?” Mom asks, bringing in the rotis0 from the kitchen.

“Mom, I’m busy preparing for the SAT right now. I don’t have time.” I go for the offense.

“Okay.” She backs off—literally, into the kitchen. But then she comes back, holding the rice bowl. “Mishti, are you applying for the student council?”

Ugh. “Maybe?” I avoid her gaze as I fill a glass with water.

“You should. I’m sure you can be the head girl,” she says as she settles on the chair next to me.

I choke on my water. As the cough subsides, I say, “Mom, you’re too optimistic for your own good.”

Mrs. Khanna had a talk with me about filling out the student council form today, but I don’t think I’m capable of winning the head girl position. There are many girls who are better qualified than I.

My mom wants me to participate because the head girl post would look good on my college application. I think it’s stupid. All the things kids in my class are doing these days are to add to their college applications. I want to get into NYU, and to make that happen, I know I need to participate more in school activities. But doing everything you do in school just to enhance your prospects of getting into the college of your choice feels too manipulative for my psyche.

“I doubt that. Mrs. Khanna always praises you and tells me you are an extraordinary girl,” Mom says.

Sometimes I think that my mom is trying to live her school life vicariously through me. I love Mrs. Khanna and my mom, but they expect too much from me. They wish to set me on a path to disappoint them.

“That’s right. Extraordinary, as in a freak. And nobody makes a freak the head girl.”

“Don"t say that.” She gives me sad eyes.

“Mom, can we not talk about this now?”

This time Mom listens to me, and we eat in silence for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, I tell my parents about the English project, making the mistake of letting them know I have to do it with two boys.

Mom asks, “Oh, who are the boys?”

“Vikram and Saahil. You don’t know them.”

“I know Vikram,” she says, without looking at me.

“Why? How?” I narrow my eyes upon her.

“I don’t know. I think I read his name on the school website.” After a pause, she says, “Wasn’t he the captain of the basketball team that won the IPSC tournament for your school?”

“Wow! Mom. Get a life. Why are you stalking my classmates? Am I not enough?”

“I don"t stalk you.”

“Yes, you do.”