Ghostly Grind

Double trouble

Chapter 5

Double Trouble

Hanging out with my cousin group and their cousin group who came over was like being tossed into a blender set on high speed. You know, the kind where all the blades are whirring, and you're just praying your organs don't turn to mush. The adults had decided it was a grand idea to snatch away our phones, leaving us to entertain ourselves like it was 1985. Great. Just what I needed—social interaction.

So, there we were, a bunch of over-stimulated teens and pre-teens stuck in a house, bursting with dead energy. It felt like being locked in a cage with a pack of rabid squirrels. We tried the classic options: board games, hide and seek (hell no), and that mildly tortuous game where nobody actually understood the clues and ended up making complete fools of themselves. At one point, we even attempted a "talent show," which quickly devolved into a sing-along of pop songs—because nothing says "family bonding" like karaoke with your embarrassing cousins.

The only talent I had was for making terrible decisions and overcooking the microwave popcorn. Seriously, it was like I had a PhD in bad choices.

Among us was, of course, Rohan, the devil's snitch. Seriously, if snitching were an Olympic sport, he'd have a gold medal hanging around his neck. The moment I looked away, he'd dart to the adults, reporting every little mischief like he was auditioning for a role in a crime documentary. "Rahul threw a chip on the floor!" he'd yell, eyes wide, as if I'd just committed a murder. (I will if he doesn't shut up.)

Honestly, if Rohan's biggest concern in life was a chip on the floor, he was living the dream. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shove his mothers slipper up his throat! Like why are we doing karaoke instead of planning a heist or something?"

Priya, who was tolerable until you handed her a camera. I had made a point to forget to break it last time. Her social media exaggeration could only be rivaled by a Kardashian. The moment she entered the room, she started yapping. "Okay, guys! Our American cousin just made poor little Rohan cry for the fifth time!" she exclaimed, documenting me like I was some YouTuber with pedophile allegations. "This is going to get a million views!"

"Can you not? We're trying to have a real bonding experience here, and please calm down that little shit of a brother you have!" I complained, dodging her attempts to capture my "good side." But Priya was relentless. "But this will go viral!" she declared, and I had to wonder what kind of insanity was going through her head.

As we tried to entertain ourselves without our phones, the adults returned from their session in the kitchen, probably debating whether they should give us back our phones. They stood in the doorway, and Aunt Manju cleared her croaking throat like she was spitting over the place. "Alright, kids, settle down! Priya, my little Rohan, your other cousins are coming over! I know you missed them!" exclaimed Aunt Manju, like I wasn't even there. The other part I did not give a shit about.

I braced myself for the inevitable set of instructions on how I should treat the other kids with patience and kindness and how I should also treat her dear child Rohan with respect. Like that was going to happen. Rohan could barely respect himself, let alone expect it from me. I could feel the words sticking to my throat like stale popcorn, ready to come out as a sarcastic remark.

Good news, the kids were not a bunch of brats. They were nice. These were Uncle Ravi's brother's children, apparently a forbidden marriage situation because that fellow married a Russian. Damn, that fellow had rizz. Safe to say his wife was really pretty—like way out of his league—and Aunt Manju, of course, hated her. If looks could kill, she'd have turned her into a pile of ashes just for existing.