Chapter One-
They say people find true love at the strangest of times, in the strangest of places, with the strangest of people. And I always begged to differ. I was pretty sure that true love was something that happened only in the movies. In the books. It didn’t help with the society we lived in today; jocks, players, sluts, whores. None of that factored into having a real relationship, with someone you truly loved. And I was positive I would never find love. But that was when I met him. No, my theory didn’t change much. I just believed that everyone else could find love, and while I had strong feelings for someone, I just would never accept that I loved them...unless I was married, or something.
I was just the traditional Indian girl of my parents, brought into America at a young age. I knew what both traditions were, I knew both cultures-although one could argue about America having its own, seperate culture-and I always went along with it. I was the rebel child-to my parents. And only to my parents. Everyone else thought I was too uptight. I tried to please them. I got Straight A’s since the grade in which we were even given letter grades, only two A minuses, and a lot of A plusses. Which pleased my mother. I took up skating and karate as sports-to please my father. I took classical dance and classical singing-which I hated to the ends of the earth- for ten years, which was to the benefit of both parents.
I never went to any high-school or college parties, slumber parties, sleepovers after birthdays, anything. I sometimes was allowed to go downtown with my friends, or to the mall, but my parents never dropped me off. They were at some distinct place in the mall, which my friends and I clearly avoided, until it was time to leave. I only went to the movies with friends if I told my parents that their parents were coming-which they never did-and my parents would drop me off with my friends. And that happened rarely.
I felt...deprived...of something. Maybe it was my natural teenage instinct to rebel. Maybe it was the crazy, amazingly fun part about being a teenager that everyone seemed to remember. Or maybe, just maybe, it was actually having a life outside of being the studious little goody-goody everyone seemed to know me as. Yes, I was a nerd, but I wasn’t one to just hide away, or wear thick-rimmed glasses and carry a calculator everywhere I went.
Everything I did felt forced. True, I always carrried a good book-strictly fiction, nothing less. I hated nonfiction-to all my classes, and had to sometimes wear my red-framed glasses that...well...pretty much looked like nerd glasses...but it wasn’t my fault I came from a family of bad eyesight(cough cough DAD cough cough)!
In all this, I did at least one good thing-in my opinion, at least. I rebelled. At least, I tried. I never acted happy about following my parents orders. I listened to my music on full volume. I never spent hours studying for tests. I went out with my friends “all the time”-of course, in my parents’ eyes, most of the time I was forced to stay at home. So badass, I know. I acted like a carefree, happy-go-lucky, wild, free little bird girl at home. When really, I was just a caged bird, trapped in her cage, with clipped wings so she could never fly.
I huffed, tapping my lower lip-which currently had my front teeth plunged into-with the eraser of my mechanical pencil. I felt the wire of my annoying retainer on my front teeth. I was upstairs in my room, finishing up my homework. I was in a deep-focus mode that my mother rarely saw, but was proud of nonetheless-when it came to homework. And yes, I was wearing my “nerd glasses”. My hair was down, dark brown with a tinge of chocolate at the ends. The waves rolled down a few inches past my shoulders, where it curled. The fingers on my left hand twitched, sinking into the depths of my brown locks, near the roots, where they tightened painfully.
“Riya!” My mother called from downstairs. I groaned, and let the pencil go after tightening my grip to the point where I was surprised the pencil frame didn’t shatter. I clenched my fist in my hair then pulled it out. I stood up, smoothing out my red salwar top-a long shirt, basically-from India. I wiped my hands on my jeans, fixed my hair perfand went down.
