Palindrome

Two

Chapter 2

Well, this is fun.

So apparently Paxton was not a stalker playing the part of new neighbor. Had I known that I wouldn't have whipped out my pepper spray, ready to shoot at his eyes.

Lucky for him, Ma walked out from the door that very moment to stop me. After a plethora of apologies from her, he's been sent home with a Tupperware box filled with some chocolate cake.

Ma's christened him as a chocolate boy. According to her, that's a phrase that translates to being boyishly handsome. Suffice to say that got a big eye roll from me before I retired to my room with a big slice of cake myself.

Usually, a time after a big test like this would mean being bombarded with a ton of questions from both of my parents. Papa's out getting us Thai takeout though, so my time will come. For now, she's had mercy on me. Or maybe she can sense that I've been holding my breath for a while.

Slumping on my bed, I set aside the cake on my bedside table. I'm going to need to eat it eventually. Watching it makes me nauseous at the moment. Scrolling through my phone, I answer Javed and Nagi's texts asking about the test. A plain-

Idk dude, we'll see.

My fingers hover over Instagram for a second, deciding against it I toss my phone aside.

Blinking I take in the sight of my bedroom ceiling. Baren ceiling, white lights, and a fan are all I'm met with. There was a time in my life when I wanted to paint those with vivid illustrations of golden flowers to match with the clash of colors in my room. Not anymore.

There's no exact reason for why I feel this way. Like there's this gaping hole in me. Like every second feels agonizing to spend. Like I can't feel anything to the depth that I used to.

I live a good life.

Sure my parents apply some amount of pressure, but that's the case with a lot of kids. I've ranked in the lower masts of the top ten percent for the past two years of high school. I'm an officer in choir, national art honors society, and UNICEF.

As a sophomore, I lived for these goals. I was proud of becoming an officer, proud of the art I created, proud of the person I was. Moments like qualifying for deca state sent a thrill through me. This year, I'm seriously considering faking the flu to get out of the trip this month. 

God, I hate being alone with my thoughts.

Slowly I bring down the sleeve of my hoodie for my left arm. The loose bracelets slipped around my wrist clink as I take them off. At first, my hands are shaky until I get past the first three. Removing the rest I gingerly discard the rest.

The skin below it is tender. Pierced by the sharp tips of a pen. It could be worse, I know. This is all I've been able to do. Slight marks of red, five pricks that will be healed by tomorrow morning. The scars never stay past a day.

Dissatisfaction courses through my veins. It's not enough. The tip of a pen, the snub of a push pin, and the wooden edge of my bedside table.

"Aarohi!"

It's papa's voice, calling me down for lunch. A rule of thumb with desi parents is to go within the first time they call you. Otherwise, it results with them barging into your room. Every nerve in my body screams to stay here, curl up in a ball so that it can all end.

"Yeah coming," I scream back.

Scramming for my bracelets, I slip them on my skin. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror to make sure I don't look extremely decimated.

Jet black hair that falls straight, hair that Nagi says she'd kill for. I've tried to mess it up. Two months ago, I cut a good chunk of it off.

Still nothing, all it does it fall below my shoulders in the customary perfect way that it does. My pale skin contrasts with my dark blue jeans and black hoodie hanging loosely over my thin frame. I have a metabolism that I sure as hell didn't ask for.

No acne whatsoever- if I had some maybe life would be a little more interesting. All I have is small white dots by my eyes and on the folds of my arms. For extra measure, I try a smile. It doesn't stretch to my eyes, but at least it doesn't look borderline creepy.

Decent.

"Aarohi bring your plate down," Ma reminds me.

Oh right, that.

Grabbing my fork, I scoff down the cake as fast I can without choking. It's good I'll give it that. Decadent frosting coating moist cake. For a moment I stop eating at my fast pace to relish it the final bite. When I'm done, I practically jog down the staircase before Ma decides to drag me down herself.

Walking down our vast, open staircase the ambrosial scent of Thai food wafts into my nose. My favorites, drunken noodles, pad thai, and Penang curry line the table. All of this sets off a rumble in my stomach. Hunger that my body sustains but I don't feel.

I muster a smile for them.

"All of this for me?" I ask teasingly.

This is an act for them. I'm exhausted from putting it up but it's the only thing I can do.

"Well it depends on your score," Ma replies coolly.

"Guess I won't be eating today," I say, taking out plates and forks for the three of us.

Thinking back to the test, there's no way I could have gotten the perfect score that they're banking on. I wasn't supposed to need to take this test. All of this standardized testing was supposed to end in December so that I could focus on my Advanced Placement classes this semester. None of anything I planned this year has worked so what's one more. Except this one score determines my entire life.

No biggie.

A hand ruffles my hair, I look up to meet the kind eyes of my dad.

"Eat any less and you'll fly away in the wind," he tells me.

Ma chuckles at that, bringing over bottles of sriracha and glasses of lemonade to complete the meal. Sitting down at the head of the table is me. Traditionally it would be Papa, that's how its meant to be. But my parents have never been ones for that. They find it best to have me sit between them, Ma calls me the one thing that'll tie them together forever whatever happens.

Which makes me question why they didn't have another child.

A sibling for me, for them, for us.

I'm stuck in the what-ifs.

Because for me, it gives me purpose, sensibility to my madness. I don't know when I will break.

And as I sit with them for lunch, food loaded onto my plate as if I haven't eaten for days, I let myself breathe. Believe for just a second that I have no need to dive into the what-ifs.

Because that means I have one thing that I feel hard to believe in these days.

A future.