One Half from the East: Chapters 9–26

Having seen one or two American movies starring Bruce Lee, the gravity-defying actor, I am ready to tell them they look amateurish. Their kicks are askew, their arms choppy.

He moves as the rest of them move. I wonder how he's trained his body to do that. I feel meek and flimsy watching him.

"I said cut it out!" I'm annoyed. Rahim has a way of spoiling conversations with his antics.

"Girls are made of flower petals and paper bags. They eat berries and sip tea like something might jump out of the hot water and bite them."
I was torn—half of me angry at his depiction of girls and the other half of me proud not to be one for now.

"I don't know if that's true,” I say. I don't want to contradict him, but I've never thought of myself as a paper bag.

He starts to stroll the length of the schoolyard. I follow, trying to synchronize my pace with his. Left foot, right foot, left foot...his legs are longer than mine and I fall off beat often.

My sisters shoot me looks over their shoulders as they trudge home.

He's cowering, looking for a way out.

"What's your problem? Is this dog your sister or something?" The boy jeers.

Their notebooks are splayed across the burgundy carpet like butterfly wings.

The day after my first snowball fight, I count seven purple welts on my body. They are round and hurt when I press on them, but I feel pretty good about them. They're like badges of honor.

He has a tall walking stick in his right hand and hobbles a bit.

We tear out little notches on either side to make room for the branches, and it sits perfectly in place.

He touches the rim of his cap and shows me a cunning grin.
"I haven't told you this, but I can do some pretty special things with my lucky magician's hat. If things don't look good, I'll just make myself disappear."

It's one thing for me to play with the boys in the neighborhood but pretty inappropriate to bring a boy into the privacy of our home since I've got three sisters to think of.

A lot of days my father smiles when I come running home, my pants brown and worn at the knees, my hair matted with sweat.

If we could have, we would have climbed to the top to see where the water was coming from, but it was too rocky even for a bunch of headstrong boys like us.

"Padar-jan," I exclaim, as I stand up in a burst. The chair nearly falls over. My father looks at me quizzically.

We were feeling pretty gutsy and went after them, but it was useless. As much as we ran, the rainbow was never any closer.

It takes my brain a second to realize what happened. When it registers, my scream breaks the evening quiet.

Rahim stares at the ground. His shoulders are slumped.

"Maybe today wasn't meant to be the day we find the waterfall."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, destiny and fate and all that."

I would've been lost without him, fumbling through school confused about what I was supposed to do or be.

His eyes are bloodshot and his words sound a little garbled.

"Obayd, they're going to change you back. I even heard them talking about it," she admits reluctantly.

"And now I think I'm going to be sick. My stomach's been pretty queasy since yesterday."

There's the sound of static and a click. One of the men in the jeep has a walkie-talkie. A voice crackles through.

"What are you laughing about?"
I spin around, my face red. Meena is behind me with her hands on her hips. She looks intrigued.

"Obayd. Why not?" she repeats, exasperated. It's not my fault she's annoyed. It's her own fault that she can't let things go.

"I can't what?" my sister answers, slowly and deliberately.