to catch her, but had the good sense not to provoke Noor further by touching Aamaal unnecessarily.
After a minor battle to separate Aamaal from her new pet, we left the stable and headed to the parking lot. VJ texted his dad that we were on our way, so Sanjay Patel was waiting for us at the bus. He insisted we go back to the first building, where he had lunch waiting for us. We were on the point of leaving when the costume woman came running out of the palace, shouting.
“One of them took the necklace!” Her chest was heaving as she reached us.
“What necklace?” asked VJ’s father, calmly.
“The Jindan Kaur. She was wearing it.” She glared at Parvati.
We all turned to Parvati.
“I am giving you. You are putting in box,” said Parvati indignantly.
“That’s true,” I said. “I saw you put it in a box.”
“It’s not there now,” insisted the woman.
“I’m sure it will turn up, Sheetal,” said VJ.
“It will not turn up,” she said heatedly. “I am not so careless that I misplace expensive jewelry.”
“Now, now, calm down,” said Mr. Patel. “One necklace is not serious. Surely we can replace it.”
“It took weeks to have it made. It’s a perfect copy of the original.”
My attention was diverted by Noor and Parvati. They’d walked away from the group and were having their own discussion. Only because I was watching carefully did I notice Parvati slip something into Noor’s hand. I casually moved closer and reached out to Noor. When I felt the necklace in my grasp I stepped away from them.
“I was going to give it back,” I said, holding out the necklace. “I just wanted to try it on, since I didn’t get a chance to dress up.”
“You refused to dress up!” exploded the costume lady, snatching the necklace and giving me a foul look.
“No harm done,” said VJ, taking my arm and steering me hurriedly in the direction of the bus. “Now, who’s ready for lunch?”
We left the lady still sputtering as we piled in.
“I always love a happy ending, don’t you?” said VJ’s father, settling into the seat beside his son and giving him a warm look.
VJ turned away and stared out the window. Film star Sanjay Patel brushed a hand across his eyes as he failed yet again to win over the only fan he really cared about.
Grace
She doesn’t do it for money she does it because she LIKES it!
I contemplated the message. This was my life, my new normal. Every morning, with the obsessiveness of an ingénue reading her reviews, I dumped my books in my locker, grabbed what I needed for the day, and trudged upstairs to the sixth floor girls’ bathroom. In the fourth cubicle, the farthest from the door, I read the latest messages on a Hater Wall devoted entirely to me.
I knew it was stupid, if not masochistic. Who cared what a few bored girls wrote about me on a bathroom stall? In the past three weeks I’d been befriended by the hottest guy in school—the fact that he was gay only made it more perfect—and I was possibly making a new friend in Noor. The previous weekend, when I hadn’t wanted to get undressed for our Bollywood debut, she’d somehow understood, and I know she appreciated me taking the heat for the stolen necklace. She’d even suggested we get together this coming week.
But somehow these small wins couldn’t outweigh the losses. I missed my brother and Tina. I missed having someone I could have a completely honest conversation with. Maybe I spent too much time alone in my room thinking about what I did. Things were still strained with my mom. It didn’t help that I found myself constantly lying to her. I couldn’t bear for her to know that I really had screwed up my life as badly as she’d predicted. I wanted her to think everyone at school had moved on, so maybe she would too. I claimed I had friends, never mentioned the bullying, and hid my wounds both inside and out.
I was basically shunned at school, but at least the snide remarks and crude messages on my phone and Facebook had dwindled to almost nothing. At times I could almost believe that my humiliation was forgotten, except for this, a wall full of comments. There were hundreds of them. Okay, if I’m being completely honest, as of that morning there were fifty-three. Yes, I counted. Who wouldn’t?
They weren’t all bad.
Seventeen of them were at worst neutral,