Endgame Novella #2 by James Frey Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t hear our pet peacock.”
    His eyes widened. “You have a pet peacock?”
    â€œWell, he’s not technically our pet, but . . .” How to explain the wild peacock that has made his home in her backyard? “He’s chosen us, Isuppose.”
    â€œYou’re full of wonders, Shari Jha,” he says, and before she can ask how he knows her name, he adds, “and you have a very nice smile.”
    Shari’s not used to compliments. At least, compliments that aren’t about her coordination or dedication or mental acuity. She stares at the ground, waits for the moment to pass.
    â€œYou’re wondering how I know who you are,” he says.
    â€œIf I were wondering something, I would ask.”
    â€œSo I guess you’re not wondering who I am?”
    She says nothing.
    â€œThere’s that smile again,” he says, like he’s won something. Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Jamal Chopra. New kid. Grade ten. And I know who you are, because everyone seems to know who you are, but no one will tell me why.”
    â€œIs that why you came over here?” she asks. “To discover why I’m so noteworthy?”
    â€œWell, yeah.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd . . . I’m still mulling it over.”
    â€œI think I should be offended by that,” Shari says.
    â€œSomething tells me my opinion of you is very low on your priority list.”
    â€œThat’s assuming you’ve made the list,” she says, and realizes she’s having fun.
    â€œSo, if I wanted to continue my research—”
    â€œInto the source of my exceptionalness?”
    â€œIndeed. Might you be persuaded to join me for a chai after school?”
    Shari tenses. “I, uh, I don’t do that.”
    â€œYou don’t drink tea?”
    She can feel a blush rising in her cheeks. “No, I don’t . . . you know. Go out. With boys.”
    It’s not like her to stammer. But then, none of this is like her.
    â€œNever?” he says. “Not one single date?”
    â€œNever.”
    It’s not actually a rule for the Player designate, more of an unspoken tradition—she’s not supposed to have anything in her life that could distract her from her purpose. It’s never mattered much before.
    He laughs. “Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t asking you on a date.”
    â€œOh.” Now her cheeks are on fire. She tells herself that it doesn’t matter what this stranger thinks of her, that she’s beyond such trivial things, that she’s spent years making herself a placid surface, hard as diamond but smooth as glass. All of this is true, and yet she still wants to drill a hole in the earth and sink into it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume; I simply—”
    â€œChill out,” he says, an Americanism that doesn’t sound so foreign in his strange accent. She doesn’t like to be told to calm down—she doesn’t like to be told anything . She is Shari Jha, solely in charge of herself. But the timbre of his voice has its intended effect: she chills. “I could use someone to give me the lay of the land. Haven’t had a good chai since I got here, so if you know where to go, that’s a start.”
    â€œDo I know where to go to get a good chai?” Shari echoes. “You’ve asked the right question, Jamal Chopra, new kid of grade ten. Pay attention, because I’m about to change your life.”
    Shari watches him carefully as he takes his first sip. She likes this boy well enough, but if he can’t appreciate a steaming mug of Rayamajhi chai, he’s not worth much.
    There are some who claim the best chai in Gangtok will be found at Golden Tips, while others swear by the café in Pagdandi Books, but as far as Shari is concerned, these people don’t know what they’re talking about. The third best chai in all of Gangtok is the tea that