Lovetorn by Kavita Daswani Read Free Book Online Page A

off.
    “No point wasting electricity,” she said bitterly.
    My father didn’t argue with her.
    “Asha, please get dressed,” he said. “Let’s go to the temple for prayers and celebrations. Mr. Jeremy has offered to take us.”
    I looked excitedly over at Sangita. I knew she was as keen to go as I was. We both wanted to wear Indian clothes and go to a place filled with other Indians. We looked at our mother pleadingly.
    “You go. I’m not interested,” she said, sitting down in front of the TV and picking up the remote. “Nothing is there for me. We don’t even know anybody. We’ll go and stand around like fools.”
    “Asha, you’re not making sense,” my father said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. “How will we meet people unless we go out and try? We can introduce ourselves to the priest. We can tell him we are new here. He will help us find other families to befriend. But by staying home like this, Asha, nothing will happen; our lives will not improve.”
    “I’m going to sleep,” my mother said, slapping the remote down on the table. “Go if you want.”
    She rose and went upstairs without turning back. Papa, Sangita, and I looked at one another. My sister’s bottom lip was quivering. I put my arm around her.
    “I’m sorry, girls, but we’ll have to have a quiet Diwali at home this year,” my father said, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes. “But see, all is not lost.” He went to his briefcase and pulled out a package. “Mr. Jeremy gave me this today, in celebration.” In my father’s hand was a small pink cardboard box. We opened it and saw that it was filled with soft, spongy, sweet ladoos , a traditional Diwali dessert . “He got it at the Indian store. They are not like your grandmother makes at home, but it was a nice gesture.”
    The three of us sat down, pulled out some paper napkins from a small holder, and ate in silence.

Chapter Eight
    AT SCHOOL A FEW DAYS LATER, large purple posters were being put up advertising the Halloween Rock Horror Show. The school gym would be transformed into a haunted house for a Gothic rock concert. There would be Crypt Cupcakes and I Scream Cones and Ghoulish Gateaux and Blood Punch. The whole school was invited.
    Sangita and I stared up at one of the posters.
    “What do you think?” she asked.
    “I think it’s silly,” I said. “It has nothing to do with us.”
    “I think it looks like fun,” my sister replied. “Amy mentioned it to me. She wants to go. Some of our friends are going.”
    Her words were like a stab to my heart, the way she said “our friends,” because she had them and I didn’t. I didn’t want to be comparing myself to my younger sister, but I was wondering why it had been so easy for her and so hard for me.
    She saw the look on my face, and her smile disappeared.
    “But you’re right, didi ,” she said. “It is silly. Let’s not go.”
    A note had been sent to all of the parents that students were allowed, even encouraged, to dress up for Halloween. My father first suggested that we go in our “best frocks,” and I cringed at the thought. Then he told us to find one of the saris we had brought from India, remarking that we would stand out in a crowd in all that silk and gold finery. I didn’t say as much to my father, but the last thing I wanted to do was accentuate the fact that I was Indian. I still attracted snickers sometimes when I spoke up in class, some of the students mocking my accent. Others went so far as to do a full-on imitation, wobbling their heads as they spoke as they imagined all Indians did. They told unfunny jokes about IT geeks and gas station owners. By now I had learned to ignore them. It still hurt, but I wasn’t going to let them see that.
    Still, arriving at school on Halloween morning was like stepping into a bizarre dream. There was Pippi Longstocking, Spider-Man, a bunny rabbit, a shepherd. Cars spilled out Power Rangers, firemen, Wonder Woman, and girls in