Sky's View

Distracted

Rahul

After taking a shower, I lock myself in my room, and grab the controller on my computer desk. Fifteen minutes of video game won't hurt anyone.

However the sight of something in the corner of my eye piques my attention. I stumble backwards, halting by my desk (which is, by the way, always tidy because of my mom's obsession with keeping everything clean and tidy).

I hoist the carbon black notebook, and trace the intricate patterns of the cover with my fingers. The dust jacket is a bit rubbed along the it's edges, but it is in a fine condition.

I sink my weight on my bed; tossing and turning for a comfortable position with the book in my hand. When I'm comfortable enough, I flip the cover open. The words written in black ink scorch my eyes:

Written in this book, are the words I've never said.

If by chance, this spine is found in the hands of a stranger, I urge you to not dwell further. Rather, set it alight or drown it. Maybe, just maybe, this dread anchoring me from moving on will burn or drown with it.

I'm sure you're aware of the Greek story, when Pandora opened a box she was warned not to.

For once, I plead. Don't be a Pandora; be a Zeus. (Also, If you haven't heard of any Greek mythology yet, you're a waste of oxygen.)

A smile flits across my face.

What if I told you I enjoy Greek mythology too. Will you let me go on then?

"Bachche!!! Leah!!! Rahul!!!" My mother's voice echoes throughout the white walls of our house.

My fingers itch to turn the page.

"Rahul Singh!!"

I decide to not read it. She's the weird girl after all. I'll give her the book first thing in the morning before football practice and before meeting my friends. I spring off my bed, and rest the book on the computer desk.

Withdrawing my iPhone from my rear pocket, I switch of the music that was playing low and saunter downstairs to join my family for a Monday evening traditional Indian dish.

****

In the dining room, my mother and sister are busy setting out the plates, while my father is sitting with a newspaper tight in his grasp like it's a bill.

The smell of mutton breyani wafts my face. I sigh in delight. Most of the time, we have to vegetarian food because my mother is vegan. Tonight for herself, she has vegan grilled Naan prepared.

I slouch on a high back chair, and jolt when my phone begins vibrating in my pocket.

When mom is around, it's not unusual to mistaken her voice for even the sound of leaves rustling.

I leisurely retract my phone, and smirk stvltje message pop up on the LCD screen.

Andrew: Hot girl from biology class is single. I repeat. Hot girl from biology class is single.

"Rahul! How many times I have to tell you that no phones are allowed during supper?" my mother squeals.

"I'm sorry, ma," I say almost under my breath.

"These phones are a curse for the youth," she declares. "If you sit down with your school books, I won't mind. Your cousin, Jared from Durban used to sit during supper with his school books. He never even owned a phone, and that's how he got accepted in the University of Harvard."

Here she goes again. I roll my eyes, and glide my phone into my pocket. All she does is compare me to Jared like I want to become a doctor after senior year. Heck, I don't even know what career I desire yet!

My sister feign a gag, only to have me gaze at her so she can cackle behind her olive complexion hand, and have me watch. I squint my eyes at her, feeling a pang of irritation.

Leah's light brown eyes mirrors mine. As does her unruly black hair. The only difference between us is that she's more fair in complexion.

"Prakash, you too. You're none the better, I tell you. The way your face is buried in that newspaper, you're so close to going inside the stories."

My father jerks the paper hard. It generates a rattling noise. That was, without a doubt, to annoy her. Hearing my mother hum a hindi song while dressing his plate with the mutton breyani, he rests the paper down in vain.

"Good." My mom flashes her white dentures at us. "Now, let us say grace."

****

The sun is scorching hot for a winter morning. I lose my blue Westrbridge football jacket and smoothen the black t-shirt I'm wearing.

When Leah jumps in the back seat of the black Mercedes, I turn the key in the ignition.

"All buckled up?" I ask, glancing at her over the mirror.

"I'm not seven anymore. I'm eleven," she says through gritted teeth, with her hands pulled against her chest. "So, I urge you to not use that tone on me." Coming to think of it, she used to say the same thing when she was seven.

I shake my head. "You're my baby sis, and always will be, kiddo."

She groans; I chuckle.

I start revving my baby up. Leah presses her small hands over her ears. "Is that even necessary?!!"

"Whaaat?" I yell back, feigning I didn't hear her. "Maybe next time you should take the bus, if the heat is too much for you." She rolls her eyes.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and ruffle my disheveled hair one last, before reversing out of the garage.

As I'm driving down the Westrbridge town, a girl with thick tight black curls, clad in Westridge uniform exits an antique looking cafeteria. The mute girl.

I probe the door for its cafeteria's name.

The Corner Cafe. I don't know why I make a note of that, but I do.

"Rahul, look out for the car!" Leah screams jostles me. Immediately, I flick my gaze back to the road. A red Chevrolet with its hazard lights on is in front of us. I brake so hard, my tires screech. Slumped to my seat, I barely move a muscle. In that instant, Leah's voice drags me back to reality.

"Who is that girl you were so willing to kill us for?" Her words filter in slowly, and I crease my eyebrows when they finally register.

"Huh?"

Leah leans forward, evaluating me. "You heard me. I saw the way you were ogling that girl," she says with a smirk.