“—So furious with you, Lena. Your attitude is terrible. You’re supposed to be starting school in a couple of weeks, for god’s sake. Your father and I have been at our wits’ end . . .” My mother’s voice drones on, coming in clear despite the ancient spin-dial telephone I’m using, with the plastic phone card I purchased at the tiny Cheap Jack store in Kerala. I don’t want to risk using my iPhone—they’ll be able to track it and find us. Before today, I hadn’t known they still make phone cards. Cheap Jack, meaning jack-of-all-trades, I guess. I scan the room, which is packed full of random odds and ends—glittery mirrored boxes and journals, plastic dishware, and a clown’s head on a stick. Creepy. Aubrey is standing one aisle over, looking at a display of masala-flavored corn nuts. She looks as dirty and exhausted as I feel. Her tank top is torn and her white jean shorts are smudged with dirt. She shouldn’t be wearing jean shorts, here in India. The locals think it’s immodest, because they’re stuck about six or seven decades behind the rest of the world. There’s too much we both shouldn’t have done.
“—just enough so you can get back to Boston. I’m assuming your friend is taken care of?” The five-second lull jolts me back to the present.
“What?”
“Lena. Really? Pay attention. This call must be costing a fortune. That’s another thing. Some things are going to change when you get home. No more wanton spending. This is too much. I don’t know where we went wrong—”
“Lena, goddammit, just book that flight right away, you hear?” My dad’s voice breaks in, drowning out my mother’s anxiety. “In fact, I’ll put you on the phone with my secretary and she’ll take care of it. She’ll book that other girl, Aubrey, on a flight too. You said she has a credit card? I’ll transfer a few hundred dollars to your bank account just in case you run into trouble. Where are Aubrey’s parents in all of this? Has she called them?”
“She’s fine,” I tell him, avoiding the question. “Her credit card will cover the flight.” I pray it’s true; but if not, flights within Asia are cheap, and I know we can dip into my newly padded account if we have to.
“Well, we can help with emergencies, but that’s it. We can’t foot a double bill when we’ve never even met this girl. Her parents need to step up.” My father’s voice is gruff and authoritarian. He’s picked up from his home office extension, which links to our family’s landline. I used to think it was quaint that my parents still have a landline. Now I wish I could have dialed up and been sure of talking to only one person. Both of them at once are overwhelming.
“Dad,” I interrupt, “can you just give me your credit card information and I’ll take care of it?”
“Absolutely not,” he replies. “If you think I’m trusting you for a second after what you’ve done—no way. I’m putting you through to my secretary.”
“What I want to know is, where did you meet this Aubrey,” my mom goes on. “Who the hell is she, Lena?” I roll my eyes and reach for a tube of Christmas wrapping paper that’s lying in a bin near the cash register.
“You know Lena gets into trouble just fine on her own,” my dad is saying to my mom as I hand the clerk one of the few remaining coins in my wallet and rip off a corner of the paper. It’s helpful, this one time, that their expectations for me are so low. I hold the paper up to the receiver and crumple it a few times. Aubrey raises her eyebrows at me and I give her a thumbs-up.
“What’s that, Dad?” I ask into the phone, folding and unfolding the paper next to the receiver. It makes a satisfying crackling noise. “Dad? I think I’m about to lose you. Maybe you’d better put me through to Cara?”
“Lena? Hello? Lena? Are you there?” My mom’s voice becomes louder, shrill.
“Sorry, Mom,” I semi-shout, knowing she’ll find it more convincing. “Having trouble hearing you. Dad? Can you connect Cara?”
“Switching it over, Leelee,” my dad goes. My heart clenches up at his pet name for me. I feel even worse than before.
Then there’s a silence and the lines are switched, and Cara’s voice breaks in loud and clear. I toss the paper ball onto the counter.