Read Online The Whole Story of Half a Girl by Veera Hiranandani - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Veera Hiranandani
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electric smile, which helps. I imagine that the judges are my old class at Community. I see Jack, Sam, and Connor cheering, clapping, whistling two-fingered whistles. I get through the cheers well enough, but my voice isn’t as loud and my moves aren’t as sharp as Kate’s. Then it’s time for the toe-touch. I wind up and go for it.
When I sit down, my hands sting from the jump. The judges look pleased. Kate turns to me and squeezes my arm.
I squeeze her back and see Jess out of the corner of my eye, looking down at her feet, knocking her toes together over and over.
chapter thirteen
I have to wait a whole week to find out who made the team and every day feels twice as long. On Thursday after school, while we’re waiting for our buses, I tell Alisha how nervous I am. “I’m sure you made it,” she says in a distracted way.
Then she quickly changes the subject. “Have you ever been to India?” she asks me.
“I went two years ago,” I tell her. “I saw where my father grew up.”
“What was it like there?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Hot and colorful. There are flowers everywhere and the scent of spices and incense fills the air. But some people smell bad. Especially on the train. My favorite thing was the Taj Mahal.” I explain what the Taj Mahal is, how a king had twenty thousand people build this huge mausoleum for his wife, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child. It tookthe builders twenty-two years to finish it. I tell her about the flower designs in the marble tiles made out of millions of little jewels and how I couldn’t stop staring at them, how I couldn’t believe it took forty or fifty jewels just to make a petal on one of the flowers.
“Talk about romantic,” Alisha says. “I should put something about the Taj Mahal in my book. The farthest I’ve ever been is Disney World. We drove all the way to Florida once. Have you been anywhere else?”
I tell her I’ve been to see my cousins in Israel too.
“I can’t believe you’ve been to France, India, and Israel already. You’re so lucky,” she says. I’ve never thought about the fact that traveling is lucky. I just thought some people did and some people didn’t. But I guess it’s a pretty expensive thing to do.
“What’s it like being Jewish?” she asks.
“I’m not really the best person to ask,” I say. I think of Sam and how she could tell Alisha all about her temple and Shabbat and the meaning of every holiday.
“Why not?”
“We’re not that religious.”
“Oh,” Alisha says, then starts playing with a small hole on the thigh of her jeans. She seems disappointed that I don’t have more to say. But the most Jewish thing that happens in my house is lighting the menorah on Hanukkah. My dad is technically Hindu, but isn’t religious at all and just sort ofgoes along with the Jewish holidays. He’ll put a yarmulke on at my grandparents’ Passover seder, but the way he sits at the table, arms crossed, an empty look on his face, is part of what makes me feel only half Jewish. The same way that my grandparents bickering in Yiddish the way they do, or how light my mom’s skin is, how green her eyes are, makes me feel half Indian. For everything that reminds me of who I am, there’s always something reminding me of who I’m not.
“Do you feel more Indian or Jewish?” Alisha asks with her usual serious voice and piercing stare, like she can read my mind. Alisha sure likes to ask questions. Maybe she should be a journalist. I look down and see my brown toes poking through my sandals. They look just like Dad’s toes, the second one a little longer than my big toe, and they’re almost as brown. My toes look Indian. So does the rest of me. My name sounds Indian. There really isn’t anything about me that’s Jewish—at least, not anything anyone could see.
“If you had to choose,” she says.
I just stand there with my mouth partly open.
Alisha’s bus pulls up. “Tell me tomorrow,” she says.
When I sit down, my hands sting from the jump. The judges look pleased. Kate turns to me and squeezes my arm.
I squeeze her back and see Jess out of the corner of my eye, looking down at her feet, knocking her toes together over and over.
chapter thirteen
I have to wait a whole week to find out who made the team and every day feels twice as long. On Thursday after school, while we’re waiting for our buses, I tell Alisha how nervous I am. “I’m sure you made it,” she says in a distracted way.
Then she quickly changes the subject. “Have you ever been to India?” she asks me.
“I went two years ago,” I tell her. “I saw where my father grew up.”
“What was it like there?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Hot and colorful. There are flowers everywhere and the scent of spices and incense fills the air. But some people smell bad. Especially on the train. My favorite thing was the Taj Mahal.” I explain what the Taj Mahal is, how a king had twenty thousand people build this huge mausoleum for his wife, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child. It tookthe builders twenty-two years to finish it. I tell her about the flower designs in the marble tiles made out of millions of little jewels and how I couldn’t stop staring at them, how I couldn’t believe it took forty or fifty jewels just to make a petal on one of the flowers.
“Talk about romantic,” Alisha says. “I should put something about the Taj Mahal in my book. The farthest I’ve ever been is Disney World. We drove all the way to Florida once. Have you been anywhere else?”
I tell her I’ve been to see my cousins in Israel too.
“I can’t believe you’ve been to France, India, and Israel already. You’re so lucky,” she says. I’ve never thought about the fact that traveling is lucky. I just thought some people did and some people didn’t. But I guess it’s a pretty expensive thing to do.
“What’s it like being Jewish?” she asks.
“I’m not really the best person to ask,” I say. I think of Sam and how she could tell Alisha all about her temple and Shabbat and the meaning of every holiday.
“Why not?”
“We’re not that religious.”
“Oh,” Alisha says, then starts playing with a small hole on the thigh of her jeans. She seems disappointed that I don’t have more to say. But the most Jewish thing that happens in my house is lighting the menorah on Hanukkah. My dad is technically Hindu, but isn’t religious at all and just sort ofgoes along with the Jewish holidays. He’ll put a yarmulke on at my grandparents’ Passover seder, but the way he sits at the table, arms crossed, an empty look on his face, is part of what makes me feel only half Jewish. The same way that my grandparents bickering in Yiddish the way they do, or how light my mom’s skin is, how green her eyes are, makes me feel half Indian. For everything that reminds me of who I am, there’s always something reminding me of who I’m not.
“Do you feel more Indian or Jewish?” Alisha asks with her usual serious voice and piercing stare, like she can read my mind. Alisha sure likes to ask questions. Maybe she should be a journalist. I look down and see my brown toes poking through my sandals. They look just like Dad’s toes, the second one a little longer than my big toe, and they’re almost as brown. My toes look Indian. So does the rest of me. My name sounds Indian. There really isn’t anything about me that’s Jewish—at least, not anything anyone could see.
“If you had to choose,” she says.
I just stand there with my mouth partly open.
Alisha’s bus pulls up. “Tell me tomorrow,” she says.
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