Probably my favorite course from my first year at Harvard was a freshman-only seminar called “Multiethnic American Short Stories.” We read and discussed stories by American authors of various ethnic backgrounds: Jhumpa Lahiri, Toni Morrison, Sherman Alexie, Sandra Cisneros, and others. Reading these stories gave me some great perspective, but the highlight of the course was when we had to write our own multiethnic short story: short stories about ethnic groups in America and how they interact. We had to write 4 pages. I started writing and kept going and going and eventually I had 21 pages, which I eventually pared down to 18, but still that was the most engrossed I was in any assignment to date.
I decided to write about themes that weigh on my mind a lot: identity, ethnicity, acceptance, self-discovery. Most of the events in the story didn’t happen to me but the themes and feelings are very autobiographical.
My story is below. Here’s a PDF (all 18 pages) if you’d rather read it that way.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when they dropped the gaudy, bright orange “Join the Indian Council!” note at my door. I mean with a name like Jai Malhotra it’s not surprising they racially profiled me and thought I’d want to join them. The minute I closed the door I gave my roommates a chuckle and the old aren’t-they-quaint head nod that sent my long bangs of hair – yes, Mom, this hairstyle’s OK, اور, yes, اس بات کا یقین, I’ll be a doctor, now shut up – sweeping over my face. I chucked the note into the trash, because it was my first week in California and I sure wasn’t going to let my roommates think I was some stick-in-the-mud brown geek.
“How do you say your name again, آدمی?” That was my one roommate – he was also wearing boat shoes but his shorts were coral, not salmon, unlike my other roommate.
“Jay. Like Jay Leno.”
“And—“
“My last name. Yeah. It’s long. And dumb. And Indian. Just don’t bother with it.”
It felt like I hadn’t stepped outside of Iowa. Two sharply-dressed white guys and me, and I guess, well, I wasn’t really white but for all intents and purposes I guess you could say I was or – or maybe you could say I was trying to shake off the brown but it wasn’t going anywhere. I mean if you looked at my desk you couldn’t tell it apart from the other guys’ – the usual high school pennant (but why? I hated my high school), slightly crumpled seersucker shorts (yeah, dad, I know the word is Indian, now shut up), a picture of my old prom date (figured the beach blonde-ness would help me score some points.)
***
One of the worst parts about college was having to eat in the dining hall. Not because of the food but because you always had to eat with people otherwise you’d look weird. The Indians at the third table from the back kept beckoning me over. No, Sri Ganeshwar Lalbhai, I don’t wanna hang with you. The few times I looked their way they were either stuffing their faces with, what are they called, mimosas? – no, samosas – or making what I’m sure they thought were hilarious jokes in some weird language that I guessed was Hindi cause that was the only Indian one I’d heard of. So usually I’d skirt around that table and find my roommates – or guys who looked like them – and talk college football just like back in Iowa.
One day I came in late to dinner and the usual crowd was all gone so I had to either eat alone or sit with the brown kids. So I sighed and slid in next to this Indian guy with glasses.
“Jay. Like Jay Leno.” I gave him that firm handshake all the guys in Whitetopia, Iowa gave each other.
“Ranvir. Ranvir Singh.” He was probably the first Indian person not named Malhotra I’d met since that one time my parents dragged me to that temple in Wisconsin cause they said it’d be good for me to “rediscover my heritage.” Can’t say I was terribly disappointed by that.
“Say, the Indian Council’s having this intro meeting on Friday evening,” Ranvir said, raising a questioning eye over his rice and vegetables. I almost sneezed cause of all the curry powder he’d put on top. Nerd.
He shoved another bright orange piece of paper in my face. “I’ll see if I can make it.” I held it by its corner because it was stained with oil and curry powder. Of course.
“Hey man, I have a— uh, meeting. Catch you later.” I sprinted back to my dorm to chill with my roommates – they’re good guys, guys I can talk to, good white guys like I remembered from Iowa.
“Yo, I didn’t know you were Catholic!” That was Ryan.
“Wait, you too?” That was Tyler. High fives all around. And by all around I mean between those two. I pretended I got an email.
And that’s why I was sitting alone watching Netflix on Sunday morning while those two were at church and why I was stuck next to Ranvir again at lunch cause those two were enjoying fancy lobster brunch with their youth church group. Not that they invited me along. Cause apparently all my boat shoes and all my hair that I modeled after those white boy band types and all my “like Leno” and all my constant face washing to look whiter and my beach-blonde prom date and all that junk didn’t count for anything.
***
Ranvir somehow tracked me down at my dorm room on Friday evening. These Indians are good. “Coming?”
“I—my roommates are going to this party—“
“What kind?”
“The—“ I slammed the door behind me and went with him because I realized it was the Catholic Students’ Association party.
Wow. Instead of not inviting me to parties or not even getting lunch with me cause they were organizing to hang with the white frat bros this guy was actually taking me to something.
So I ended up at the multicultural center in the middle of a crowd of Indians. It was pretty clear they didn’t get into this college for their fashion sense, and they had this weird penchant for biology and making jokes in Hindi and making biology jokes in Hindi. I didn’t really care because Ranvir pulled me aside and next thing I knew I met Annika, Rohit, Anjali, and Javed and I hadn’t even moved anywhere. I was hemmed in by all the Indians. Could’ve be worse, I could’ve been hemmed out by all those other guys. I think I stayed there till 11pm and they only kicked me and Ranvir out cause he was two hours away from finishing explaining cricket to me.
***
Over the next few weeks the white kids stopped beckoning for me to sit with them – stay classy, guys – so I started sitting more with Ranvir and co., who were pretty easy to find because where else would you find an island of brown in the sea of white. I think there were some black people too, and some East Asian types, but like they’re irrelevant. Anyway, the brown island.
“Dude, you gotta ditch those boat shoes,” he told me one day. “Makes you look whitewashed.” He stuffed some extra-curry-powder-laden carrots into his mouth, as if to purge the distasteful word he’d just said. Whitewashed. Never heard it before. Apparently it describes a brown person who acts white. Everyone made looks of disgust and since the food was pretty bearable that day I figured it was a pretty bad thing to be called.
I kinda liked my boat shoes and thought their fixation on the shoes was annoying. A lot of things about these Indians were annoying. But still they accepted me which is something I couldn’t say for anyone else and so if all I had to do was change my shoes I figured it was a worthwhile sacrifice to make. Kinda like how people in middle school told me to stop eating the Indian food my mom packed me for lunch cause that spiced okra made me look exotic and so I’d go trash it and use my pocket money to get plain cheese pizza so I could find a seat at a table, any table, where all the other kids had the same oily yellow pizza and neon white Styrofoam cups on green plastic trays.
“You OK?” I jumped a little. My eyes were all watery but I noticed a white girl had her hand on my shoulder. What now? I looked down and noticed I’d dumped about half a container of curry powder on my pizza while the Indians were here, but now they’d all left.
“Sophia,” she said, sitting down across from me. She had mesmerizing green eyes.
“Jay. Like – like, I mean, Jai. Jai. Like ‘dry’ but – but without the ‘r,’ ” I stammered. Right. I had to start pronouncing my name properly, as Ranvir said.
Next thing I know we were talking then we were being kicked out of the dining hall because it was closing and we were two hours away from finishing talking about her incredible work with stem cells.
I told Ranvir and Javed about her the next day and they joked that the only way to tell white girls apart is by the sizes of their Starbucks cups. I started laughing along with them but I thought they were being unfair because Sophia was something else.
***
I was studying for the bio exam with some guys in my class when I realized the Indian Council was also having a study session where older kids would help freshmen with the classes they were all in – that is to say, bio class, because all the Indians become doctors. Me too, I guess. I figured I’d give the Indian study session a chance because they’d probably help me a lot.
Meena bounced up to me in her bright yellow – and, as usual, too short – sundress, almost tripping in the process. “So glad you could come!” she giggled, squeezing me. A little ditzy, but as good an Indian Council Big Sib as any.
I looked up from my amino acids. “You know, I can’t think of any other clubs that would do this.”
“Of course not, silly! We look out for each other! Who else is going to?” She was right. Who else would care about me this much? Not the Catholic Students’ Association, that’s who. Their idea of helping each other out was probably a seminar on Buying Boat Shoes 101. I told that joke to Meena and she laughed.
One of the juniors sat me down and spent an entire hour with me going through DNA replication. These Indians really cared. More than the friends I’d been studying with. These guys liked me and had my back and everything. Loved them.
***
So that was why I volunteered to go with Ranvir down to the Indian store down on 13th street to get some Indian soda called Limca – think Sprite but, uh, Indian. I wasn’t sure whether to make a joke about how bad it was or talk about how good it was but then Ranvir told me how much he loved it so I told him how I’d been missing out on my people – and my soda – these last eighteen years.
“So, big fall dance coming up.” He gave me a nod through the frosty glass of the soda fridge door. There was a fall dance?
“Who are you going to ask? Anjali? Annika? Deepika?” He must have proceeded to rattle off the names of all the Indian girls at this college. Would have helped if I knew any of them.
“Um…” I tried to read his eyes. “You remember how I told you about So—“
“Sonakshi? Nah, آدمی, she’s stupid.” Oh, her. Stupid? Yes, literature major. Right, that means stupid. Stupid. Right.
I was trying to think of other girls so I stalled. “Who are the other guys asking?”
“Javed asked Leena. Cute, آدمی. Got cash for the Limca? Thanks. Uh, Sachin asked Divya. I’ll ask Radha.”
Right, they had to be Indian girls. Roll with it.
“Uh, Neha?” She was on Indian council, seemed nice.
“Nah, بھائی, too whitewashed.” Right. Whitewashed. Couldn’t talk to her about anything but the last party she’d gone to (which she probably wouldn’t remember anyway.) Whitewashed is a no-go. Thank God for Ranvir. I mean, thank Lord Rama. Yeah. “Riya?” I’d met her a few times and—
“YES.” He put a pretty solid dent in the soda can as he smashed it on the counter. The balding Indian grandpa behind the counter looked up from his imported Indian newspapers.
“Smart, cute, not whitewashed. Good idea,” he said. I sighed in relief. “Oh, and you know how all the upperclassmen on the Council love Riya, so if you go with her they’ll get to know you.” Smart. Like all the Indians this guy always had my best interests in mind.
“Yeah, but I don’t even know her that well, Ranvir.”
“Of course you do! You’ve been together at some of the Indian Council events. Look, trust me. Trust us – look, I gotta run to dance practice but we’ll talk about this at the Indian Council dinner this week, okay?”
***
Riya sounded great but, still, Sophia… I suddenly realized I hadn’t seen Sophia in a while so I knocked on her door later that night and sat with her on her sofa. I told her how I was struggling in bio which shouldn’t happen cause being a doctor was destined for me and all the other Indians were gonna be doctors and they were great at it and even with all their help I still couldn’t handle it and I just didn’t belong here.
She started telling me all about how I had dreams and passions and of course I belonged here. But she suddenly pulled her hand away from me when her friend banged expectantly on the door.
“Sophia!” Her friend glanced at me. “In a bit. Anyway, you’re looking cute.”
I was gonna leave and I have no idea why but I blurted out that I thought Sophia was cute and she said I was cute and her friend asked if we were dating and that was the third time someone had asked that and we looked at each other and oh my god her eyes and then I went to hug her and I think our lips brushed and I should have kissed her and no maybe I shouldn’t have but no why was I still holding her hand but what about Riya but what about Sophia and I grabbed my bag and stumbled out and wished I had more hair to cover my face.
***
I avoided talking to anyone about girls until the Indian Council’s weekly dinner the next day. That was always my favorite time of the week because then we could all gather together and eat samosas and gossip and talk about Indian movies. I talked really loudly so that everyone would notice that I had a huge group of friends to eat with and I wasn’t like the losers who were eating alone or with only one or two people. Nah, that was me before I discovered the Indian Council. I’d come a long way.
As I entered the dining hall Sidarth noticed me and gave a nod to the girl he was chatting up and she giggled and walked away. Vintage Sidarth. Must have been his Ray-Bans and flip-flops.
“Haven’t seen you since that party last week,” I said as we walked toward the table. He didn’t go to the Indian Council meetings much – come on, آدمی, you’re missing out on your people!
“It’s been too long, آدمی. Anyway, how’s the love life?” He grabbed a seat next to me and clapped me on the shoulder. He was my number one relationship cheerleader.
“There’s the dance, آپ کو پتہ ہے? So girls. There’s Riya.” He flashed a thumbs up. “And this other girl called Sophia.”
His face fell and he lifted his sunglasses and put his arm around my shoulder. “Listen, آدمی, take it from me. White girls, those relationships don’t last long. They don’t get us, آدمی. Our values, our way of life.” He was right, come to think of it – all those white people (or whitewashed people, they’re all the same) just party and never study.
“Look, let’s try something,” he continued. “What are you looking for in a girl?”
“Eyes,” I blurted out. Wait, what had Ranvir said… “Smart? Not whitewashed? Oh—oh—and brown too.”
“Bingo. And cute too. Now, think about it. Riya checks all those boxes. Man, why didn’t I think of her for you before?” He chuckled and stood up. “Jai. Riya. Jaya. Riyhotra. Perfect, آدمی. It’s a Bollywood couple name.”
He made a good point. About the Bollywood couple name, بھی. They knew what they were talking about relationships, Sidarth especially. And then Meena bounced up and told me how “I could see you getting married to Riya or a girl like her – OMG that’s so cute – she totally has a thing for you, by the way.” I decided I’d ask Riya and see where the relationship went from there because – I saw Riya at the other corner of the table and they were right she hit all the boxes and she was perfect for me.
***
I saw her everywhere the next day and – the way she walked – her hair – I hadn’t realized how perfect for me she was. I texted Riya on a pretense – I needed her advice on this research position I was considering for the summer when really c’mon man it was November I wasn’t considering anything – and asked to meet up for lunch or something. We decided to meet on Wednesday.
Then it came. “Ask Riya” reminder popped up on phone. Cologne. Hair. Shirt. No she prefers red, wear that one. To lunch. Sandwich. Keep yourself clean. Find poster of fall dance. Put on table. Casually. Not that casually. Angle so she can read it. Pretend to be texting. Look. Riya. Coming. Hair? Good. Hey, Riya.
I hadn’t really had a conversation of more than 20 minutes with her, but this was gonna be great. Destined.
I kept complimenting her on how she looked – Sidarth told me that would do the trick – and hoped she’d notice the poster I was eyeing but she didn’t. Looked like she was getting bored so I asked her about her debate championships and her eyes lit up and she looked beautiful and I leaned in and looked deep into her eyes as she was talking and I felt like I should see desire but she just smiled and told me how funny I was and asked me about my summer plans. She totally liked me – no, maybe not—
Forget it, آدمی, you’ve got this. I finally raised the question as soon as we were getting up to leave. Just like you practiced, Malhotra. “Oh, by the way, would you want to go to formal together?” And she nodded and said yes and that was that. Then I smiled and asked her what color her dress was gonna be and she shrugged and we walked away.
I went to the main quad and made a beeline for Ranvir and gave him a gigantic hug. Right afterward I called mom and when I told her I was taking a girl to a dance I paused for effect and said “Riya,” trying to pronounce it all Indian and waited for it to sink in.
I ran into Sophia as I was walking and she hugged me but I pulled myself away quickly and put my head down and hurried away. Hadn’t seen her in a while. That was for the better. For one I had to focus on Riya. And also the Indian Council people were right – white people weren’t worth it. What had they ever done for me besides exclude me and make me hate my real identity and pronounce my name wrong and convince me that boat shoes were the best things on the planet. I thought about going back to talk to her but no it wasn’t worth it because I had my people and she had her people and there was no overlap and that was that.
***
That Friday I went to this East Asian dance showcase with my new friend William Chu. OK, he’s only my chemistry lab partner, I just need him around for his homework help. It was weird because I don’t usually go to events with people except with the Indian Council gang.
After we took our seats Will looked like he wanted to talk to me but I couldn’t think of anything cause what would we talk about besides chemistry so I just texted the Indian Council group. I do that a lot whenever I’m with people like Will which is, thankfully, not very often.
Will instead found a bunch of other Chinese dudes and started talking to them in Chinese. Was he talking smack about me? Probably. Whatever. Weird, this East Asian community. I didn’t even know it existed – you wouldn’t think it because all their girls are walking around with white guys you know?
That dance showcase was boring as anything cause the music was a bunch of weird Chinese stuff and the food was smelly and the outfits were strange and I couldn’t tell the performers’ names apart. I’m pretty sure the MCs names’ were Emily W., Emily X., Emily Y., اور, for good measure, Emily Z. I was so glad to get back to South Asian Carom Night where they had interesting names and nice food and faces I could tell apart.
***
I texted Riya asking what she was up to on Saturday evening but she didn’t write back then Sidarth told me that she and Annika and a few other Indians were hanging in his room. She didn’t—no, she didn’t like Sidarth—Riya and I were meant to be—I knew it.
“Jai!” Riya leaned over Annika’s phone, where they’d pulled up a photo, and started giggling. “We found this photo of you with this… Veena!” Riya thrust it in my face. Oh, yeah, Veena. I’d met her at this party last night. She was the one girl I talked to, mostly because she was the only Indian one there. The nice thing about fellow Indians is that you automatically have things to talk about with them – I used Bollywood movies – which is great if you want to talk to a girl but don’t have anything creative to say. Poor white guys who had to resort to talking to the forgettable mobs of white girls. I wouldn’t want to talk to them anyway cause they were about as colorful and as interesting as saltine crackers.
Hold on, Riya was saying this—
“I ship you and her so hard!” giggled Riya, looking at Annika with bright eyes.
“Riya there’s—there’s nothing—“
“Bro, I’m gonna matchmake you with her! That’ll be adorable! Then she can be your date to the dance!” She high-fived Annika.
Silence. The same kind of silence you’d expect if a white guy said he was gonna renounce his worldly possessions – chiefly his yacht and his iPhone – to become an ascetic Hindu monk.
“Got a—a party to go to,” I muttered as I stumbled out the door. No such plans, کورس کے.
I crumpled as soon as I left the room. My phone buzzed. Sidarth. “Sorry, آدمی. I swore it’d work.” Then Ranvir. “I heard. Happy Burger?”
***
That’s how, at 1am, I ended up Happy Burger, a fluorescently-lit death trap of greasy burgers, lukewarm milkshakes, and messy emotions. They have burgers, but no happiness. Unless you enjoy stuffing your face with pink slime, I guess. Oh, it’s open twenty-four hours, بھی, so it can maximize its contributions to society.
“Ruined, آدمی. Said she’d matchmake me.” I buried my head in my hands.
“It’s not the end.” Ranvir put his hand awkwardly on my back.
“No?”
He slurped absent-mindedly on his caramel shake. “She was just testing you. She likes you but doesn’t want to admit it. She wants to see how much you’re into her. I know –we know – how these smart girls work.”
“Face it, آدمی. And to think I liked her so much. You guys said it would work.” I strangled the fry in my hand.
“It’s no big deal. There are plenty of other girls in the group who fit what you’re looking for.”
Girls who fit what you’re looking for. What you’re looking for. “Wait. Why did I start liking her? Why did I ask her in the first place? Cause she was what I wanted, right?” I stared intently at the pepper shaker for a few minutes. “No. She was what you guys wanted, wasn’t it? Remember when we got that Limca. Then Sidarth and Meena and everyone.” I leaned forward into his face. “I just listened to what you guys said. I didn’t even like her until you told me to. That match you made, it wasn’t for real. It was just on paper. On paper! You should just take these paper matches and light them on fire because all they do to you is burn your own hand!“
“We just had your best interests at heart. We wanted you to be happy.” He slammed his milkshake into the trash.
“I listened to you guys about Riya.” I ran my greasy hands through the hair I’d cropped short after Ranvir had told me it looked too white. “I listened to you guys about everything. All I thought about were Indians and being Indian and I just wanted to be you and I became you and—“
He stood up. “We gotta stick together. We’re all we have. That’s why. And you don’t have to be all Indian Council all the time, you know.” I heard the door slam behind him. I hurled my fries onto the floor and began the long trudge back home.
There was a small light in my room. Tyler was on the sofa, head buried in his hands, having that unwelcome abundance of clarity that comes to you at 2am. He raised his head.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” I said.
“Well, of course not. You have your own people now. You know, Jay, you used to hang with us.” He pointed at the photo of my roommates and me smiling on the main quad under the happy August sun.
“Yeah, but then your whiteness got in the way.”
“Maybe it was your brownness that got in the way.” He slunk into his bedroom.
I looked at the roommate photo sitting on our mantelpiece. That was me with my long upswept hair and powder blue shorts with my arms around my roommates. That was me? Back when I had the hair and the shoes and hated Ranvir the brown nerd and listened to everything good old white guys said because only they liked me. And now I had the gold chain and the sandals and hated Tyler the stuck-up white kid and listened to everything the Indians said because only they liked me. I’d come a long way, hadn’t I?
***
You don’t have to be all Indian Council all the time, آپ کو پتہ ہے. Ranvir’s words echoed as I walked instinctively to the Indian Council meeting that Friday. But instead of jumping into the crowd of people that formed before the meeting started, as I usually did, I stood with my arms crossed in the shadows in the back. Sidarth found me and gave me a small hug.
“Funny how everyone arranges themselves into neat little circles, huh,” I said. There was the Indian medical circle and the Indian computer science circle – there was probably a south Indian future children’s dentists’ circle in the back somewhere.
“Never noticed, huh? Well, good thing I have someone to be alone with in the back,” we said as we sat down in the shadows. I tuned out of the meeting and pointed out the Indian and African and Latin American art on the walls that I’d never noticed before. He chuckled because no one ever noticed it.
Some of the other freshmen were going out to dinner after the meeting and I kinda wanted to go because, as usual, I had no dinner plans with anyone. But I forced myself into the dining hall where I stood in the middle with my tray trembling in my hands, spinning around a few times – sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to hit you with my backpack – seeing if I knew anyone. Of course I didn’t. I went back to the serving area over and over to get another cookie hoping to find someone I knew but I never did. Stop kidding yourself, Malhotra. I felt like I was gonna drown in this ocean of white. Hands still trembling, I sat alone at the edge of a table in the middle of the ocean.
Will somehow found me and came over to me. “I usually see you with the Indian guys.”
“Figured I’d try something else. Just realized I don’t know anyone else around here,” I said, sweeping my hand across the dining hall.
“Welcome to the real world, islander,” he said. He was right. There was the brown island which I’d just jumped off of, there was the black island, there was the East Asian island, there were the white seas. I’d never noticed that. “You’ve got a lot of people to meet.”
“Yo, I have to run to a lab meeting now,” he said as his phone buzzed. “As I was saying, go sit with someone.”
I picked up my tray – so much for that – and picked a random table. Like day 1 all over again except no roommates and no college football. Just totally random.
“Jai. Rhymes with ‘dry.’ But without the ‘r.’”
“Jed. Jed Lewis.” The head of a group of white guys. Turned out they were the Catholic Students’ Association. Funny how that happened. I talked to a few guys – got Jed’s number – but for the most part my eyes just darted back and forth between speakers and I tried to keep my mouth full as they started talking about God knows what. Pun not intended. Actually, it was. After a while I felt like I was eating alone at their table. Jerks. Well to be fair the Indians did the same thing when one random white guy came to the Indian Council dinner one week and we left him at the corner of the table and started joking about how antisocial he was. I’d probably cracked some of those jokes.
***
Then there was the dance the next week. I met up with Riya and we hung out with the Indian Council at the banquet before the dance. Ranvir gave me a little hug and told me about the dance team he was on and I decided to join it just for the heck of it. Meena bounced over and told me that Riya and I looked cute together but I smiled and shook my head and hugged her and walked away.
At the dance, I pretty much lost Riya after we’d taken a few photos, not because she was easy to miss but because I kinda wanted to lose her. I cut through a dancing circle of black people to find Sophia, who I’d spotted standing near the refreshments table. A long, glittery blue dress. Beautiful.
“Haven’t seen you since…” she started.
“…A long time ago. That was my fault.” Self-imposed exile on the brown island.
Sophia and I danced a bit. The Indian Council might have been watching – they probably were, they’re very perceptive – but I didn’t really care. Sophia and I arranged to hit up the Happy Burger for late-night milkshakes after the dance. I hoped it didn’t end like the last time. Like with the paper. The paper match. Speaking of which, Sidarth. In the center of a circle full of brown girls. Of course brown girls. I grinned. He was good.
***
I texted Ranvir the next day for lunch. That’s how it was now. I ate with Meena or Sidarth or Will or a few dance team people but that was it. Never needed a whole table. Back to being a loser, eh, Malhotra?
Anyway Jed somehow found us and sat with us. I’d had an idea and realized now was my chance to say it but I kept waiting for the right time but when I still hadn’t said it and they were getting up to leave I blurted it out. “Guys! Let’s have a—a combined dinner between the Indian Council and the Catholic Students’ Association. This Friday.” They gave me questioning looks but shrugged and said sure.
So on Friday people from both the groups filtered in and gathered around a table in the dining hall. I shook my fist and went to the serving line to celebrate with some brownies. The food, I mean, not the people. When I got back everyone had sat down and half of the table was totally brown and the other half was totally white. It’s like one of those ice cream tubs where the left half is chocolate and the right half is vanilla and there’s a sharp line in between. I think I’m that kid who takes the scoop and goes right down the middle. Or maybe I’m that kid who shrugs his shoulders, says “screw it,” and goes for the strawberry ice cream instead.
