Secret Keeper

Secret Keeper Read Free

Book: Secret Keeper Read Free
Author: Mitali Perkins
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daughter- in- law was the exception to the rule.
    Ma sighed. “I’ve heard that from her a thousand times, but she won’t pay for it. Don’t count on any more schooling until your father finds a job, Tuni. It’s too expensive.”
    “I’ll study on my own, then,” Asha said stubbornly, twisting the cap of her fountain pen.
    “Isn’t that the pen Kavita gave you?” Ma asked. “That girl pours out her parents’ money like water.”
    “She’s my best friend, Ma. She wanted to give me a nice goodbye present.”
    Ma snorted, but quietly, so that she wouldn’t wake Reet. “She doesn’t speak a word of Bangla. Couldn’t sing a Tagore song if you paid her.” This was one of the reasons Ma had never gotten to know Kavita well-Kavita was Punj abi and didn’t speak the Holy Language, as the sisters called their mother tongue. Ma mingled only with other Bengalis who lived in Delhi, of the same class and caste as her husband’s family.
    “Who cares if she’s Punjabi, Marathi, or Gujarati?” Asha asked. “Or even British for that matter? She’s my friend.”
    “You’ll forget about such so- called friends when you get married,” Ma said, starting to knit again. “
I
don’t need friends, do I? You two girls and Baba are my whole life.”
    Asha stifled a groan. She didn’t want to be Ma’s whole life. Or even one- third of it. But she knew from experience that arguing was useless. Her mother could never understand Asha’s friendship with Kavita. It wasn’t about competition and rivalry, the way middle- class Bengali housewives in Delhi interacted. Osh and Kavi rejoiced over each other’s victories and suffered through each other’s struggles. They ran around the academy courtyard during tea break, orga nizing games for their class until everyone who joined in was sweaty and laughing. Asha was going to miss practicing tennis and cricket in Kavi’s family’s enclosed garden; she was going to miss their long talks and laughter. But suddenly, in the face of Ma’s certainty, Asha felt a twinge of doubt. Could even the closest of friendships stand the test of time and distance? Would Kavi vanish into Asha’s past like Ma’s childhood?
    No,
Asha told herself fiercely.
I'll never forget Kavi. And she’ll never forget me. We’ll be friends forever, just as we promised.
She tucked the pen into her bag next to the diary. She’d been stupid to take them out, even though she’d been longing to write ever since they got on the train.
    Ma frowned at her red rectangle, holding it at a distance to find a dropped stitch. “That girl’s a bad influence, anyway. I don’t like how she gave you another tennis racket after I forbade you to play.”
    This time, it took Asha immense amounts of energy notto debate her mother’s point. She was battling the fury that always flamed when she remembered how Ma had given away her tennis racket and cricket bat to the servants. The bat was cheap, and Baba had bought another just like it, but the racket was an irreplaceable wooden Chris Evert from America, and Asha had won it as a first prize in a tournament. She would have liked to keep it forever as a memory of playing tennis with Baba. And trouncing boy after boy while he watched.
    Their father had learned tennis when he’d studied engineering in London, and he joined a club in Delhi after he and Ma settled there as newlyweds. He’d started teaching Asha when she was seven, and she’d learned so fast that Baba encouraged her to start playing competitively. He and Reet stood at the sidelines cheering, and people came from miles around to witness the unusual sight of a girl winning matches in an all- boy juniors league. An Indian Billie Jean King or Virginia Wade, they called her. Or Vij aya, the female version of the name Vij ay, after the more famous Amritraj brother, who the past year had actually made it all the way to the quarterfinals at Wimbledon. Asha and Baba had listened to the matches on the radio, shouting like

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