Mini seemed way calmer than Aru had been when she’d learned she was a Pandava.
“Something like that?” answered Aru.
“Oh.”
There were so many things Aru wanted to ask. Mini’s parents must have told her about her true identity, because she was—in her own way—prepared. Sheknewwhat was happening. Sheknewthat Aru had to be some kind of relation to her because she, too, was a Pandava.
But the situation didn’t sit quite right. It felt as uncomfortable as walking in shoes a size too big.
If Aru was being 100 percent honest with herself (she was the only person she was totally honest with), she felt a sharp pang of disappointment. But what had she expected? Often the amount of amazement she wanted to feel never quite matched reality.
Last year, when she’d heard about the middle school homecoming dance, she had imagined something from a Bollywood movie. Lights glittering. A wind—out of nowhere—making her hair fly, and everyone breaking into a choreographed song and dance at the exact same time. When Aru had walked in, no wind had blown her hair. But someone did sneeze in her face. All the sodas were lukewarm, and all the food was cold. Forget about choreographed dancing (aside from the Cha Cha Slide, which shouldn’t count). The kids who were dancing—to bleeped-out pop hits—were weirdly…enthusiastic. A chaperone had to keep yelling, “Leave enough room between you for Jesus!” By the end of the night it was: “LEAVE ROOM FOR THE HOLY TRINITY!” And to crown it all, the air conditioner drew its last breath halfway through the dance. By the end of it, Aru had felt like she was wading through a steam of post-recess middle school body odor. Which was, to put it bluntly, the worst.
Meeting Mini was better than a middle school dance. But Aru still felt cheated.
She had wanted a sisterly smile that saidI’ve known you all my life. Instead, she was faced with an odd stranger and a pigeon whose sanity was slowly unraveling. Maybe it was supposed to be this way, like part of atrial. She was a hero (kinda?), so maybe she just had to be patient andprovethat she was worthy of her Pandava role. Only then would the magic happen.
And so Aru fixed Mini with what she hoped was her friendliest, most blinding smile.
Mini took a step back, clutching her EpiPen tighter.
She didn’t look like a reincarnated Pandava any more than Aru did. But Mini was very different from Aru. There was an upswept tilt to her eyes. Her skin was light gold, like watered-down honey. Not like Aru’s chestnut brown. It made sense, though. India was a very big country with about a billion people in it. From state to state, the people were different. They didn’t even speak the same languages.
Boo lifted off Aru’s hands and hovered in front of the girls’ faces. “You’re Mini, she’s Aru. I’m exasperated. Salutations done? Okay. Off to the Otherworld now.”
“Exasperated, how do we get there?” asked Mini.
Boo blinked. “Let’s hope you inherited some talents, since irony evidently eluded you.”
“I have an iron deficiency. Does that count?” offered Mini.
Before Boo could face-plant once more, Aru caught him.
“Don’t we have somewhere to be? The Sleeper is off somewhere freezing people, and if we don’t stop him by the ninth day, all of them…” Aru gulped. It hadn’t seemed so real until she said it out loud. “They’ll stay that way.”
“To the Otherworld!” cried Boo.
It could’ve sounded really epic. Like Batman hollering,To the Batmobile!But it was barely intelligible, because Boo was squawking from inside Aru’s cupped hands. She placed him on a nearby tree.
“I don’t remember how to get there,” said Mini. “I went once, but I got carsick.”
Envy shot through Aru. “You’vebeento the Otherworld?”
Mini nodded. “My parents took my brother when he turned thirteen. I had to go, too, because they couldn’t find a babysitter. I think all the parents of Pandavas are supposed to take them to the Otherworld once they show signs of being demigods. Didn’t yours?”
Didn’t yours?
Aru hated that question and every variation of it. She’d heard it all the time growing up.
My mom packed me a sandwich for the field trip. Didn’t yours?
My parents always come to my choir practice. Don’t yours?
Sorry, I can’t stay long after school. My mom is picking me up. Isn’t yours?
No. Hers didn’t, doesn’t, isn’t.
Aru’s expression must have been answer enough. Mini’s face softened.
