Unwanted Girl. MK Schiller

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      “Because they have no right to judge us. There are two kinds of people in this country. The ones who think we’re lovable people because they’ve watched Slumdog Millionaire and those who believe we are terrorists because of our skin color and turbans.”

      “I didn’t bring you here for a better life to watch you throw it away with your hostility. That’s not who we are. You insult our crowns with your disrespect,” Mr. Dhillon said.

      Although Shyla was Hindu and not Sikh, she knew enough to understand the turban represented the Sikh identity and the commitment to their faith. It wasn’t a piece of cloth, but rather their own self-crowning and desire to live like their guru who fought for equality and peace. In recent years, the turban had falsely transformed into a symbol of terrorism. Funny how meanings could be misconstrued. The Hindus had considered the swastika a visual image for good luck long before Hitler shifted the design for his own purposes.

      Shyla headed toward the kitchen. The previous jovial mood had dissolved into thin air. She organized the next day’s deli platter orders, trying to ignore Adesh’s hostile voice.

      It wasn’t long before he found her. “My dad’s always on my ass,” he said, moving to stand beside her. “Can you believe that bullshit?”

      “The officer was doing his job. He has to respond to every complaint.”

      His frown turned to a glare. Clearly, he had sought her out in search of an ally, and she’d failed him yet again.

      “I understand why—” she began, but his bitter laugh cut her sentence short.

      “You understand nothing, gullible girl. I guess it’s true what they say. You can take the girl from the village, but you can never wash the village off the girl.”

      The order slips fell from her shaking hand. She’d had it. Her anger required a great deal of fuel, but Adesh had sparked it like a lit match tossed into a keg of kerosene.

      She lowered her voice, but her words came with clipped clarity. “You think because I wasn’t born here I can’t understand racism? You think it’s hard to live here because people judge you once in a while? That kind of thing exists everywhere, even at home. In fact, it’s worse there. You know why? Because there we all look the same, and yet we’re still judged on our language, religion, caste, and the money in our bank accounts, so don’t you tell me I don’t understand.”

      His clenched jaw loosened. He placed his hand on her shoulder, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking tired of explaining I’m not a Muslim. I feel like wearing a badge that says I am not a terrorist.”

      “Most Muslims aren’t either, you idiot. I hope you take a few minutes to analyze the irony of your own statement.”

      His lips pinched in a tight grimace, and the air thickened around them, making the ringing phone sound like a warning siren. She’d never spoken to him this way, but in the heat of the moment, she didn’t care. He was a good person…hotheaded and misguided, but good. She liked him, but sometimes she wanted to slap the unnatural scowl from his face. That expression didn’t fit him. He was the boy who took heavy groceries from her, made funny jokes, and spontaneously danced with her.

      Luckily, Geet’s voice rang out, slicing through the tension. “Number five for 15C on The West Oracle Tower.”

      “Excuse me, that’s my order,” Shyla said, marching past him.

      He grasped her arm. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

      “I have nothing else to say to you. Let go of me.”

      He withdrew his hold. She rushed away, but his eyes continued to follow her while she made the sandwiches and bid goodnight to the Dhillons.

      Gripping the handle of the umbrella tightly, she marched toward her destination, grounding out each step with determination. Even though the cold wind whipped around her, she burned hot. Still, she found a sweet vindication in the argument with Adesh. She’d bitten her tongue so many times that her voice was always thick around him.

      Adrenaline coursed through her, creating a newfound courage as she repeated her mantra once more. “Now is the time for risks.”

      Chapter 4

      He opened the door wearing a Yankees T-shirt, faded blue jeans ripped at the knees, and a charming smile.

      “Hello,” he said, leaning his tall muscular body against the doorframe.

      “Hi,” she greeted, handing him the paper bag and his umbrella. “Thank you for lending me this.”

      “You were wrong…again,” he said.

      “Yes, I was.” She nodded, matching his playful expression.

      “But I’m glad you didn’t get stuck in a downpour.”

      He handed her a bill, and she reached for it the way she always did. She searched her pockets for change, but he held up his hand.

      “Keep it.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Any predictions for tomorrow?”

      “Why ask me? I’m always wrong.”

      “I’ve learned if I do the opposite of what you suggest, it works out well.”

      Her skin prickled as she took in his features. Because of her attraction to Nick, she found it difficult to look at him. She tried holding her gaze at his bare feet, but that didn’t work. Tilting her head toward his seductive smirk wasn’t a bright idea either. So she let her gaze linger at his broad chest, which wasn’t any easier. “I have nothing to report.”

      “I guess this is the part where I tell you to be safe.”

      This was when she’d take her leave, and she almost did, her courage peeled away by his presence. “Nick Dorsey.” The timid whisper of her voice didn’t sound natural.

      “That’s me.”

      “I know because your name is on the order slip,” she stammered, wincing at her lame attempt at conversation.

      He smirked. “Your detective skills are impressive.”

      She laughed nervously. “Did you know you are my last delivery of the night?”

      “I assumed based on the hour.”

      “I always pack an extra sandwich for myself. I also eat dinner very late.”

      “That’s interesting.” He dragged a hand through his thick hair.

      “Yes, and I go to school at NYU. My roommate will have people over tonight, and our place will be crowded. It’s difficult to think, let alone enjoy a meal in peace.”

      “Is this going somewhere?”

      “Nick Dorsey, it looks like you have a nice, quiet place where one may enjoy a sandwich.”

      “Are СКАЧАТЬ