The Best at It: Chapters 16–25

Arun’s eyes dart back and forth between us, like we’re trying to dupe him or something.

I resignedly duck behind the seat to change button-downs.

He bears down on his wheels and leads our motley crew up the bank parking lot.

The tip of my shoe snags on the top stair, and I almost fall flat onto my face.

Boys with perfect smiles. Boys with hair gelled up into flawless little spikes. Boys waving headshots in each other’s faces.

I keep my eyes averted, wishing Bhai would stop calling attention to us.

My eyes travel across the floor and run right into Mr. Emery’s penny loafers, the edges of his white athletic ankle socks peeking over his shoes.

“You may not be able to tell now,” Mr. Emery says, smiling, “but Mrs. Emery was quite the superstar herself back in the day. She was a model. A swimsuit model. You know, for those department-store mailers in the Sunday newspaper?” He winks at Bhai. “Let’s just say I was the envy of a LOT of the neighborhood men.”

“Anyhoo”—Mr. Emery stuffs his hands into his pockets, and the pleats of his khakis accordion out like balloons—“she’s trying to get Justin to follow in her footsteps. Big shoes to fill, right, son?”

I peruse the answers Mom’s written in and shake my head.

“I drove in this morning from Indianapolis. It’s my first time in, uh”—she grimaces ever so slightly—“Greenville. But I’m so excited to meet all of you.”

Justin’s filling in his information sheet while Mr. Emery chats animatedly with the dad sitting to his right.

“Well, I’m African American. Am I allowed to say that?”
The whole room titters nervously.

If you ask me, this could be a great opportunity for us to get with the picture and start being more inclusive. More diverse.

I dig into the recesses of my brain. I try to remember everything I read on the internet about acting.

As soon as we get back to the van, Mom, Bhai, and Arun barrage us with a million questions.

And then just before pulling the handle that makes the door slide shut, she plants both her feet firmly on the driveway and says, “They discriminated against Rahul.”

Mom, who’s always so put together, who manages to get me, Dad, and Arun out the door every morning, who’s the only person who can make the entire Auntie Squad stop their squabbling with a gentle word, loses her temper.

That night, after dinner, Arun and I sit on the steps and do our best to eavesdrop on Mom and Dad doing the dishes.

Your allegations were given our utmost consideration.

No racial prejudices or biases played any role in our casting process, and Greenville People’s Bank is 100 percent committed to equal-opportunity employment practices.

I figure Justin will want to know who got the part, so the next day at morning assembly, I muster up the courage to leave the front row and make my way to the back of the room, where all the cool kids congregate.

He grabs the lip gloss out of Trina’s hand and makes his voice all falsetto-y. “Did you need some of this? Chelsea didn’t bring some for you today?”

I look up to the stage, and my hand reflexively clutches my shirt into a tight fist right over my heart.

Trina and her entourage are still talking about the saris.

Principal Jacobson flips up the paper on her clipboard, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize she’s still not done with her endless drone.

Nandita Auntie scurries behind her, her sari shimmering like a mirage, and pushes her toward the podium.

“It’s this April! So, yes, we do have some time, but as I’m sure Principal Jacobson teaches you”—she nods at her—“never, ever procrastinate! Why do tomorrow what you can do today? Am I right?”

“How will we celebrate our diversity?” she asks, beckoning the audience to respond with her outstretched hand.

The aunties start to disperse, but not before Nandita Auntie grabs a handful of my cheek between her fingers.

I writhe away from his arm a little.

Bhai’s voice trails off, and something about the way he pauses makes my stomach queasy.

I’m still feeling disoriented after assembly as I dig through my locker. So when Justin comes up beside me, I almost jump out of my skin.

He glances furtively around the empty hall, as if he doesn’t want to be seen.

“Oh, Rahul’s at Mathletes,” Chelsea answers, making me wince ever so slightly.