“Yes, you at the back.”
Sita froze for a moment. Then she tried ducking behind the tall red haired girl sitting in front of her. It didn’t work.
“Sita?” asked Professor Davies, a little unsure of her name, “Do you agree?”
She took the microphone, a much needed tool in this auditorium, filled with at least 600 students.
Bracing herself, she ventured, “Well, I’m from India. And who’s to say that once he’s done with Iraq, Bush won’t decide that India is a danger to the US now? We have the bomb too. But we have shown no signs of aggression, nor will we.”
“Is this your way of saying you feel Kennan’s view is fair?”
Sita loved reading George Kennan. He was a US diplomat, very influential in the Cold War era, and had designed the containment and deterrence policies used by the Americans to ward of the Soviet threat in the 1950s. But more than that, she agreed with everything he said.
“Yes. Because there is a significant gap between the challenge the US faces, and the response it is planning,” she said uneasily, adding, “plus, American history shows us that you can begin a war with certain aims in mind but you will lose the plot along the way. This time though, I can’t understand what the plot is. Iraq did not plan the attack on the Twin Towers.”
“Good point,” Davies said smiling, and turned to address the class, “Let’s delve on Sita’s point about the aim of this proposed invasion into Iraq. I want all of you to analyze it from a “legalistic-moralistic” approach. If you don’t know what that is, you haven’t done your reading.”
A bell rang.
“Don’t lose the plot,” he added, throwing her a wry smile.
The class laughed. He continued, “As always, I am available during my office hours or on email, else you have the option of annoying my brilliant Teaching Assistants!”
The students were already shuffling about, some on their feet.
Sita’s heart was racing so fast she almost didn’t hear Alia whisper into her ear, “Not bad dude! How did he know your name?”
She took a moment to breathe. She had popped the cherry. Spoke in class for the first time.
No small feat.
**
Sarah was rolling her eyes at Sita who was purposely ignoring her. “They aren’t invading Iraq, you know that right. They might.”
“They will.”
“They might!”
“They will!”
“Listen you New Delhi princess,” Sarah said with a mild Lebanese accent, “He has approached the UN. They are going to send a weapons inspector. There is a process! You do know what the UN is, right?”
“You’re funny, you know that? Hilarious,” deadpanned Sita.
The door shut loudly in the hallway.
“Who are we gossiping out?” asked Alia, bouncing in.
“Bush.”
“Bush.”
“You guys suck!” complained Alia, taking control of the TV and turning the volume all the way up.
**
The good part about the Student’s Union building was that it was only a street away from their apartment. Also, it housed a pub in the basement that played host to many a crazy nights on campus. Afternoons too, truth be told.
Sita was on the ground floor, rushing to go to the bathroom. She stopped in her tracks when she saw that the cleaning lady had taken over. Impatient, she wondered if there was another bathroom close by.
A few people were walking into this room with big bay windows just down the corridor. She followed them. Ignoring the gathering, she quietly slid into the empty little washroom.
A few minutes later, she emerged, and started looking around curiously. There was a meeting going on. A blonde girl standing her next to her who informed her these were the international student network elections.
Whatever that means, she thought.
Sita hadn’t really been active on campus. She had some friends who, for the most part, lived in her apartment building, and after class she hung out with them.
There was free wine and cheese going around the room. As good a time as any to start, she thought, quickly checking the time. It was 7pm.
A Chinese girl was finishing off a speech. She was talking about keeping the ledger books up to date, and how she was a finance major. People clapped. Then, this short, dark haired guy with a Canadian accent asked for anyone who wanted to stand for the position of secretary to come give a speech.
Moments passed and there seemed to be no takers. Funny, thought Sita, as there were almost 40 people present. Must be here for the free wine and cheese!
“Anyone? It is a good position!” she heard him repeat.
“I’ll do it,” she heard herself say in horror.
Everyone was staring at her now. She was ushered to the front of the crowd, and make taking in a few encouraging smiles, she began her speech.
“I’m not sure what happens here exactly, except free wine and cheese,” (laughter), “but from what I have understood, this network caters to international students. I’m from India. I’m fun but I am also responsible. So I guess I can do this.”
She gulped her wine. Great way to show how responsible you are, Sita.
The Canadian, who was in charge, seemed clearly confused by this sudden outburst. He wrapped up the elections, telling everyone the winners would be called after the votes were counted, and the results posted in a newsletter the following day.
“Um, excuse me?” he asked as Sita attempted to slip out.
“Yess.”
“You didn’t tell us your name?”
“Sita.”
“I’ll need your contact information.”
“Right, let me scribble it down for you.”
“So I will call you with the results.”
“Okay. Great. Thanks.”
“9498422?”
“Right. I have to go now…”
“Sure. By the way, I’m Charlie.”
**
“This is bad, really bad!” cried Sita. Everyone was happily ignoring her, discussing plans for later that night. The doorbell rang. Dinner was here.
Alia returned with food in hand – chicken shish taoks for all. Everyone was really hungry.
“You probably won’t get it babe,” comforted Alia, as she handed out plates, “it sounds like you sucked.”
“Maybe,” said Sita hopefully.
Aside from the girls, who were flatmates, there were four other people having dinner with them. Two were their immediate neighbors from the 6th floor. One of them, Rishi, was Indonesian, and the girls hung out with him far more than his roommate, Dennis. Today they was having a quick bite with them before heading out.
“Are you making Rishi a white-boy yet?” teased Sarah, referring to an old joke when Rishi tried on an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt and got worried he was looking “too white”.
“You have to be white to look white, Rish,” she’d told him, “you just look brown. In white.”
He’d thrown the shirt in her face!
Their other dinner guests were friends from upstairs, Assad and Dina. In fact, the 11th floor, where Assad lived alone and Dina lived with two girlfriends, was quite the party floor. Everyone collected there before heading to the clubs, a ritual that started on Wednesdays on most weeks. The girls were quite happy to have that option upstairs, and had created a contrasting space downstairs where people came to smoke pot, drink wine and argue about everything from sci-fi to politics.
In time, everyone left, and Sita started off again.
“This might seriously damage my social life people, I’m not kidding!”
“Oh come off it Sita,” cried Sarah, “aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“No! No!” protested Sita hotly, probably from the half bottle of wine she had polished off with great ease. “These people have office hours. Dude. Office hours! Like outside of classes. And meetings. All the time. I’ll be in-charge of all kinds of rubbish…”
Sarah’s face, as she rolled a joint, seemed most disinterested.
Sita shut up. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe she wouldn’t even win. Although she was quite certain that no one had stood against her. That was worrying.
“Put on Jay Leno,” she muttered. “He comes on again at 2am.”
**
Dan Price was sitting alone in the TV station, black coffee in hand, looking over raw footage from the Quebec City carnival with a frown. It wasn’t the footage that disturbed him. It was the slow pace at which things were happening. It was Dan’s third year at university. Classes were getting more demanding – he was majoring in history – but he wanted his legacy at university to be this TV station. Going live was a distant dream. But to be able to actually have a functional website, with story updates every week, that shouldn’t be too hard right? If they got their resources together, they could file daily stories. He just needed a few more people who shared the enthusiasm.
Right now, they had three cameras and three editing stations. Most of the stories were about college plays and sports events. He wanted to start covering student politics, like the school paper.
He had gone to the president of the college, who had agreed with his ideas. Simon had assured him that if the started with the recent ISN elections, people would be impressed. It was a story worth reporting. Dan had checked the archives of the college paper, but he hadn’t quite understood what Simon was referring to. Although, they were holding mid-year elections, which granted, was unusual.
The international students network came under the students union, headed by Simon Bryson and his team of executives. Running the student union was such an intensive job that Simon and the others actually had to take a year off while in office, and were of course, paid for it. He wasn’t sure, but they also got a semester worth of credit if all went well.
The international students network or ISN, was one of the biggest arms of the student union, but no one really seemed to know much about it. The attention normally went to sports, theatre, or the upkeep of the pub. But the office of ISN was right opposite the student union office. When you entered, you realized this was prime property. It was the only office in the building to have the kind of space it had – a lounge with at least four couches, a fooseball table, a kitchen, a private bathroom, and on top of that, an office with two workstations for the ISN executive. The budget, Simon had told him, was $100,000.
“Are you serious?” he had asked, shocked.
Simon nodded. He explained that ISN played mother hen to all international students. It gave them a space to hang out in, arranged language classes for them, entered sports teams in the intra-mural games, it booked package tours to New York, Boston, DC, and spring break. It represented the international body on the student council. It arranged countless events and fund raisers. Often, Simon had added with a smile, they provided coats to idiots who don’t come prepared for the winter.
Dan had just whistled under his breath.
“Start with Charlie,” Simon had told him.
“Please don’t be more specific, it would spoilt the fun,” Dan had said to himself after Simon excused himself from that conversation.
He was interrupted mid thought by a loud and very drunk Steven Zimmerman who dragged him to the pub.
“Alright, alright” muttered Dan. This was the cruel joke that was the Student Services Building. While all the offices took up three floors, in the basement was a loud, ever popular, debaucherous bar – Gerts. It was tough staying sober after nine o’clock!
**
The girls were sitting at the pub, a Thursday evening tradition. Sarah and Alia had gone to buy two pitchers so as it save themselves the trouble of getting up again. Sita could hear them cracking a joke about some girl in Sarah’s literature class.
She suddenly felt quite drunk. She needed a breather. A cigarette. She made her way outside, bumping into a few people and pretty sure with vodka spilt over her.
“Can I buy a cigarette off you?” she asked this bald guy. She always found that strange, that people in America constantly offered money for everything. What happened to just being nice?
Apparently baldy heard her thoughts because he offered her one without compensation. “Thanks..” she drawled, fishing for a lighter.
One appeared. “You were there for the ISN elections right?” asked baldy.
Sita was a little blurry at first, but then she placed him. “Yeah, I caught the end of your speech? What for? Sorry, I can’t remember…”
Suddenly she was self-conscious. She didn’t want them talking about her being a floozy. A drunk floozy with no cigarettes and no lighter. Who smelled like vodka.
“I’m doing events. So I guess since you’re the secretary, we should we working closely together. There’s a dinner meeting tomorrow. See you then.”
“I won?”
“No one else stood for your position. Lucky you.”
He winked and then he was gone.
She couldn’t decide if she liked him or not.
**
Sarah was sitting in the library, a place she oddly felt comfortable in, playing with her long, curly hair. She’s missed her last political science class, and as she’d heard, Sita’s debut in public speaking. She smiled as she imagined her talking too fast out of nervousness.
Shaking her head, as if clearing her thoughts, she focused on the problem at hand. Davies wanted them to analyze the decision to possibly invade Iraq through a “legalistic-moralistic” approach.
She smiled as she read. The destructive aspirations of some countries can be suppressed by some international legal order, like the League of Nations, or the UN. So you have these international rules that everyone must obey. That seems fair, because one would imagine that all countries use institutions like the UN to come to these common laws.
But, she thought grimacing; maybe someone breaks this law because they want something more? Laws can be unfair, or obsolete. Who is to decide that these laws should not change?
The billion dollar question.
It was tough for her to stick to the academic argument and not end up ranting. Here goes nothing, she thought.
**
Sita took a last drag of the joint to calm her nerves outside the restaurant. Mexican. A skinny guy with curly hair stopped and half-smiled at her. She followed him in, wondering if the joint had been a good idea considering she’d probably eat up half the table now. She let out a giggle.
As she reached the table, Charlie called out, “Sita, saved you a seat.”
Clearly Charlie was in-charge. He went around doing the introductions.
“Meet Tarek, your president for the next year. For those of you who don’t know him,” he said, looking at Sita, then the Chinese girl, “he’s been with our association as a volunteer for two years now. He’s a hockey champ. And makes a great martini!”
Tarek cracked a smile, “I worked in a bar once. So you guys are always welcome to get drinks at my apartment.”
He didn’t have even a trace of an accent. Born and brought up in Canada, mused Sita. Why didn’t Tarek conduct this meeting considering he is the president, she wondered, but was interrupted when Charlie introduced Baldy.
Apparently Badly had a name. Sam. He smirked at Sita as Charlie spoke. He was law student. It was a little silly, but he made her nervous. Her arsenal of witty comebacks seemed to desert her when he spoke to her. Great, she thought, he’s just going to think I’m a wallflower now.
There were three new additions. The Chinese girl, Xi, was pretty. She didn’t say much. She got the finance job. There was Derek. The website guy. He was Australian — tall, lanky – easygoing. Finally, there was Fatima, who was from Pakistan. Like most of the Pakistani girls Sita had met, she was madly attractive. I wonder if she parties, Sita wondered idly.
Dinner was a little strange. Baldy – Sam, Tarek and Charlie knew each other so they were clearly dominating the conversation. Some of the others knew a lot more about college life than Sita.
As they gave the desert order, Charlie started talking about the work involved. By that time, the mixture of the joint and Sita’s third margarita was making her lightheaded.
“So,” continued Charlie, “we will establish office hours. Sita, you will be in charge. Find out from everyone when they don’t have classes, and pencil them in.”
Sita nodded.
“You will also be in charge of the office. The lounge has, as you have seen, a working kitchen. You will be in-charge of supplies – coffee, sugar, all that. Wine. Cheese.
We also have language classes. They are all voluntary. Even sports teams. You’re the person to talk to for all that.
Then, of course, you tie up everyone else. Events planned – you keep track, help out. Finances. You keep the books, check them after Xi is done. You have access to the website along with Derek and Tarek.
It’s a big job since you are involved with everything. Actually, I will sit down with you later to explain more, but those are the cliff notes.”
Sita kept nodding. Sounds like I’m keeping tabs on everyone else, she thought. So what is the president’s job, she wondered. Speaking of, why wasn’t Tarek saying anything?
Charlie had shifted focus to Xi and Derek now, so Sita turned to Fatima. “And what are you going to be doing?”
Fatima sounded more British than Pakistani. Must be from Karachi, thought Sita. “PR. For all the parties, our events. I used to work with the Pakistan Club so I have a network on campus. Thought I should expand my horizons, you know?”
Sita nodded. “That’s why I joined,” she lied.
**
Charlie entered the office on a lazy Tuesday afternoon. The lounge was empty with except for three guys playing fooseball and Shin, a Japanese U3 student, who as far as Charlie could tell, spent all his free time in the lounge. He was surprised to find Sita sitting at her desk.
“I thought no one was here,” he asked her, wondering why she had locked the door.
Sita looked up and smiled. She gestured she was on the phone and switched to Hindi. Charlie couldn’t make out what she was saying but was sure it was about him. Sitting behind the second desktop in the room, he took her in.
She was pretty. She didn’t talk too much with him, but perhaps she needed to get comfortable. The few people who did know her had told him she was a regular at the bar and definitely enjoyed her pot. I wonder if she is going to be an asset or liability, he thought.
Sita had put the phone down. “So sorry about that Charlie… my friend Alia just doesn’t shut up!”
“That’s alright. So, Sita,” he said, staring at her intently, “how do you like your new job?”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Just getting familiar with everything. How popular is this place?” she asked casually.
“Well, we have 8000 members. Almost 300 regular folk who either play games with us, attend our classes, go on our trips or come for our parties. And many drop by occasionally for crazy problems. We have to be prepared for everything.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Well…” Charlie tried to think of a funny story. The Australian! “Oh yeah, so last year, there was this Australian guy who landed up while I was in the office. He’d come here on exchange. Except he hadn’t bothered to check the weather. While it was summer when he left Australia, it was the dead of winter year here in Canada! He was freezing, that motherfucking idiot!”
“Hahaha… that’s crazy. So what did you do?” She is really enjoying this, he thought.
“Well, we had some leftover coats from our winter clothing drive – we collect old jackets, sweaters and leave them here for people who can’t afford to buy new ones. I gave him a few so he wouldn’t die of frostbite.”
“Mad. Mad!” she said laughing.
“Yup, it was!” he said, grinning.
**
“Pass the popcorn, Sarah”
“Sarah!”
“Pass it!”
“Shooooooooo!”
Chuckling, Alia snatched the popcorn from Sarah and passed it to Dina. They’d come to see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
It was awesome!
**
As Dan entered the ISN lounge, he reviewed all the information he had collected in his head. Recently, as Simon had hinted, there had been a whiff of a scandal. No one knew what exactly, but from what Dan had understood, the president, this guy named Charlie, had been pitted against the entire executive. They had all resigned and called for re-election. Dan wasn’t sure what happened, but none of them either stood or won. The executive was filled with new people.
Steve Zimmerman had this Brazilian friend in class who played fooseball in the lounge often. He’d told them that Charlie was around all the time. He even conducted the new election. He wasn’t in office anymore, but he kept a key. He seemed quite proactive, according to the Brazilian, and was friendly enough. He’d also told them there was a new Indian chick working there who was pretty cute.
Let’s see what this bunch is up to now, chuckled Dan, armed with his trusty video camera, and walked into the lounge.
He knocked on the door, and heard an accented, “It’s open!”
He was greeted with a smile, and “how can I help you?”
“Hey…I’m Dan Price. I’m with the TV Station upstairs”
“Okay…”
“You know, Campus TV?”
“Umm, yeah, right…” she trailed off. Could he tell she was lying?
Dammit, she had no idea. Dan read off a paper. “I’m looking for Tarek, the president?” (He didn’t dare mispronounce the last name too).
“Tarek isn’t here. Can I help you?”
“Yeah, sure. Do you work here?”
“Yup, I’m Sita. I’m the Secretary. Not like a typist though, my job’s bigger than that!”
Dan laughed. “Okay, listen, the deal is that I wanted to interview the new executive about what it feels like to take over in the middle of the term, especially considering how the last executive fell apart.”
“What?” Sita asked, looking totally confused. “Fell apart? What do you mean?”
“Wait, do you not know?” It was Dan’s turn to be totally confused. Cute chick, clearly not very bright.
“Um, I wasn’t very involved with campus stuff till I landed up here. I didn’t really think too much about the timing of election.”
“But this isn’t the beginning of the year, you must have noticed that” he said, quite sarcastically.
She gave him a harsh look. “And for the last two weeks, I’ve just been wrapping my head around all these things I have to do. The only thing I know about the old executive is their names, they are all over these files.” She paused. “Would you mind filling me in?”
What difference did it make anyway, he thought, she will hear about it some time. Plus she’s cute. “Well…I can tell you what I know,” he said, letting out a smile.
“That’s a start. I’ll find out the rest.”
Dan put the camera down and started talking.
**
Sita sat quietly in the coffee shop on the first floor, smoking a cigarette, deep in thought. There was some big game on TV and a huge group of boys was around, cheering loudly. She was grateful, no one to make small talk with.
“She’s alive!” grinned Alia, as she slid in, coffee in hand.
“Hello you. What brings you to campus after class?!”
“Ah, wanted to see you new home. They told me you were here.”
“Good. Listen, I just heard a strange story. Or maybe its not strange, maybe its just new to me.”
“Oh goody. Sounds gossipy. Since I have none, I shall have to live off yours. Hit me!” Alia said cheerfully.
“It’s this new job. I get this feeling something weird is going on.”
“Didn’t really expect politics at work this soon. What do you mean weird?”
Sita paused. She wasn’t sure how to vocalize her apprehensions about this new setup. At first she had been a little overwhelmed with the new job, the new people. Especially so since Tarek, Charlie and Sam seemed know each other quite well, making the rest of them feel a bit like outsiders. But over the past two weeks she was getting to know them, at least getting used to having them around, being in this office, and suddenly Dan Price tells her this insane story.
“Well…” began Sita, “Apparently these elections I stood for were not some regular mid-year elections. The old executive – that was elected at the start of the year – resigned, or was forced to resign. This guy Dan – he works for Campus TV, upstairs – told me that in the end it was Charlie against the entire executive. But what I find strange is that if Charlie was in the minority, how the hell did he end up in-charge of this organization again? Where are the other members?”
“Maybe they boycotted the elections. You know, bored of the bullshit?”
“Yeah, maybe. But if things could go down so badly once, I just want to be sure I’m not going to get involved in some soap opera…”
“Ask Charlie what happened.”
Sita paused. As obvious as that idea was, she didn’t want to. For the moment, none of this was directly applicable to her. She’d just do her job and slowly pick up information.
“No point in me putting myself in the middle of it by bringing it up. I’ll just wait and see.”
Alia’s phone beeped. She was texting furiously, smiling like a cat.
“Ohh noo way!!!!” laughed Sita. “A boy?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Whatever little miss Pakiland. You cracked open a wine bottle, first foray to the dark side. Are you now officially crossing over?”
“Shut up,” giggled Alia. “Firstly alcohol is not a big deal. And secondly, he’s just some guy from class. Curly hair, very artsy looking. You’d hate him. He’s not your typical jock material!”
“Jock material? I don’t go for jocks! But yeah, you and your dirty types. Haven’t had a bath? Call Alia, she’s looove it.”
“Hahahaa.. retard!”
Zee, or that’s what he called himself, came to ask the two if they wanted more coffee.
He chuckled to himself as he heard Sita tease Alia. “Oh I can just hear your mother now – I told you not to be friends with that Hindu girl. Alia, Alia, Alia. What will I tell your father!”
**
Assad gave all three girls a round of kisses on either cheek as was the tradition. He stopped near Sarah long enough to give a ‘special smile’, feeling a little like an idiot as he did. He was glad they were coming out clubbing with them today; they could be such pub-crawlers. But on a Friday? No way, that was for dressing up and hitting the town — VIP table; bottle of Belvedere vodka; pretty girls flocking around. Yeah, that was a night out! He would show them a good time.
This city was amazing. Not only was it cheaper than being in New York or London, but the style and quality of women was just as good, if not better. Assad liked to think of himself as rather cultured. His father was a Syrian diplomat, and his mother — very wealthy. So he had managed to live all over the world, and holiday in even more places. Now he was here for college. He liked lectures, not assignments. And he loved clubbing. After all, he worked hard for his sculpted body, why not show it off, have it appreciated. Only this young this once, he liked to say.
“Habibi, you called a cab?”
Dina, Miriam and Alexis. They were fun neighbors. In fact, the building was filled with really good party people. Chase, Rog, Bilal, Ali, Tom. The list went on.
The phone rang. The four odd cabs called to take this huge posse were downstairs.
“Hey, Assad…what plans for next weekend?” Sita asked.
He liked Sita. She was a total stoner, and a boys-girl. Very pretty, but low maintenance. Some of the guys loved that about her, but that’s the part Assad didn’t like. Not glam enough. But she could definitely go all out when she did party.
“Normally I wouldn’t plan this early, but my friend’s having a loft party. Should be crazy. Hot girls in their bunny outfits. I think he’s doing it for Playboy – they have the best parties! You wanna come?”
“No, actually, you know this new job? Well, we are throwing a party. I have to sell tickets. I was hoping you guys would come.”
Assad knew the easy way out, because this college party didn’t sound too hot. “Sure Sita, I’ll buy tickets..”
“And you’ll come too?”
“Right. Right. Yeah. Oh excuse me, its Mandy calling. I’ll tell her we’re just getting there…”
Close save, thought Assad. Sita’s nerdy college party, cannot, in any universe, compared to a Playboy party. No, sir.
**
“Eggs benedict please, apple juice, and an ashtray.”
“That is gross. No ashtray, please!”
The girls sat at one of the more popular brunch places in the old city, coats thrown on an extra chair. It was snowing heavily outside, but the sun was shining today.
“How’s the party prep coming along anyway? You have one every weekend?” asked Sarah.
“It’s the last one, since exams are coming up. But it’s going well. It’s really big this time. We’ve taking over the entire front lawn on campus. Building some super insulted tent. But I’ve decided to only sell tickets on campus. Assad’s reaction last week made me think these party is really not for the high flying clubbers we live with.”
“Yeah.”
Sarah glanced at Alia, in the distance, on the phone with her brother.
“Sita, you’ve inspired me to get a little more involved with school.”
“As in?”
“Well, this girl in my French class is in the Arab Students Association and she said it is quite fun. Really nice people, so I thought why not? They have a journal too. Maybe I can jump in on that action.”
“Sounds good Sarah.” Sita wasn’t sure if Sarah joining the Arab Association was a good idea. The point of an international college, as she was fast learning, was to take advantage of it. Not stay in little cliques. The more time she spent in the lounge, with all these different nationalities and their peculiarities, the more she thought it was an essential part of college. Although with all this talk of America invading Iraq, Sarah was becoming angrier, which could possibly explain why she wanted to join an Arab group. Although she’s not really Arab.
And as strange as it sounds, that’s what she loved about studying political science. No matter what the debate, what the country, there was always someone from there to give a personal perspective.
“Hey, Sita!”
It was Derek, with an equally attractive girl, settling down at the next table for breakfast. Wonder if that’s his girlfriend, Sita thought idly as she introduced Sarah to Derek. Turned out Crissy was his girlfriend from back home. She was a law student and they’d moved to college here together. After a little chit-chat about how last Friday’s ISN part had been, Derek asked Sita about how the next party prep was going.
“It’s selling for sure, thought I doubt we will sell out.” She turned to Crissy and explained, “Your boyfriend here is really good at his job. Kickass website, and he’s set it up so that people can buy online tickets, the works.”
More small talk.
Derek was telling Sarah all about his computer programming classes and how he’d love to work for Apple after he graduates. Somehow the conversation came back to their executive and Sita asked him why he stood for mid-year elections.
“Well after Mia and everyone resigned, I guess I felt like I should step in. I used to play fooseball there occasionally, and none of us were sure if the lounge could stay open if we didn’t do something.”
“You mean you were there for the great fall?” Sita asked excitedly.
“Yeah, well, in parts. I knew Mia; she had your job. She used to run the lounge so I suppose we all knew her. But I didn’t know Charlie much. Occasional nod of the head, if you know what I mean, mate.”
“Yeah. So what was the fight about?”
“The official version – what Mia and Charlie both told me – was that they broke up. Yeah, they used to date. People took sides, everything became ugly and no one wanted to work together anymore. Charlie told me that he wanted this job more than anything, and since Mia was involved with other things too, she agreed to let him have it. I guess the others didn’t want to work with him or what have you.”
“… and the unofficial version?”
“One of my mates who played fooseball with me told me he overheard a fight once – well, the door was closed, but he could make out words – and they were screaming back and forth about money. Don’t quote me on that Sita, I shouldn’t have said it. But he did tell me that. I don’t know, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Sita said quietly, reaching for Alia’s abandoned apple juice. From the corner of her eye she saw Sarah’s jaw drop.
**
“So Fatima, how are we doing on tickets?” asked Tarek, offering her a bagel with crème cheese.
The discussion had been going well. Fatima had experience in throwing parties on campus and she’d managed to tap many student associations into making this Halloween a group thing, much like corporate affairs. Plus, the indoors yet outdoors theme really worked for them. ‘Party in the park’, they were calling it. Sita had to go with Fatima and Xi to decorate the boat. Tarek had suggested that they put up a sign in the lounge for volunteers who wanted to come with, since none of the boys offered to help, although he had graciously offered to drive them to the port, since he had a car. Sita was quite exited since this was definitely new territory for her. She was also meant to meet the beer representative at the port since she had called the company for some sponsorship (free alcohol).
Xi, quiet as always, had started talking about how they had broken even, but the profit was not going to be too impressive. “If all goes well,” she said shyly, “we might earn around $2000. That’s okay, but it’s our first event together. It will only get bigger and better,” she finished encouragingly.
“Yeah, plus, people are quite busy studying for exams. Next semester will be better!” added Fatima.
There was a short but loud knock on the door. It was Charlie, sounding terse.
“I just walked across campus,” he said rudely, looking squarely at Fatima. “I didn’t see posters on all notice boards. And I called a friend in the boys residence, Duke Hall, and nothing there too. So what are you doing Fatima?”
Sita and Derek exchanged a look.
Before she could answer, Tarek stepped in. “It’s okay Charlie, we’re not too bad on tickets.”
Charlie paused and took in the scene before him. Tarek was obviously trying to exert his authority, which was fine with Charlie, but right now was not the time. Money was at stake, and if this event was not a success, the ISN’s reputation would take a hit. Just one person needed to say “that party sucked” and you can bet that would be ten less people for the next event. These people had no idea about how things worked.
“Tarek, I understand tickets have been sold.” Charlie was weighing his words. “But, what all of you need to understand is that this isn’t just a simple party. It is our annual blowout, and it just needs to be the best party any association throws. That’s why I suggested the tent theme. That’s why I went to other colleges, to sister organizations and sold tickets. That’s also why you need to do more.”
Fatima was glaring at him. Sita, Derek and Xi were sitting quietly, although Sita’s expression betrayed some mistrust. Whatever, he thought, I can handle that one later.
Tarek was telling everyone that perhaps Charlie was right, they could do more, even now, they still had a few days.
Fatima wasn’t really listening to Tarek. She addressed Charlie directly. “Who gave you the right to act as an independent agent Charlie? I’m in charge of the tickets. But turns out you had some I did not even know of. Why didn’t tell me?” She turned to Tarek, “And YOU? I’ve worked on parties before, alright, and the only way it works is if you work as a team.”
She was really angry. Charlie knew from experience an angry woman could ruin everything. He nodded to Tarek, telling him to take over.
“I’m sorry Fatima, for some reason I thought I had told you. I asked Charlie to sell those tickets because he has a long standing association with some of those groups.”
Silence.
Fatima kept glaring, occasionally looking at her phone.
Charlie didn’t want any more bad press, and he knew just what to do.
“Fatima, listen, one of the reasons we were so excited to have you on board is because we knew you had worked really well with the Pakistani Association. Everyone knew you did great PR for not just the parties, but also those fundraisers, the play. And I know you helped out other groups too. And I know you have worked your butt off for this, and I’m sorry for snapping. I guess I’m trying to balance too many things together. I should really let the experts take over.” Smile.
A moment passed and Fatima returned the smile. “It’s fine Charlie. Just don’t scream at me again, alright?”
“Never!”
**
“Has he called?”
Silent stare.
“Okaay. Should we talk about the Arab Association?”
Tight smile.
“Fine. Did you know Alia went for coffee with some British guy after class?”
Eyebrows raised.
“Yeah she just called me. She’s having more luck than you. How about that?”
Silent glare.
**
Alia wasn’t ready to date, she knew that, although a coffee and cigarette with Mark never hurt anybody, right. Damn this social smoking, she thought, cause now she was really hooked. As she watched Mark order coffee at the counter, she considered her life. She had always been a popular girl, but not in the hottest-girl-in-school kind of way. But back home, things were so different. Praying was compulsory. You never really thought about it. She had friends who were boys, but the girls who had boyfriends were gossiped about so much, she never considered such a bold move. Plus, her mother would kill her.
But college was an eye-opener. Her parents hadn’t refused college abroad, which had really surprised her. But then again, this campus was littered with people from her school. She was lucky she found Sita and Sarah. She knew some of the people from back home thought she had developed some airs by not hanging out with them, but it was refreshing being around such different people.
She’d met Sita first. Sita, who would constantly ask her why she prayed. It was funny, Alia thought, that she wasn’t able to convince Sita about the benefits of religion but the other way around. “I’m not into organized religion” was Sita’s favorite statement, and Alia couldn’t help agreeing. Why do you pray, asked Sita. Habit, I’ve always done it, my parents expect me to. But none of her answers ended in the magic words – “I want to”. Now she was intrigued. Was she an atheist underneath all the trappings of a religious person? She did want to test that theory.
The only thing that was starting to bother her was that the next time Ramadan came around, she didn’t want to fast. But she would never get away with it. Even her mother would call from Karachi, like she always did. She couldn’t lie. And here, if she didn’t join everyone to break the fast at night, like she always did, they would gossip about her even more.
No, maybe she didn’t want to be so controversial for no reason.
“Got a light?” asked Mark, as he slid in the booth.
“Definitely,” she answered, rummaging in her bag.
**
“Tea?”
“Shoo. But yes.”
Sarah loved Will & Grace, and sat in their living room, eyes glued to the TV.
“Where is Sita? She’s not picking up her phone.”
No response from Sarah, so Alia went back to the kitchen. Moving in together was a great idea. And because all three girls had been adamant that they didn’t want an Ikea style house, they had spent a few Sundays bumming around the city, looking for second hand furniture stores. They’d managed a few items, and then with some inspiration from design websites online, managed to create a pretty nice living room, with a bar intact!
Alia was just about to cook chicken for dinner when she heard the door slam shut.
Sita popped into the kitchen and gave Alia a long stare.
“That’s not a happy face.”
“You got that right.”
“What happened?”
“I want to tell you two together. After Will & Grace.”
Dinner was served half an hour later and Sita cracked open a bottle of red wine.
“Something strange happened. I think more tickets were sold for the party in the park than accounted for.”
“Come again?” asked Sarah, picking at her food.
“Well I thought we had seven hundred tickets. Then at this meeting right before the party, it turned out that more tickets had been printed, but we didn’t know about them. Fatima had no idea, Derek, Xi, no one. Well, Tarek did, and I guess Sam might have. Charlie had the tickets. He sold them.”
“So, what does that mean?” asked Alia, in between bites, adding, “By the way, I’m an excellent chef!”
“What it means is that if Charlie sold those tickets, he could pocket the money because they didn’t officially exist. Right? But we do know now.”
“But babe, firstly, he did tell you about them.”
“Yeah, I know. And I also know that he couldn’t possibly pocket too much because every ticket sold means we need the money for alcohol and food. Although we did get sponsors, so after the cost of renting the tent, printing tickets and decorations, we didn’t need to spend too much on the alcohol. But we still would need much of that money.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is, it was weird that they didn’t keep everyone in the loop about the number of tickets to be sold. That they told us later is good – but why did it happen later? And what else will they do behind our backs? I have to keep an eye on this people.”
“You mean Charlie.”
“Yeah, Charlie. And Tarek too. There is a reason everyone resigned when he was president. And there is a reason he’s still hanging about… Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”
“You’re original,” drawled Sarah, turning the volume higher.
**
The girls had one class in common and so they poured over their developing countries textbooks at the coffee shop.
“It’s a fact!” cried Sarah, dramatically throwing her hands up in the air. “What can I do with you? You tell me!”
“Listen Curly Fry,” Sita said as Sarah made a mock-face at her, “I think we need to stop studying George Kennan and study someone else. We just keeping going off track.”
Alia nodded in agreement. “Yeah. You, George, Sita are all really smart and brilliant people, and Iraq has nothing to do with terror attacks, and Bush should really be listening to you.”
“Ok, sorry about that. But Davies is definitely going to ask us if we can find parallels between Cold War hysteria and the atmosphere today. We should prepare the answer. That’s easy to ace.”
“Although,” interrupted Sita, “isn’t it too soon for us to compare the events? I mean, we still don’t study the India-Pakistan split because there isn’t enough distance from it. How can we analyze events when they change everyday?”
Alia lit a cigarette, nodding in agreement again, and listened carefully as Sarah spoke.
“Because it isn’t history. And he isn’t asking us to tell him what happened. We’re looking at developments that face us, and trying to apply the most appropriate policy theory that we think can solve this. I’m pretty sure if someone makes a good case for war, and backs it up, he will give them an A too. Got it?”
“Alright,” confirmed Sita, “so we can write about what’s happening if we look at it through either the containment or war prism?”
“Yeah. So one of the things you can say is, the way to test this theory is to look at what has happened before. We look at absolute costs. Does it cost more to conduct a war or conduct tough diplomatic relations?”
“War, right?” asked Alia.
“Not necessarily, because what if you achieve your goal really quickly? That is better is trying to convince the UN to impose sanctions, send a weapons inspector…”
“Sarah!” warned Sita. She was about to go off tangent again.
“Fine,” conceded Sarah, grinning, “the fact remains that war is tougher because at what point do you declare a victory? When you plant your flag, or when you win over the minds of the people?”
“That is true,” added Sita, “because even during the Freedom Movement, the British ultimately lost, not because of the lack of physical might, but because Indians refused to accept them as their rulers.”
“Although,” Alia butted in, trying to keep up, “what if the invader doesn’t care about the feelings of the country he is invading? Maybe he wants the land, or water.”
“That is a good point,” mused Sarah, “but I wouldn’t call that an absolute victory.”
“How does it matter if you don’t?”
“Cause it’s my political science paper!”
They burst out laughing.
“Actually,” continued Sarah, “that is a great example. Would it have been better for the British to stay in India and fight, or leave?”
“It doesn’t work,” countered Sita.
“Why not?”
“For starters, they had already invaded. Plus the Second World War gives it a totally different historical context.”
“Yeah, but what matter of foreign policy is without context? If you talk about the Cold War then you’ll say, oh but there was an arms race that had never been experienced at that level.”
Sita frowned. “What about…. Japan bombing Pearl Harbour? In hindsight, if they hadn’t, Hiroshima and Nagasaki would not have been bombed? That can work too?”
“I’ll use the British example,” offered Alia.
“I’m sticking to Iraq,” said Sarah, predictably.
“I have to decide,” said Sita, flipping through their readings.
As the hours slipped by and dinner approached, Sarah suggested a change in location might help them focus better. “I can just feel the light in this place get dimmer. How about we go for sushi, and then go to the library to study?”
“Sushi during exam time seems a little self indulgent. I think in keeping with the gravity of the material – I’m not being sarcastic Sarah – let’s eat pizza!”
“Sita, how are exams and pizza – you know what, I’m not going to bother. Anything you want.”
They went for sushi.
**
“I need some help.”
Sita looked up from her desk to see Dan Price standing in her doorway, camera in hand. She liked Dan, he was nice, although she didn’t know him too well. Last week she had been mortified to find him hanging out with Scott Temple, this American guy she had hooked up with at this party to mark the beginning of the semester.
That night had been a blur, but Scott had called her the next day, asking her out to dinner. They reached this French restaurant in Old Montreal. It was nice. The conversation was a little strained. And then, when the bill arrived, her expected her to pay half out it! She was appalled. He’d asked her out!
Chivalry is dead, she thought. And the next time he called, she’d sent him a text with some lame excuse and never called him back.
So, after an awkward conversation with the two boys, she’d spent the next few days wondering what Scott said about her to Dan. But she had bumped into Dan in the Student Services building yesterday as well, and he had kept a poker face.
And now here he was. Sita kept searching his face for clues, but there were none. Maybe they don’t really know each other, she thought.
“Sure Dan, what do you need?” she asked, gesturing him to sit down. She sure liked having an office!
“I want to do a special episode on student reactions on what’s happening in Iraq.”
“And you want mine?”
“Well, a little more than that. I want you to come along with me when I ask the questions. Maybe ask them instead of me.”
“How come?”
“You’re friendlier than me.”
“And brown, not white.”
He smiled.
Sita understood. This month alone a million things had happened. The Republican Party had gained control of the Senate that made a lot of people jittery. Bush seemed to have his mind set on having a face-off with Iraq, and it seemed the Senate would back him completely. The UN had passed a resolution – 1441 – asking Iraq to disarm or face serious consequences. Weapons inspectors Hans Blix had reached Iraq, since Saddam finally agreed to let them in. Meanwhile, NATO buffing up was making news too. It seemed the world was taking sides, and the cause for the fight was not yet firmly established.
Sarah was livid. She would probably be a good person to begin with, thought Sita, although she was sure Sarah managed to vent to her hearts content in the Arab Association.
Dan had a point. There was a lot of America bashing going on, and many students who were not sympathetic to the Americans could get very emotional about the subject. Her brown skin might act as a buffer.
“No problem Dan, just tell me when!”
**
“Your friend isn’t here.”
Sarah was amazed at Sam’s capacity to flirt. Everything was said with a slight smirk. It wasn’t appealing or unappealing – but it did draw you in.
“Where is she?”
“She didn’t say, but I suspect she went down to the pub with Derek and Xi.”
“It’s early, even for her!”
“Fatima – have you met her – and Tarek had an argument. I think they’ve gone to discuss what happened.”
“Argument about what?”
“It all boils down to size, you know. That’s why I’m never threatened.”
Sarah burst out laughing. “Well then, do you want to join them downstairs, as I plan to? If you can walk that is!”
It was his turn to laugh. “After you gorgeous.”
**
“Yalla Journal?” asked Sam incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Yalla?”
“You deaf?”
“Okay, okay, but isn’t it an Arab Association? Why do you want contributions from the Jews?”
Sarah gave him her trademark stern stare. “To generate a dialogue. Any medium – poetry, photography, short stories. Just as long as we balance out point of views.”
Sam let out a soft whistle. “Best of luck with that.”
Sarah had been thinking about this idea for a few weeks, ever since she’d decided to join the Arab Association. The journal could serve as a catalyst for change. Idealistic, she thought, with a smile, but at least she could try to make things better! There were so many Arab kids on campus, and sometimes when they got together, the anti-Israel sentiment flew thick and fast. In no way was she a great sympathizer, but after seeing Alia and Sita get along so well, why couldn’t she make a similar effort? At least try to understand the others point of view? Isn’t that the point of international college? She could have very well studied in Lebanon itself.
It was probably also going to impress them. She wasn’t going to be some wide-eyed newbie. She had a plan, a great idea. Yeah, they’d appreciate that.
Her thoughts were broken by Sita shrieking. “No way, are you sure Sam?”
“Positive madame. Saw it in the papers today.”
“That’s awesome. Sarah, are you listening? Red Hot Chilli Peppers is coming to town for a concert, we have to go!”
The evening turned out to be quite fun, and the Chinese girl, Xi, also seemed to loosen after a vodka or two.
“They should just do their work and not argue,” she was saying.
Derek laughed, “Yeah Xi, I agree mate, but if only life was so simple. I think Fatima needs to be in control of the situation, but unfortunately Tarek gets to call the shots.”
Xi made a face and contemplated her glass.
After another hour of draft beer, Derek got a call from Crissy to come home for dinner, and everyone else decided to head home too.
“I dread leaving any building,” said Sita to Sam, “because it’s so cold outside. The wind just slaps you in the face.”
“True that. But you’ll get used to it. Try driving in the winter. First you have to remove all the snow from your car, which is a task. Then warm up the engine. And pray there is no ice on the road or you’ll go flying into the nearest wall.”
Sarah was laughing, “Then we’ll call you super fly!”
“Just call me super.”
Sita broke up the cheesy banter between the two, “Alia must be waiting for us. I just saw two missed calls. Damn, we should have called her here.”
“Yeah,” agreed Sarah, “I totally forgot about her.”
**
“Hey Assad, you home?”
“Alia? I am. What’s up?”
“I’m home alone, bored. Thought I’d come hang with you for a bit.”
“Sure, come on up!”
Alia locked the door behind her and headed to the elevator. This building was fun. Assad lived in the 20th floor, while they lived on the 6th. There were a million other people who stayed here, but she was sure Assad’s apartment would be littered with people, and company is what she needed.
The door was open.
Assad, Dina, Miriam, and Alexis were sitting on the couch. Tom was on the drumset. Alia smiled, thinking, Assad was a cool guy. He played the drums.
“How are you alone?” asked Assad, offering her sangria from a pitcher.
“Sure. Sita, Sarah, no idea dude. Lost to the world.”
Dina was eyeing her, “Hey Alia, were about to order some mushrooms. Wanna join us?”
“Order?”
“Yeah my dealer comes home. Impressive huh?”
Alia halted for a moment. She hadn’t done too many drugs except smoke pot. But she had heard mushrooms were fun. And they were a mild hallucinogenic. I think. Plus the alternative was to sit home alone since Sita and Sarah hadn’t bothered calling her back.
“Sure,” she said with a little apprehension, but putting her phone on silent at the same time.
**
“I don’t understand why not!”
Sarah was frustrated. She had come to the Arab Association meeting an hour ago, with what she believed was a great plan. She had explained it and offered to do most of the heavy lifting. But Eli and Anmar, the two in-charge, were just vetoing it point blank.
They were having their meeting in the common area of the 3rd floor of the Student Services building. Campus TV, African Students Association, Model UN, Queer Force were but some of the college groups had had offices here. The Arab Association always had to have meetings outside, as did most groups, because the offices were just big enough for a desk, file cabinets, and seating for a few. Sita was lucky, thought Sarah; hers was the only group on campus to have that amazing lounge, an office, a kitchenette, that fooseball table and even a bathroom!
“Sarah, the idea is… good,” said Eli.
“Good,” parroted Anmar from the back.
“But right now, the mood of the people is to talk about what is happening in the Arab world viz-a-viz George Bush. We want to focus on Iraq. On what will happen if he does invade.”
“Just because that is happening doesn’t mean Israel disappears!” snapped Sarah.
“Take it easy Sarah,” snapped Eli back.
She took a deep breath and weighed the options in her head. Firstly, Israel really wasn’t going to disappear any time soon, so she could try bringing up the journal at a later point. And secondly, its not like she was some George Bush lover. She couldn’t stand that man. So perhaps it would be best that she concentrated on Iraq and the its implications for the region.
“So what do we want to do then? A journal on US-Middle East relations?”
“No, no. Nothing right now; but after the vacations, depending on the situation then, we want to organize a huge protest rally.”
“In the freezing cold?”
“Only goes to show our determination.”
“Right.”
“Give the people what they want.”
“Okay,” said Sarah, “Follow the leader.”
**
“Steve, this is Sita. She’s going to help us with this feature.”
Steve Zimmerman looked up at Sita briefly, and went back to packing his camera bag.
“So Sita, you think Bush is the devil too?”
The tone was sharp, and Sita knew immediately not to get too friendly with this one.
“I don’t know, Steve. If they find WMDs in Iraq then he won’t be such a devil, will he? But I’ve been reading some articles that Saddam doesn’t have the capability to produce these weapons, but has to keep up his image to appear like a tough guy in the Arab world.”
“Oh have you now? And I thought people stopped reading.”
The walk to the main building was a little uncomfortable, and a lot cold.
**
“Hey.”
“Back at you.”
“What’s up? You look as pissed off as I feel.”
“Yalla was a no-go.”
“How come?”
“Elie, lord and master of the Arab Association, wants to focus on Iraq.”
“You guys aren’t uni-dimensional, he does know that right?”
“I guess not.”
“So what is the plan?”
“He wants to wait till January to organize a huge anti-Iraq protest, maybe even join up with some bigger groups. He’s got political ambitions back home, this is just a stepping stone for him.”
“Sarah. Listen to me. What do you want to do with the Arab Association anyway? Forget them. Why don’t you join a group with a larger mandate?”
“Um… well, I see you and Alia get along so well, despite being Indian and Pakistani, and I thought it would be nice if we could start a dialogue between Arabs and Jews. And I thought the Arab Association would be a good place to start.”
“Tall order.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“Want my opinion?”
“Always.”
“A million people have probably spent time doing just that, starting a dialogue. Talking. But you should understand why Alia and I get along in a way I think Arabs and Jews can’t. It’s because we don’t experience the war between India-Pakistan. Even when Kargil happened a few years ago, it didn’t hit home. Delhi wasn’t bombed, nor was Karachi. But people I keep meeting in the lounge, they tell me stories. And the war is alive for them – you know that.”
“Yeah,” nodded Sarah.
“I think this anti-war protest sounds good. You’ll meet people, people will meet you. They need to know who the hell you are in order to follow your lead.”
“I guess…”
“I know. Plus, it’s probably going to be super fun doing it.”
“I do hate Bush.”
“See?”
“You’re right. With the semester ending, nothing is going to happen anyway. Okay, enough about me. What happened to you? You look harrowed. Wasn’t today the day you were going to help out Campus TV and that dude?”
“Yeah, I thought it would be fun. Then Steve Zimmerman showed up.”
“Who?”
“Brace yourself for a irritating jerk story…”
“Ooo. Sounds good. Hold it, I’ll get the popcorn!”
And that’s how Sarah got her groove back.
**
The semester had flown by yet again, and the last few days before everyone went home was filled with parties and events. Sita had thrown a farewell Wine & Cheese event in the lounge for the exchange students leaving at the end of this semester. It had been a great success, with copious amounts of wine being drunk. She had also noticed Sarah and Sam flirting in a corner. Wonder what will happen with them, she thought, while looking through the crowd for Alia who was very late. Ultimately Alia had arrived with Tom, which was odd, because as far as Sita knew Tom was one of Assad’s friends. They had stayed for a while, and then Alia had whispered to Sita that “this wasn’t really Tom’s scene” and left.
Charlie was there, of course. He seemed to be in a good mood, telling Sita she had done a great job. Tarek was also having a complete blast, playing fooseball with Derek and two others. A while later he’d come to Sita and told her he’d just had a great idea – “Next semester, we’ll have a fooseball tournament!”
Sita had also spent this Bulgarian girl, Nico, who she had occasionally spoken to in the lounge but never really had a conversation with. Nico turned out to be an art student who was a part-time DJ. “I’m actually going to work with Ministry of Sound next summer,” she told Sita, “and in December I’m helping them with their big New Years bash back home.”
Sam, Sarah, Sita and Tarek had cleaned up and locked up the lounge for the winter holidays. She was going to miss this place, she thought, as she walked out of the building for the last time in 2002.
**
“What plans for New Years?” Sita asked Alia, who had been increasingly missing from the apartment of late.
“Something on the beach I suppose. What about you?”
“Not sure. Something is always happening in Delhi, although it is really foggy at night. Very accident-prone. I might just throw a party myself.”
“You have become quite the expert.”
Sita ignored the hint of sarcasm in her voice. “So have you!”
“Yeah,” said Alia brightly.
They were sitting in Alia’s room, hanging out while Alia packed her suitcase. “Assad, Tom, Dina… they are so much fun! Plus the scene on Thursday at Mint is awesome. It’s a crazy club. It’s a whole new set of people.” She tossed in a pair of red boots after considering them for a moment. “You should come with us.”
“I will, next semester – managing time became a little tough.”
“You managed to spend time with Sarah alright,” muttered Alia, under her breath.
“Did you say something?”
“No,” lied Alia. “Although, I was thinking, you, Sarah and I should go out tonight, Sax or something.”
“Oh…”
“Plans?”
“Not exclusive. I’d told Derek, Crissy and Nico we’d do something, and Sarah told Sam, but obviously we were hoping you hadn’t made plans with Assad and gang. And since you haven’t, lets go out together.”
“Yeah…” trailed off Alia rather unenthusiastically.
“Alia, I know you haven’t been able to hang out with them much, but they are really fun. You’ll love them.”
“I’m sure. By the way I bumped into you old buddy Rishi at the dep. He wanted to hang out. You should tell him to come too.”
“Damn Rishi, I haven’t seen him in a month.”
“Surprise, surprise…” muttered Alia under her breath.
This time Sita heard.
**
“What the hell was that performance last night?” fumed Sarah, as she entered Sita’s room, still in last night’s clothes.
“Why didn’t you change?”
“What? Oh, I passed out. But what the hell was that?”
“I know. Alia totally crossed a line. She was so rude to Derek and Nico.”
Sarah was in the bathroom, washing her face. “Yeah, that too. What’s up with her?”
“Oh, so you were talking about Sam and the floozy.”
Last night had gotten very strange. Alia kept downing her martinis and got ruder as she did so. She was one stop short of telling Nico and Derek what losers she thought they were, and Sam that he was insufferable. Although, according to Sita, that one was correct. Sam had actually brought a date! It made no sense, because all this time he had been flirting with Sarah. But then before that he had been rather flirtatious with Sita. So evidence suggested that he was just an ass. But Sita was really angry with Alia.
“I think Alia just feels left out,” called out Sita to Sarah who was staring at her face in a magnifying mirror now. “But you have made the effort to hang out with my new friends. She rather hang with Assad and that posse. Go clubbing. Which is her choice, and we haven’t bitched about that, have we?”
“Maybe that’s the point…” said Sarah, curling up on the bed with Sita.
The holidays couldn’t have come at a better time.
**
