Grey felt a jolt of shock travel up his spine. The Rao sisters were here? But why?
He took a breath. He’d lived under the shadow of the Rao curse his entire life. He distinctly remembered being dropped off at St. Rosetta’s when he was almost six years old, about to begin kindergarten. In Dr. Waverly’s leather-and-brass office, his father had looked him in the eye. Dr. Waverly was waiting outside, giving them some privacy to say their goodbyes.
“Listen to me, Grey,” Father had said solemnly, and Grey had known whatever he was about to say was important. He’d listened very closely. “You’ll never be like the other children here, even though many of them are outcasts themselves. You’re… different. You’ll always be different.” Father’s face had contorted ever so slightly. “The Raos have seen to that. This is your burden to bear.”
Grey still remembered his confusion. “But I want to make friends,” he’d said.
Father had grasped him by the upper arm, hard. His water-colored eyes bored into Grey’s. “You must keep to yourself,” he’d said, each word slow and deliberate. “You hurt Mother because of what you are.”
Grey had stared, aghast. Of course Mother was dead, but had he killed Mother somehow? Why had no one told him before now?
“The curse,” Father had said, still looking at him in that unsettling way. “Do you remember what I’ve told you about your curse?”
Grey nodded, his mind still reeling with what he’d just learned, about his hand in Mother’s death. But the poem was ingrained in him. Father had taught it to him when he was very young. He remembered the curse.
“The curse has tainted your blood. It’s like a virus.” Seeing Grey’s incomprehension, he’d grunted impatiently. “And because of that, you won’t ever have any friends. People will sense there’s something wrong with you; they’ll hurt you. Best to keep your distance and save yourself the pain. Do you understand?”
Grey had nodded again, trying to grasp what was being said. The curse… the curse had caused Mother to die. Already, he could feel a tiny hardening in his heart, like it was growing a protective shell. He wouldn’t cry. He didn’t need to cry.
Letting go of Grey, Father had gotten up abruptly and walked to the door. His hand on the knob, he’d said without turning around, “You can come home at the holidays.” And then he’d left. Grey was never invited home for the holidays.
And now the Rao sisters were here. But… so what? St. R’s was a popular school with international students of checkered backgrounds. If anything, their sudden appearance should be a reason for curiosity and interest, not alarm. The universe didn’t revolve around Grey.
Vaguely, he responded.
Well, you can meet them at breakfast Thursday, Leo typed. But do you want to meet for dinner tonight? Just us guys and DE?
No, Grey typed, and put away his phone. Leo would no doubt be hurt, but no doubt he’d forgive Grey. Why, Grey wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he gave him or Rahul or DE anything to hang on to. Maybe they thought of him as charity. Grey ground his teeth, his jaw set. Let them think of him whatever they wanted to. They were immaterial. They had to be.
He sat back against the boulder behind him and closed his eyes. The time had almost come for him to step out from his hideaway, as it did every year.
CHAPTER 3
Jaya
Dr. Waverly, Isha, and Jaya approached another set of stairs at the north end of the building. These were wide, with carved mahogany balustrades, and covered in a rich red-and-tan carpeting. A large skylight overhead let in sunlight that fell in dappled squares on each step. Jaya trod on the patches of light, feeling the warmth beaming through her shirt and seeping through her shoes.
Two very young-looking students passed them, going down. They smiled politely at Dr. Waverly, darting curious glances Isha and Jaya’s way.
“Hello, girls,” Dr. Waverly said. To the sisters, she continued, “This environment can take some getting used to, but I want you to know the faculty and staff at St. Rosetta’s are committed to your success. We’re always here to meet any of your needs. The front office is staffed twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, during the school year to cater to our international students and families. We have students from a hundred countries around the world, you’ll be interested to know.” Jaya bit her lip to keep from smiling; Dr. Waverly sounded exactly like the official school brochure. “We’re very flattered to have people of your caliber choose us, Prin—Jaya.”
“Of course,” Jaya said, reciting the response she’d practiced with Amma a dozen times before they left. “It’s essential that we attend an Ivy League university in the US, and our parents feel St. Rosetta’s will best prepare us to do so.”
“And after we graduate, we can sit on the same charity boards as our mother and drink chai with the same boring ladies every afternoon,” Isha muttered under her breath. When Jaya darted a warning glance at her, her face was smooth and impassive. She even batted her eyes for good measure. It was exactly this kind of attitude that had gotten them into the situation they were in in the first place.
“I’d say your parents chose wisely, but I am, of course, quite biased.” Dr. Waverly laughed quietly and led them to what a gold-lettered sign proclaimed to be the SOPHOMORE WING.
“Thank you,” Jaya said as Isha poked around. “I think Isha and I will be okay from here.”
“I could show you your room in the senior wing, if you wish…”
“No, that’s all right.” Jaya smiled. “I can find it myself. It’ll help me get a feel for things, if you don’t mind.”
Dr. Waverly studied her for a moment before smiling back. “Independence. I do respect that.” She handed Jaya two keys. “Those are printed with your suite numbers. Classes begin at eight a.m. Thursday, which gives you a day and a half to settle in. The office has notified me that your uniforms are ready for pickup and they’re finalizing your schedules now. That should be everything you need for your first days. Please let me know if I can be of service.”
Once Dr. Waverly disappeared down the stairs, Jaya turned to survey the sophomore wing. Isha was already perusing a bookcase to their left. The wall nearest Jaya was lined with photographs in gilt frames. A sign informed her that these were just a few of the notable people who’d graduated from St. Rosetta’s International Academy. There were kings and queens, prime ministers, presidents, famous novelists, musicians, artists, and a few A-list Hollywood actors and actresses.
Jaya wandered into the common area where a couple of students lounged, talking or texting on their phones. More than a century of students’ feet had worn silk-smooth grooves into the wood. The floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall overlooked the rolling greens of the campus with the purple-black mountains beyond. Green velvet sofas and gold armchairs were arranged strategically in front of a fireplace.
Isha was pawing through the books when a girl with curly dark hair looked up at her from a plush maroon settee and said, “Hey.”
Isha turned, her smile instantaneous and warm. “Hi.”
“I’m Raina. Are you new here?”