Page 5 of Reasons We Break

Of course, he didn’t say any of that. “Simran Sahiba, if I lost, I wouldn’t be here.”

She smiled again, this time a little sadly. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad you are.”

She bent back over the paper. And Rajan had the strangest feeling that, despite his efforts, he’d been manipulated anyway.

That evening, he went home earlier than usual. He had a lot to think about.

At first, he’d only listened to Simran out of obligation. To show her it was a lost cause. But something else had happened, instead.

Sure, Rajan needed things explained repeatedly and was embarrassingly slow. But Simran wassopatient. He felt like he could get it wrong, and wrong, and wrong again, and she’d just point back to the right path without comment. And that made him want to get it right the first time, if only to surprise her.

He told himself he was developing Stockholm syndrome.

Surprisingly, his mother was up when he got home. Nobody was usually around to greet him. But there she was, in a patio chair on the porch, a Korean mink blanket warding off the October chill. A stack of envelopes dangled from her hand. As he came up the gravel driveway, she jolted awake, quickly dropping them into her lap. As if Rajan didn’t know what they were. The bills, the mortgage, the debt.

He climbed the porch stairs and kissed her clammy forehead in greeting.

“Sweetheart,” she said. “You’re home early.”

It was a soft observation. The sun was setting, but he was usually out much later with his friends. He wished she’d be angrier about it. Aboutsomething.

“I got in a fight yesterday,” he told her, sinking into the other ornate chair on the beautiful porch they couldn’t afford, attached to the house they couldn’t afford.

“That’s okay.”

He stared out at the driveway, at the car they couldn’t afford. The SUV they couldn’t afford wasn’t there; his father must not be home yet. “I stole my bat back. The one they confiscated.”

His mother made a noise of sympathy, expression half glazed over. Was it dialysis day tomorrow?

“I failed a test,” he told her.

She merely closed her eyes.

“I killed a dude,” he said, to test the waters. Her eyes remained closed. He willed her to open them. To care. She did not. And he knew that wasn’t her fault—she never had the energy—but it still sucked. Nobody cared when he did well, and now, nobody cared when he screwed up either.

Her breathing evened out. Asleep. He tipped his head back and sighed. Distantly, he heard his brothers running around inside the house. He wished he were like them. Completely stupid, that was. And unable to understand their mother was dying.

He’d offered to donate a kidney multiple times, even though he wasn’t old enough yet. His mother laughed each time.Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You need your kidney.

But he didn’t need his kidney. He needed his mom.

Since there was nobody else to talk to, he spoke to the sky. “My math tutor saw me steal the bat. She’s blackmailing me into tutoring now. But I feel like she only did it because she knew I expected her to. Isn’t that fucked up?”

His mother thwacked his arm. He was so surprised she was awake, he jumped.

“Language,” she scolded. “There was a letter from your school about this tutor. The Aujla girl? The one who gets all the awards?”

Rajan was so relieved she was talking again, so happy she’d had the energy to read Northridge’s shit-talking letters, that he couldn’t even be annoyed she was fixated on how great Simran was. “I guess so. She’sperfect, isn’t she.” No response. His mother’s eyes were sliding closed again. He poked her arm. “Nobody can be that perfect. She’ll crack one of these days.”

“Well,” his mother murmured. “That happens when people have a lot of pressure on them.” Her voice lost its playfulness. “They crack. They bend. And eventually, they break.”

Rajan’s heart faltered. “Mom—”

“Don’t make her life difficult, then,” she said, voice fading now. “Don’t be the reason she breaks.”

“I won’t,” he said immediately. It was an easy vow to make, and he was desperate to keep her talking. Desperate to keep her hopeful that he could do something she’d be proud of. “I won’t, I promise. Okay?”

No answer. Her eyes were fully closed, chest rising and falling steadily. Rajan sat back in his chair, alone again. He knew she wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning. But he would. For a very, very long time.