"Not cute." Cartoon characters are cute. "He's . . . really manly.

Tall. Strong. He'd lift me out of the wheelchair easily,

no problem.

He's got brilliant blue-diamond eyes-"

"Not cute, only drop-dead gorgeous?" Chandra squeals.

"Youlikehim, youlikehim, youlikehim."

"Are you crazy?" I say. "He's probably thirty years old.

It's not like that.

Jim's really nice. That's all."

"Don't get mad." Chandra giggles. "I'm only teasing."

She pops a chickpea into her mouth. "Just be careful, okay?

My eldest sister's been dating a boy on the sly.

A rich boy and not even our same caste.

She said she was flirting for the fun of it, to pa.s.s time until my parents arranged a husband for her.

Now she's gone and fallen in love with him.

You and your doc-it's a lot different, I know-but he's attractive and you're together a lot.

Don't lose your head over the wrong guy like my sis."

CRUTCH FREE.

Walking almost noiselessly, free of the clomp of crutches, walking on my fake leg, arms free to swing, I feel as happy as a pinioned bird whose wings are finally growing.

But every night, before taking off my limb for sleep, I need to keep my crutches within arm's reach.

I'll never be completely crutch-free.

NO.

Longer

CENTER.

Queuing up behind my cla.s.smates the first day of exam week, I realize no one's staring at me anymore.

Either because I blend in better without my noisy crutches or because everyone's wrapped up in their own worries

about doing well.

A few of my cla.s.smates mutter prayers as the doors of the long exam hall open.

"Good luck," Chandra and I wish each other.

Chandra's so anxious about exams her voice shakes, though, as I tell her, I'm sure she'll excel.

The exam supervisor a.s.signs me a seat beneath a whirring ceiling fan that does little to ease the heat.

My residual limb itches with sweat.

I click my leg off under the desk,

read the question paper, scribble nonstop.

Three hours later, the exam supervisors announce,

"Drop your pens. Now."

Hungry for lunch, I spring halfway up on one leg, forgetting the other's off.

Sway, clutch the desk to keep from falling, sit down, and click my leg back on.

FAR.

from the

ENVYING CIRCLE.

Elated I'm n.o.body at school again, eager to be somebody at dance cla.s.s again, I celebrate the end of exam week by going to see my dance teacher to prove to myself and to him that I can keep on dancing.

"Shouldn't you wait for the better leg?" Paati asks.

I have waited as patiently as a cactus waits for rain in the desert.

Jim will be pleasantly surprised when we meet next and I say, "I'm dancing already."

He might even be so happy he hugs me.

Uday anna's front door is open, and when I enter, Uday anna whips around.

"She's walking!" Kamini says.

"Come in. Sit down." Uday anna motions to a chair.

"We've missed you."

Missed me so much you didn't visit?

I don't ask.

Insulting him won't get me what I want.

I need to use my anger to fuel my dance.

"I've missed dance," I tell him. "But now I'm well enough to start again."

"You've lost your leg!" He shakes his head as though I've lost my mind.

"Sir, haven't you heard of Sudha Chandran?

She danced with an old-style Jaipur foot.

And I'm getting a far better prosthesis than hers. Soon."

"Veda, we must be practical-" Uday anna's reluctance goads me on. I say, "I can dance.

Even on this leg."

Feeling Kamini's eyes on me, I turn to glare at her.

To my surprise, she shows me the symbol for friendship, Keelaka hasta mudra: the little fingers of her hands bent and locked together.

In her expression I see no hint of envy.