He says he's glad she planted her faith inside me.

SKIRT.

Ironing the hem of my school skirt, I tell Chandra about the three tickets akka gave me for the concert.

"You'll come, won't you?"

"So I can hold one of your hands while Govinda holds the other?"

Suppressed laughter leaps in Chandra's eyes.

The iron hisses. "I'm not sure he likes me that way, Chandra.

He's always busy. Studying.

Maybe I mistook Govinda's feelings for me like I misread Jim's.

Imagining there's something between us though all Govinda sees in me is a friend."

"Studying for college entrance tests is tough, Veda.

What d'you think I'm doing when you're off dancing?

Working as hard as I can to make good grades."

"You still make time for me.

Govinda cancels cla.s.ses. Or comes late."

"He's probably just having trouble fitting things into his new schedule.

I've given up cricket so I can study every spare minute.

Govinda could have given up your cla.s.ses together, but he's trying to manage everything, isn't he?

Studying for college, teaching you, and keeping up with his own dance lessons."

The skirt has a stubborn crease.

I press it out with my steaming iron.

Chandra's right.

Govinda has done-is still trying to do-a lot for me.

Chandra folds my shirt, puts it away.

"Are you having fun teaching?" she asks.

I tell her about Uma.

"I'm sure her parents are too poor to pay for an operation.

She loves dance, but doesn't do it right because she's trying so hard to hide her mouth.

I wish I could get her to feel safe enough in cla.s.s to not worry.

But I don't know how to help her. I'm a useless teacher."

Chandra marches to my dresser. Rummages through.

Yanks out the short blue batik skirt I bought last time we went shopping together.

When I had two real legs.

She fingers the price tag. "Brand-new.

You've never worn this skirt?"

My iron splutters. I turn it off.

"What does that skirt have to do with anything?"

"You're always covering up your leg but you want to teach Uma she's not ugly?"

Chandra throws the skirt at me.

The silky fabric is rumpled from being squashed in the back of a drawer.

I smooth out the wrinkles, spread the skirt flat on my ironing table.

Turn my iron back on.

STRENGTH.

Govinda arrives only a little late.

Apologizing as usual.

"I hate studying," he adds, quietly.

"I miss being with you like we used to.

Wish I could study less and dance more."

He misses being with me!

"Govinda, akka gave me tickets. To a dance recital.

Can you come?"

Without even checking his calendar, he shakes his head.

"I'm so sorry, Veda. I wish I could.

My parents wouldn't understand if I took an entire evening off for a dance concert.

Not right now."

After those magical moments we shared by the lotus pond, both hearing the same music in our minds; after dancing so close together at Radhika's party -was I wrong to feel our friendship was deepening into more?

"Veda, I'm so behind on mathematics.

I have so much to catch up on.

I love dance. But it isn't my life."

Govinda sounds like he's reading a speech written by someone else, trying to convince himself it's true, and failing.

"What is your life, Govinda?

Whatever your parents tell you it should be?"

"Veda, please. Try to understand," he pleads, "I like you. A lot. But I'm not like you."

Didn't I want Govinda to say he liked me?

Shouldn't I be happy?

But the moment feels all wrong.

I want him to repeat it, say it strongly.

Wanting him to rea.s.sure me that he likes me enough he'll never give up our time together, I say, "I can work on my own, Govinda.

So you'll have more time to study."

But my words don't work the way I want.

Govinda nods. Says softly, "It's probably good for you to work on your own for a while.

We'll still find ways to meet.

I promise."

I shrug as though I don't care if we see each other again.

Because I feel like a heap of discarded clothing.

RED DOT.

That night, I crawl to Paati's trunk and I take one of her saris back to bed with me.

Paati was soft-soft as her sari.

Yet also strong.

Govinda's softness I love, but his caving in to his parents I don't even like.

His need to please them seems stronger than his need-for dance and me-both.

Unable to sleep, I twist and untwist the fabric.

My phantom comes alive.

Beneath my right knee, nails scratch at invisible skin.

I bite down. Sweat beads on my lips.

I bolt upright and grip my residual limb.

This is all I have.

My pain is an illusion.