Vedica hates her new school until she unwillingly becomes the muse of a photographer who hides his identity via the student's magazine. The real trouble starts when she sets out to unveil him, only to find herself falling for the Senior who helps he...
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If I were to ask you to name one word which you hated, what would that be?
One word that drove you mad because it triggered bad memories. Or something you've heard for so long; you detested its repetition.
For me, that word was - adjust.
As simple as it meant, my whole life revolved around the universal concept of adjustment.
Ever since my birth, that word braided into my bones, muscles and sinew. My parents passed their inherent trail of adjustment onto me.
You know how plants derived their nutrients from the soil. Well, I derived my recluse persona from that word. Since shifting from India to The States, that dreadful word had taken a whole new avatar.
From getting used to the new sleeping schedule, thanks to the changed time zones, I was also learning to understand new jargon and speak with an American accent. It was harder to make it work since my parents separated.
Not literal.
As per his job's requirements, my father moved to New York while my mother stayed in Boston - her company being our family photos and a cactus.
After a stressful negotiation to decide which place was better for my schooling, my parents prayed to the Gods of pros and cons list.
Their prayers were answered when an opening came from a New York City school. Dad won me and my resentful sense of being. Mom got cactus as her companion and named it Cacks.
Cacks played an important role in my story, I assure you. It was the sidekick all heroes needed.
Not that I was the hero. I was the villain of this story. The real hero was him, whom I still had to meet.
~
"Vaadiicaa Aurora," bridging his eyebrows, the teacher called out my name.
"It's Vedica Arora, sir," I straightened from my seat, blinking my reverie while trying to focus on his American accent.
As a Junior at my new school - St. Stephens - I was familiarizing myself with people who spelt my name wrong, and adjusting to classes that began late in August rather than July.
"Didn't I say the same?" Mr. Howard asked, tilting his droopy eyes at the sheet that had our names. "Vadiicaa Aurora."
"It's not Aurora. I'm not some kind of a dancing light. It's a surname, sir. Arora. Arooraaa."
"Aurora."
"Fuck it." My arms swung around.
The sounds of oohs and ahhs confirmed I did it again. Oops.
Since starting school, this was the third incident in the last week.
There wasn't much I could do but accept Mr. Howard's decision and pack my stuff.
