Lucky T (17 page)

If his defense strategy was distract-and-confuse, he definitely had his moves down pat.

"I'm catching up," Dee told her, retrieving the ball and passing it to her.

"It's still game point," Carrie informed Dee, bouncing the ball back and forth from one hand to the other. He watched the ball with both eyes, wagging his head back and forth slightly as if he was a spectator at a tennis match.

"I know," Dee replied. "But you're never getting past me again."

He's cute even when he's delusional, Carrie told herself.

Without warning, she charged right into Dee and he staggered back a few steps, flailing his arms for balance. He dove at the ball , trying to whack it away, but Carrie spun out of his grasp, ran for the hoop, and hit a spectacular shot just as Dee's body vaulted into view again. He was far too late, and by the time his feet met the ground, the ball was already bouncing away.

"Aw, yeah!" Carrie cheered. "Take that, big man!"

Dee put his hands on his hips and laughed, trying to catch his breath. "You're a sore winner, Carrie," he said.

To il ustrate his point, Carrie threw her arms up and did her version of the Akhtar celebration dance while Dee shook his head at her, amused. Carrie caught his eye and watched as a come-hither smile slowly crawled across Dee's face.

Holy cow, she thought. I think he wants me. Maybe I should stop dancing around like a lunatic before he changes his mind. "Hey, good game," Carrie said finally, acting all cool and collected.

"Yeah. I'll get you next time," Dee said in a typical I'm-a-guy-who-just-lost-to-a-girl fashion.

Then, much to her surprise, Dee came over and held out his hand. Carrie smiled and went to slap palms with him. When she did, Dee grabbed hold of her hand and held on to it for a few seconds. And then he let go very gently, each finger tracing an invisible path on her soft skin.

Dee was growing more and more perfect by the second.

"So, what time do we set out in the morning?" he asked, lifting up the hem of his shirt to mop his brow again and causing Carrie to foam at the mouth like before.

"Actually, even though I wiped the court with you," Carrie said, looking at him slyly, "I'd still like to see your Calcutta."

"Real y?" he asked, his face brightening.

"Most definitely," she replied.

Dee checked his watch. "Well, the night is still young," he said.

Carrie grinned. "Just give me fifteen minutes."

When Carrie walked out of the front door of CCS and into Dee's view, all he could say was, "Whoa."

In fourteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds Carrie had transformed herself from sweaty WNBA wannabe into a freshly scented, elegant young woman.

She was wearing a yellow tube top that accentuated both Carrie's "positives," a long, flowing white skirt, and the strappy gold sandals she'd thought she was crazy for packing in the first place. Instead of wearing her blond hair up in a loose bun like usual, Carrie opted for the tousled look and added a delicate pink flower barrette for the finishing touch. Her makeup was very minimal--lightly bronzed cheeks and glossed lips--except for the smoky eye effect that she and Piper had perfected last summer. If only her best friend could see her now.

"So, do I look okay?" Carrie asked.

Dee was so taken aback, he put his hand over his heart. "You look ..."

Beautiful? Lovely? Drop-dead gorgeous?

"Absolutely stunning," he said.

Carrie grinned from ear to ear. "Thanks. You look amazing yourself."

Dee looked down and smiled. "Al I did was put on a fresh shirt."

"I know," Carrie said coyly. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking each other in. Then Carrie snapped them out of it. "So, where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to a party," he said. "Sort of."

"I've been dying to go to a sort-of party," Carrie joked.

"Glad you're so easy to please," Dee said. He hadn't stopped smiling since she had walked outside.

They walked for a few blocks, past boarded-up houses, businesses with their metal gates drawn, and an alley in which a pack of dogs were attacking a garbage can. With each step the music grew louder and louder. Carrie wondered if Dee's friends were going to be at this party and if so, would they accept her? She had this big fear that she'd embarrass him somehow and then Dee would lose interest. Whatever she did, Carrie promised herself not to act like a moron. If she was wearing her lucky T in this situation, she wouldn't be worried in the least.

Dee led her around a corner and Carrie was so stunned by the sights, she almost tripped. The courtyard she had walked into was clearly a marketplace by day. Kiosks covered by tarpaulins and tied up with rope and twine had been pushed back against the walls of the bordering buildings.

Awnings had been col apsed and shelves of clay pots, bowls, and artwork shoved away. The square itself, however, was full of life. People jammed every available inch of space, milling around, chatting, and drinking from teacups and glasses. Twinkle lights were strung up in the far-right corner and a band played beneath them, pounding out a dance beat on the drums while a woman in traditional Indian garb sang in Hindi. The sight was very India, the voice was very Bengalese, but the song itself was very club worthy.

"Wow," Carrie said as Dee wove his way through the crowd. "This is a party."

"These people work hard all day," Dee called over his shoulder. "At night this is how they unwind. Would you like to dance?"

Carrie looked out at the swirling crowd. The women were so graceful, a blur of raised arms and swinging hips. It was incredibly intimidating but fabulous nonetheless.

"I don't know," she said, biting her lip. "I'm not really a dancer."

"I don't believe that for a second," Dee said. He grabbed both her hands and pulled her toward him.

"No, really. This is a bad idea." Carrie resisted, trying to pul her arms away, but Dee's grip was too strong for her. She soon found herself right in the center of all the whirling colors.

I hope he likes a girl who can humiliate herself in public, Carrie thought, looking around her uncertainly. Otherwise I'm dead.

Dee started to dance and Carrie was unsurprised to find that he had rhythm. There didn't seem to be many things that Dee wasn't good at. But for now she was focusing on his hips. His hips, which were swirling around in this grinding motion . . .

"Come on! Try it!" Dee called out, taking her wrist and pulling her toward him again.

The music pounded in Carrie's ears as she studied the women around her. Slowly she started stepping from one foot to the other, hoping she was on beat. The dancers seemed to have one move in common--they kept raising their arms over their heads, one, then the other, in a C shape as they spun and twisted and swirled. At a loss for another plan, Carrie lifted one arm, then the next, mimicking their moves. But while the other women looked exotic and fluid and gorgeous, she felt as if she was pantomiming a monkey.

Carrie moved in jolting gestures for a few beats, then caught Dee laughing and gave up, dropping her arms.

"Forget it! I suck!" she shouted over the music.

An older woman in a purple shawl took pity on Carrie, came up behind her, and gently held her arms. Carrie's first instinct was to move away, but the woman smiled at her and raised her arms. Using her hands to deftly bend Carrie's elbows and jut out her hip, the woman moved Carrie like a dol into a perfect pose. Then she got right in front of her and demonstrated a few moves, nodding at Carrie to copy her.

Carrie glanced at Dee, who smiled his encouragement. She held her breath and did her best to follow the woman. It was slow going, but eventually she found the beat and was able to make a passable go at a simple dance. Dee stood aside and watched her as she started to get into it, smiling and joining the other women, all of whom seemed more than happy to have her there.

Toward the end of the song everyone just started to spin and spin and spin. A hundred skirts and shawls whipped at Carrie's legs and arms, sliding silkily over her skin, tickling her everywhere. Carrie giggled, twirling as fast as she could. Before long she forgot how out of place she was. She forgot that she looked different and dressed differently and moved differently. And for a minute she thought of the time when her dad tried to teach her the box step before her eighth-grade dance and how he took her by surprise in the end with a humongous dip. The memory only made her smile on the spinning dance floor, where everything in her life melted together and seemed so beautiful.

With a crash of cymbals the song came to an end, but it took Carrie a moment to stop twirling. When she did, the world continued to spin around her and she laughed, grabbing on to Dee for support.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm . . . I'm fine," she said, trying to find a fixed point to focus on and locate her balance again. Her eyes passed over the undulating crowd toward the buildings that bordered the square. As she gazed at the blue door of one of the businesses across the way, it opened, and Carrie's knees went out from under her.

There was a woman with a laundry basket. Clothes folded. Glittering green star. Right on top.

Oh my God, it's right there! My lucky T-shirt is RIGHT THERE!

Carrie pushed herself up. She had to get to it. She had to stop the woman with the basket.

"Whoa!" Dee said, mistaking her near fall for more dizziness. "Let's get you to a chair."

Carrie staggered into the crowd a few steps, still getting her footing. The woman loaded the basket onto the front of a moped. She climbed onto the seat. Dee turned away in search of a chair and there was no time for Carrie to explain. She dove into the crowd and ran as fast as she could.

"Carrie! Carrie, where are you going!?"

Ignoring Dee's cries, Carrie shoved her way through the melee of arms and legs, saris and turbans, chairs and tables and benches. Over the incredible din she could hear the rev of an engine and the sound of the moped coughing to life.

"Stop! Please stop!" she shouted.

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at her, confused, disturbed, curious, but not the right ones. Not the eyes of the woman on the moped. Her eyes were trained dead ahead, and just as Carrie reached the sidewalk, the moped lurched and the woman sped away.

Oh, no. Not like this. I am not going to come this close and lose it all over again! Carrie thought.

She tore after the moped, sprinting outright just as she did on the last half lap of every race. The woman headed for the mouth of the marketplace and Carrie's already panicked pulse took it up to a fever pitch. If the woman made it to the main street, Carrie would lose her for sure. She jumped over a garbage bag in the middle of the sidewalk, spun around a brown saried elderly woman who sat with her dog on the curb, and turned it on again. Up ahead the crowd parted for the moped to get through and then closed all too quickly to bar Carrie's way. She jumped up onto a stoop, vaulted over the handrail, and landed out on the street she and Dee had strolled down just moments ago.

"Stop!" Carrie cried, near tears as she ran right in front of the moped.

The woman's eyes widened and she slammed on the brakes. The T-shirt was right there, hurtling at Carrie in the darkness. Suddenly all the details around her were vivid. The birthmark just above the woman's lip, her tiny nose ring glinting in the dim light, the one bent bar on the front of the moped's metal basket. Al this she took in, but she barely even registered the fact that she was about to get run over. The T-shirt would save her. It always did.

And then at the last second the moped swerved, just missing Carrie's shin. The woman tottered in her seat and almost went over but regained her balance and looked back.

"Crazy gehra!" she shouted.

Then she revved the engine again and sped off into the night.

"No!" Carrie wailed, chasing after her. "Come back!"

But it was no use. At the corner the woman turned right and disappeared into traffic, leaving Carrie doubled over, gasping for breath.

Oh God, it was there. It was right in front of me! Carrie thought desperately. Stil bent at the waist, she started to sob, choking for air. Maybe this had been her one and only chance to get it back and she had missed it.

Carrie dropped down on the curb and buried her face in her hands. She heard Dee's footsteps pounding up the pavement and only sank her head lower. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this. The second-to-last thing she wanted was to have to explain.

But then Carrie heard the familiar sound of the most annoying voice ever to hit eardrums.

"I can't believe you're actually on the basketball team. That's as fast as you can run?"

When Carrie looked up, she saw Dor-mean towering over her. She was holding a huge, half-eaten turkey leg and looking rather smug.

Didn't this girl have a single sensitive, compassionate bone in her body?

Doreen took another bite and starting chomping loudly. "Looks like you're having a bit of bad luck, eh, Jockstrap?"

"Well, now that you're here, that's putting it mildly," Carrie said with a sneer. "And where did you come from anyway? Aren't you supposed to be behind Teensy, kissing her butt?"

"My mom brought me to this as a reward," Doreen replied proudly. "I helped build five houses in one day. That's a Help India record."

"Who cares?" Carrie sighed.

"Too bad you didn't get the license plate number on that moped," Doreen said, and then wiped her greasy mouth off with the back of her hand. "You'd be able to trace it to the owner and get an address."

Carrie knew Doreen wellenough to know that she only said things like that when she had the goods on someone. She got up from the ground and met Doreen eye to chin.

"You memorized it, didn't you?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." Doreen snickered.

"I'm not fooling around. You better tell me what it is," Carrie demanded.

"Oh, if I'm going to tell you what it is, you're going to have to make it worth my while," Doreen said slyly.

Don't do it, a little voice in Carrie's head shrieked. It would be like making a deal with the devil!