Free The Whole Story of Half a Girl by Veera Hiranandani Page A

find out tomorrow.
    “Well, all that matters is that you tried,” she says, looking off into the distance.
    “Whatever,” I say.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom says, and suddenly looks sad. Her eyes are watery, like she might cry. I feel bad for her. Nobody’s been very nice to her lately, but then again, she hasn’t been that nice either.
    “I
want
to make it. I’m really good, believe it or not, and it does matter to me.”
    “That’s not what I meant, I just meant it’s good that you tried even if you don’t make it.”
    “No, it’s not good! It’ll suck.”
    I said it. I said the word that Mom and Dad hate more than anything. In my house it’s even worse than the other S-word and maybe even the F-word, even though I never dare to say them.
    Mom opens her mouth to say something, but Dad gets up fast, takes my dinner into the kitchen, and throws the whole thing, plate and all, into the garbage. He points upstairs and says through gritted teeth, “You can eat when you decide to show your mom some respect. I don’t want to see you again tonight.” I get up on shaky legs, feeling the rest of my family’s eyes on my back, watching me. I go up to my room and curl up into a ball on my bed.
    Later that night, I can hear Mom getting Natasha ready for bed and the soft sounds of her reading
Where the Wild Things Are
through my closed door.
    After a little while there’s a knock at my door. She comes in with Natasha, which is kind of weird.
    “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, tears flooding my eyes. I am sorry, yet I meant what I said, even the “suck” part.
    “Me too,” she says. “We haven’t been connecting well lately. It’s my fault.” She sits in my desk chair, takes off her glasses, and starts cleaning them. Natasha plops down on the floor. “Things have been hard for all of us, and we should talk aboutit.” Her voice cracks slightly. I know what I’m about to hear is bad. I know it the way you can see a thunderstorm coming, in the darkening sky, in the
whoosh
of wind rustling the trees.
    She clears her throat. “Remember when I said Dad was going through a difficult time?” she continues.
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “Is he sick?” asks Natasha.
    “Well, there are different kinds of sick,” Mom says. Then she goes on to explain what’s wrong with Dad, how it’s sort of like having a flu in your mind, that he’s been feeling down for a while, and when bad moods last too long it’s called a depression.
    “Your father is depressed, girls.”
    “When will he feel better?” Natasha asks.
    “Soon. He’s seeing a doctor who will help him. A therapist,” Mom says, and rubs her face the way she does when she’s tired, like her whole face itches all over. Then she stops rubbing. “I promise it’s going to be okay. And you can ask me anything you want.”
    “Does this mean he’s not going to get a new job?” I ask, hoping Mom means I really can ask anything I want.
    “Eventually.” Mom puts her fingers on her forehead like she has a headache. “Dad has been depressed before, but this time it’s a little worse. His doctor will help him through it, and as soon as he’s feeling better, he’ll find another job. In the meantime, I’m going to have to work more.”
    I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I try to think about other times I’ve seen Dad like this, but I can’t.
    “When was he depressed?” I ask.
    “A long time ago, before you were born,” Mom says. “But please don’t talk about it with other people. Dad needs his privacy. We all do.”
    Natasha climbs on my bed. Mom comes over and puts her arms around us. We sit quietly for a little while until all I want to think about—all I
can
think about—is sleep finding me.
    She kisses me on the cheek and says softly, “I’m sure you blew the judges away.” Then she leads Natasha out of my room.
    I never ask if I can go over to Alisha’s house.

chapter fourteen
    When the tryout results are posted on