Free The First Life of Vikram Roy (Many Lives Series Book 3) by Laxmi Hariharan Page A

twists my gut. I wipe the sweat running down my forehead. See the rejection on his face. There's anger and something more. He feels let down. Abandoned.  
    "It wasn't my decision," I say softly. How to make him understand?
    "No, of course not," he agrees. "Nothing's ever your decision. You just do as you are told, don't you? The good little obedient boy who gets sent to the top school in the country. While me? I am sent to the local boys' college hostel."
    "Vishal—" I feel helpless. After all, it's my parents' decision to send him there.  
    He goes on, "You could have convinced Dad to send me to St James, so we could have been together, but you didn't, did you?"
    He's right.  
    The truth is I'm secretly happy he is not at St James. I don't want to share it with him. Don't want to have to introduce him to Ash, or Tenzin or the Koreans, or even my lack of musical abilities. That's my space. Mine. It's my secret world. Away from the fighting, the shimmering resentment between Mum and Dad. A relief from the daily guilt I bear at how Mum treats Vishal. I can be free there. No rules. Not like the ones at home.
    "Yes," I say, looking him in the eye, "I could have," I admit. "But I didn't. And … even if I did, I doubt I would have succeeded."
    I see the shock on his face. His skin goes pale and his lower lip quivers. Is he going to cry?  
    "You admit it then?" he asks.
    I nod.
    Next thing, Vishal has launched himself at me. I fall on the ground. The helmet and bat fly out of my hands. Vishal grips me around the waist with his thighs and beats me on my chin, and another to the chest.  
    "Vishal. Stop!" I gasp.  
    He punches my side—once, twice. Pain wracks me.  
    "Enough! You are hurting me!" I yell.
    He snatches my cricket bat off me, raises it.  
    What the—? He's going to hit me with it? Why is he so angry? I don't understand. I put up my hand to shield my face. The next he is being lifted off me.
    The dreadlocked guy says, "Leave him, his friends are coming back to help. Let's get out of here, before they call the police, or worse."
    Police? Why should they call the police?
    "Wait," I gasp out. "Vishal, can't we be friends? Please? We are still brothers."
    "No," he says, his eyes are feverish, burning me up.  
    It's worse than being under the sizzling rays of the afternoon sun. I lick my cracked lips.
    "I looked up to you," he says, "but you were just a fake. Just like your family. You never really wanted me. None of you did."  
    As they walk away, the dreadlocked guy puts his arm around Vishal's shoulders. He's wearing a hoodie with a big GAP scrawled on the back.  
    Have I lost him forever?
    I swear I'll find a way to make it up to him.  

FIFTEEN

    Summer Holidays—2

    Mum's gearing up to have her friends over this afternoon. Dad's got his cricket dos. Mum has her kitty parties. Lots of food, drinks and cards and chattering aunties. My idea of hell.
    Every month, Mum and her friends contribute money into a kitty which gets handed over to the charity of choice of the person who is hosting the party. So some good comes of it. But I can't wait to get out of here before the ladies come charging in. I ran into one of them at the ice-cream parlour yesterday and her eyes lit up on seeing me. And it wasn't just because she hadn't seen me for a while. No. Thinking I was out of earshot, I heard her mention to Mum that she thought I'd make a great match for her daughter, some day. No, I don't want to be the object of attention. I have to get out of the house. Go to the gym, or to the CCI. Anywhere but here. But it's the only time I can get with Mum, as she's setting up for the afternoon. Her social life's even more active than what it was a year ago … She's filling her time up, rushing from one social event to other, trying to plug the holes in her life. As if she ever stopped to think, she would fall off a cliff, see things for what they were.
    I don't want to think about that. Not now. Mum and Dad seem fine, aren't