The other girls giggled. Annette winked at Tara. Tara blushed and looked down at her hands, her heart always pounding inside her chest. Her reaction embarrassed her. She knew her face went red every time he cheered; she could almost feel the blotches emerge on her cheeks. Why couldn’t she be confident and nonchalant like the other girls?
Once, he looked at her, and addressed her directly. “Tara means star, no?”
She froze.
He repeated his question. “Oy, Tara, Tara means star, right?”
She nodded. “Also, the Buddhist goddess of compassion who emerged from a lotus,” she whispered. Her alarm grew when he dramatically threw his head back, closed his eyes and sang, his arms stretched like in prayer, swaying from side to side:
“Star light, star bright,
The first stargoddess I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.”
Stargoddess? She suspected Cyrus had made that word up. She released her breath when he finished and mustered a shy smile. The girls burst out laughing. Even James grinned from ear to ear. She wished her dumb heart would stop thudding like a drum; she was afraid he’d hear it beating.
For many days after that, Tara could not get that scene out of her head. A rogue clad in light blue denim and black T-shirt, his eyes closed, singing and swaying cockily. He kept her sleepless for long hours, and when sleep came, he claimed her dreams.
Was he teasing her? Should she be offended? Tara was in entirely new territory and had no clue how to respond. What if Amma knew? Tara had no doubt that Amma would forbid her from going to the Saldanha home again. She hoped Cyrus wouldn’t tease her again. But she hoped he would. Why was she so happy? So tormented?
Amma, Daddy, and Vijay bid adieu to Dubai and came back to Mangalore for good in mid-April. She would have been happier if she hadn’t been consumed with thoughts of Cyrus. For a while, her wretched heart had even been disappointed at their arrival. What if she couldn’t slip out for her afternoon adventures? What was she going to tell Amma, who would see through the bogus “going to the library” story in no time? Tara stayed home for two days, worrying and fretting, and appeared so withdrawn that Amma wondered if Tara had a fever coming on. On the third day, she could stay away no longer. She decided it was wisest to tell Amma the truth.
“Amma, I have a friend at Second Bridge. Her name is Annette Saldanha. We meet in the afternoons to play word games. It helps us improve our English,” she said.
Amma arched her eyebrow. “A Saldanha? What does Annette’s daddy do?”
“They have coffee plantations in Coorg. Annette’s mummy owns Villa Mahal and Gateway Hotels,” she said. “Her photo was in the paper last month,” she added for good measure.
Annette’s family background seemed to please Amma.
“Oh! My daughter has learned to make high society friends and all!” she teased.
She gave Tara permission to carry on her visits, as long as the girls did something constructive and educational and did not go out on their own.
“See if you can play games to improve your math skills,” she said. “And be back soon. Vijay gets bored all by himself.”
Tara didn’t tell Amma this, but she didn’t care much about Vijay’s being bored. He was six now, the same age she had been when they had moved to Shanti Nilaya, and her life had started to fall apart. She spared no thought in his direction as she sped up the hill on lightning feet. She was late, so she burst into a sprint all the way to the front gate, the surge of wind in her hair. She could hear the Saldanhas erupt into cheers when they saw her open the gate, so she couldn’t stop to catch her breath, to tame her hair. They clapped as she walked the red brick path up to the house, breathing heavily through her mouth. She looked up at the group. She caught sight of Cyrus. Strangely, he just stood with his hands in his pockets. No cheering. No clapping. No comment said in jest. The dip in her spirit was automatic; she couldn’t help but be disappointed.
“We wondered what had happened to our sweet angel,” said Annette. “Why didn’t you come the past two days?”
“My parents came from Dubai,” she said softly, as if that were explanation in itself.
“Oh! We got worried.”
“We are glad you are back,” said Michele. “You have to help me win the word game today.”
“No way! You were on Tara’s team last week,” Angela protested.
Tara was pleased they had missed her. Nobody had ever made her feel this wanted before, not even Amma. Yet, her heart sank. Cyrus had still said nothing.
Annette noticed. “And what’s wrong with Cyrus today? Why so quiet, old chap?”
Cyrus brushed his hair back with his fingers and flashed his dimples.
“All is well now, isn’t it? Aren’t we going to get the game started?”
Tara’s torment multiplied that evening; her questions occupied every nook of her brain. Why had Cyrus been so quiet? Why had he not insisted on being on her word power team? Why had he not teased her when she won the game?
When she took Vijay up Morgan Hill for a stroll at Amma’s insistence, her answers to his incessant inquiries were absentminded, curt. She wished she could confide in somebody. But who? Annette was always with her cousins these days. That night, her diary entry read:
O capricious heart,
Will thou ever tame?
O agony, bittersweet,
What is thy name?
Tara’s poetic frame of mind ended when Cyrus returned to his gregarious self, which was the very next day. Then she only had to worry about how she appeared to him, about the effects of his teasing on her cheeks. And it wasn’t only teasing. Sometimes, he tried to engage her in conversation.
“Do you read Alistair MacLean?” he asked her one day, while the conversation was on books.
Tara wasn’t sure the question was directed at her.
“Star,” he repeated. “Do you read Alistair MacLean?”
He had called her Star, the English translation of Tara. She shook her head, blushing a beetroot red.
“I’ve read two. Guns of Navarone and Where Eagles Dare, both about World War Two. Great books,” he said.
“I’ll look for them at the library,” she managed to whisper.
“What book are you reading these days?”
“Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.” Her choice of books seemed suddenly ridiculous. She wished she were reading a spy novel or a thriller. Was Cyrus disappointed in her choice of books?
“Did you get that at the library?” No sign of disappointment.
Tara shook her head. “They are from my Daddy’s collection of English classics.”
She wished she had the courage to look into those bewitching eyes, rather than at the wall or the floor. But he was seated too close, his T-shirt was too stylish and the fall of his hair too charming over his forehead. Later, in the safety of her room, she would imagine brushing it back with her fingers, peering into his eyes, reflecting on their magical color; she would cross the threshold to immorality at leisure.
“She’s read all the classics. Can you imagine?” Annette said. “By the way, we are planning to see Chariots of Fire on Friday. Tara and Cyrus, I hope you two will come.”
Cyrus was in without a second thought. Tara whispered something about having to ask Mummy.