Chapter 12

5th grade

The car smells like new leather and mom’s perfume. The city outside blurs past, buildings and billboards and people in a rush to be somewhere. But inside the car, there is only Amit.

And Amit has been talking non-stop for the past ten minutes.

“I’m telling you, Sharma, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” His legs bounce against the seat, voice serious, like he’s discussing a business deal and not just trying to emotionally blackmail me into being his best friend.

I glance at him, exhausted. “We live next door to each other. How is this once-in-a-lifetime?”

“Because! School is different! School is the battlefield of life, Dev!” He leans in. “And you, my dear neighbor, need an ally.”

I sigh.

Mom snorts from the driver’s seat. “He’s not wrong.”

I glare at her reflection in the mirror. “Not helping.”

Amit grins victoriously. “See? Even your mom agrees!”

“She’s just entertained.”

“And why is she entertained, Dev?” He gestures wildly. “Because I am fun. Which brings me to my first point—”

I groan. “Amit, please—”

“—The Benefits of Being My Best Friend!” He announces dramatically, holding up his fingers as if listing bullet points.

I drop my head against the seat. “Oh my god.”

“One! I am highly entertaining.”

Mom snorts again.

“Two! I always have snacks.”

That—that actually sounds useful.

“Three!” He pauses dramatically. “I am very brave.”

I narrow my eyes. “You screamed because a moth flew into your room last night.”

“IT WAS HUGE.”

“It was tiny.”

“It had intentions.”

I stare at him. “What kind of intentions does a moth have, Amit?”

“Evil ones.”

Mom is full-on laughing now.

Amit ignores us both and continues. “Four! I am extremely loyal. If anyone messes with you, they mess with me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What are you going to do? Politely ask them to stop?”

He grins. “I’ll strategically ruin their lives.”

I sigh. “Amit—”

He slaps a hand on my shoulder, eyes shining with determination. “So. Dev. My dear neighbor. My fellow soldier in the war against boredom. Will you accept my best-friendship?”

I stare at him.

Then, very slowly, “Amit, we are already going to the same school. Sitting in the same car. In the same uniform. You have already decided that we are best friends.”

Amit nods. “Yes. But I need verbal confirmation.”

I exhale. “Fine. Yes.”

Amit gasps dramatically. “I AM HONORED.”

Mom laughs. I sink into my seat. I have made a mistake.

***

Lunch starts quiet.

By now, I’ve survived the morning. Introduced myself in the stiff, awkward way all new kids do—short sentences, forced politeness, the kind of half-smile that makes teachers nod approvingly but does nothing to make me feel less like an outsider.

I’ve been assigned a desk by the window. I’ve spent the day staying quiet, nodding when spoken to, keeping my head down.

And Amit?

Amit has spent the entire morning acting like he owns the place.

Which, in a way, he does.

He talks to everyone. Laughs too loud. Leans back in his chair like gravity is a suggestion. And now, he’s sitting cross-legged under a tree, mouth full of chips, gesturing wildly with one hand.

“So? First impressions?” he asks.

I hesitate. “It’s… fine.”

Amit stares at me. “That was the most depressing ‘fine’ I’ve ever heard.”

I sigh. “It’s just… everyone already has their friends, you know?”

Amit grins. “Not my fault you didn’t take my best-friendship offer seriously this morning.”

I roll my eyes. “I accepted it.”

“Yeah, but like, half-heartedly.” He pops another chip in his mouth. “I’m waiting for a proper confirmation.”

“You’re so—”

“Hey, new kid!”

The voice cuts through the air like a snapped thread.

I freeze.

A group of boys stands near the canteen steps. One of them—tall, smug, the kind of grin that promises nothing good—is staring right at me.

Amit stills beside me.

His usual easy, lazy confidence doesn’t disappear, but it sharpens.

“Come here,” the boy calls out. “We wanna ask something.”

Amit shifts, leans in slightly. His voice is low, unreadable.

“You don’t have to go.”

And for a second, I consider it.

For a second, I think about staying put, keeping my head down, doing what I’m good at—making myself small.

But then I think about the way every pair of eyes in the playground is already looking at me.

And I know the worst thing a new kid can do— Is look like he’s scared.

So I get up. Amit follows instantly.

We walk over, and the boy—Rehan—tilts his head. Appraising.

“Heard you’re Amit’s new little sidekick.”

Amit crosses his arms. “What’s it to you?”

Rehan ignores him, looks me over like I’m something he’s trying to figure out.

“Did he tell you what happens to new kids here?”

Something in my stomach pulls tight.

I keep my voice even. “What happens?”

Rehan smirks. “They get initiated.”

The word snaps against my skin like a rubber band. I don’t like it.

He pulls a coin from his pocket, flips it lazily. Casual. Effortless. Calculated.

“All you have to do is catch it before it hits the ground. Easy, right?”

I don’t answer. Because I know this game.

I know exactly how it ends.

But people are watching now. And if I walk away? That means I lose.

So I nod. Rehan tosses the coin.

And at the last second—he kicks my leg.

Not hard. Just enough to throw me off balance. Just enough to make me miss.

The coin clinks against the pavement.

The boys laugh.

“Oops,” Rehan says. “Guess you failed.”

I force myself to breathe, but the air feels thick, the playground too big and too small at the same time. My pulse hammers in my ears.

Amit hasn’t moved.

His arms are still crossed. His expression unreadable. But there’s a tension in his jaw that wasn’t there before.

And then—

Rehan shoves me.

“Let’s see if you can catch this next time, huh?”

I stumble back, barely catching myself. My hands scrape against the pavement, sting on impact. But I don’t even look up.

Because the fire in my chest is hot and humiliating and loud.

And Amit—

Amit moves.

Fast.

“Don’t touch him again.”

His voice isn’t loud.

It’s low. Controlled. Like he’s already decided something.

Rehan scoffs. “What? You gonna do something, little sidekick?”

Amit tilts his head. The kind of slow, deliberate movement that makes my stomach drop.

“I. Said. Don’t. Touch. Him. Again.”

And then, before Rehan can laugh, before he can process the weight of those words—

Amit slams into him.

It’s not a schoolyard scuffle. It’s not pushing and shoving.

It’s Amit knocking Rehan back, fists colliding with bone, the sound cracking through the air like thunder.

The other boys shout, cheer, pull back.

But I don’t move.

Because I’ve never seen Amit like this.

I’ve never seen him angry. Not like this.

Not like he wants to break something.

Rehan hits back. Hard. Fist to Amit’s stomach, making him gasp, stagger—

But Amit doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

He swings again, again, again, his body moving like it’s not his own, like something in him snapped loose and won’t go back in place.

Then Rehan lands a hit to Amit’s jaw.

And Amit goes still.

Blood drips from his nose.

I freeze.

I can’t breathe.

Rehan sees it too. The way Amit’s head snaps back into place. The way he wipes the blood off his chin without looking at it.

And for the first time—Rehan hesitates.

“You done?” Amit says, voice flat.

Rehan doesn’t answer.

Amit spits blood onto the pavement. Steps forward.

Rehan takes a step back.

Amit smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I thought.”

Silence.

Then—Rehan turns and walks away.

His friends follow. Muttering. Avoiding Amit’s eyes. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

And then I look at Amit. He’s covered in dirt, blood on his shirt, his face a mess—

But he’s smiling. Like he won something. Like he’d do it all over again.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until I hear myself sniffle.

“Amit,” I whisper, voice shaking. “You’re bleeding.”

He wipes at his face lazily. “Yeah. That happens.”

I stare at him. “You could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” Amit grins, ruffling my hair. “I told you, Sharma. I’m very brave.”

I laugh, but it sounds wrong. It sounds small.

Amit grins, wiping more blood off his chin. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t hurt.

“Best friends, right?”

I swallow.

My throat burns. My chest is too tight. My hands won’t unclench.

I should tell him he’s an idiot. That I don’t need him to fight for me. That he could’ve gotten hurt.

But I don’t–

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Best friends.”

Footsteps echo from behind us. A teacher. I can hear the gasps, the whispers. Someone is going to call him to the office, I just know it.

And Amit? He just grins ruffling my hair again, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just fight for me. Like he didn’t just bleed for me. Like he’s not going to get in trouble for me…

Like it was worth it.

And as he turns away, I see it—

His hands are still shaking.