Page 4 of Tiger's Voyage
“We’ll have to watch the movie. The point is, I’m done holding you back, so if you want to date Nilima, go for it.”
“Wait a minute! You’re just going to cut me off?”
“Is that a problem?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem. It’s just that I’ve been reading your journal, and for a girl who’s supposed to be crazy about me, you’re sure giving up pretty quickly.”
“I’m notgiving upanything. There’s nothingbetweenus nowtogive up.”
He stared at me as I speared another piece of fruit.
Rubbing his jaw, he said, “So you want to be friends.”
“Yep. No pressure, no tears, no constant reminders of things you forgot, no anything. We’ll just start over. A clean slate. We’ll learn how to be friends and get along despite your inner trigger to run. What do you say?” I wiped my hand on a napkin and held it out. “Want to shake on it?”
Ren considered, smiled, and took my hand. I pumped his up and down once.
“What are we agreeing on?” Kishan asked as he walked into what was the longest conversation Ren and I had had since before he was captured.
“Kelsey just agreed to give me a demonstration of her lightning ability,” Ren smoothly lied. “Being able to shoot fire from your hand is something I’ve got to see.”
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He smiled and winked, then stood and took both of our plates to the kitchen sink. Kishan’s golden eyes cast a doubtful glance at me, but he sat down and snatched the remaining half of my cheese Danish. I smacked his hand playfully before picking up a towel to help Ren. When we were finished, he swiped the towel from me, snapping it lightly against my thigh. I laughed, enjoying our newfound repartee, and turned to find Kishan frowning at us.
Ren put his arm lightly around my shoulder and dipped his head closer to my ear, “‘’Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.’ Better keep an eye out for him, Kelsey.”
I laughed, glad that he remembered his Shakespeare, if not me. “Don’t worry about Kishan, Caesar. His growl is worse than his bite.”
“Has he bitten you lately?”
“Not recently.”
“Hmm, I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Ren said as he left the room.
“What was all that about?” Kishan growled, giving me a brief glimpse of the fierce black tiger hiding behind his eyes.
“He’s celebrating his emancipation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve told him that I’d like to be friends.”
Kishan paused, “Is that whatyouwant?”
“WhatIwant is irrelevant. Being my friend is something he can do. Being my boyfriend is not in the stars right now.”
Kishan kept thankfully silent. I could tell he wanted to offer himself as a replacement, either seriously or in jest, but he bit his tongue. Because he did, I kissed his cheek on my way out.
With the ice finally broken between Ren and me, we all could finally move on and soon settled into a routine. I checked in with my foster parents, Mike and Sarah, every week, telling them virtually nothing but that I was fine and busy assisting Mr. Kadam. I assured them that I’d finished my freshman year at Western Oregon University online and that I’d be spending summer break doing an internship in India.
I practiced martial arts with Kishan in the mornings, had late breakfasts with Ren, and helped Mr. Kadam research the third part of Durga’s prophecy in the afternoons. In the evenings, Mr. Kadam and I cooked dinner together—except when he wanted to make curry. Those nights I made my own dinner, using the Golden Fruit.
After dinner we played games, watched movies, and sometimes read in the peacock room. Kishan stayed in the library only if I was telling a story, and then he’d curl up at my feet as the black tiger. We began readingA Midsummer Night’s Dreamtogether. Mr. Kadam bought several copies of the play so we could take different parts to read. I liked being able to share those times with Ren.
Mr. Kadam had been right, as usual. Ren did seem happy. Everyone responded to his improved mood, including Kishan, who had somehow changed from a brooding, resentful younger brother into a confident man. Kishan kept his distance, but his golden come-hither eyes made my face burn.
Sometimes in the evenings, I’d find Ren in the music room playing his guitar. He’d strum through songs and laugh when I requested “My Favorite Things” fromThe Sound of Music. One such night, Ren played the song he’d written for me. I watched him carefully, hoping a memory might be coming back. He was concentrating deeply as he picked softly through the notes. He kept getting stuck and started over again several times.
When he caught my gaze, he dropped his hands and grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to remember this one. Do you have a request this evening?”
