Maya Chhabra - Chiara in the Dark

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Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Chhabra, Maya.
Title: Chiara in the dark / Maya Chhabra.
Description: New York : West 44, 2022. | Series: West 44 YA verse
Identifiers: ISBN 9781978595958 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781978595941
(library bound) | ISBN 9781978595965 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Childrens poetry, American. | Childrens poetry,
English. | English poetry.
Classification: LCC PS586.3 C443 2022 | DDC 811.60809282--dc23

First Edition

Published in 2022 by
Enslow Publishing LLC
29 East 21st Street
New York, NY 10011

Copyright 2022 Enslow Publishing LLC

Editor: Caitie McAneney
Designer: Katelyn E. Reynolds

Photo Credits: Cvr, pp. 1192 (background) Ruslan Shevchenko/
Shutterstock.com; cvr, p. 1 (font) Atstock Productions/
Shutterstock.com.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer.

Printed in the United States of America

CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CW22W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC, New York, New York at 1-800-398-2504.

I am gliding over the ice.My best friend clings to the wall.But I am free. No hands,no worries, just me.Going so fast, wind in my hair.Nothing can stop me. Olivia is afraid.She hasnt gone ice-skating before.Shes got a puffy, white coatand a thick, sky-blue scarf.I just wear a light jacket.She steps carefully along the wall,hanging on.How are you doing that?Im skating backward very quickly.Try letting go of the wall.Ill hold your hands.We zoom down the ice.I go backward, she goes forward. We are not at all likethe skaters who go in pairs at the Olympics.We are slower.Easier.No one is lifting anyone elseabove their head.But we have a rhythmas Olivia picks her way forwardand I glide backward, holding her hands.Its the rhythm you getwhen youve been best friends so longyou trust each other with everything.With your life. This time its me.We are in the rhythm of it alland I imagine the worst.For no reason.Not on purpose.I think:what if we fall? What if she falls on my blade?Because I made a mistake?Because I wasnt careful enough?What if her scarf catchesand breaks her neck?What if she fallsand hits her headand the ambulance has to come?The ambulance takes her to the hospital,but she doesnt wake up.And shes dead.And its all my fault. Shaking my headside to side to clear it.To clear away the bloodand the fear.To shake it out of me.Watch out!Olivia calls.I almost hit someone.In my fear of an accident,I almost made one happenfor real.I think we should go backto how we were before. Olivia shrugsand grabs the wall again.The boards. Thats what we call itat the skating rinkwhere I have lessons.Olivia must thinkhow weird Im acting.Maybe shes mad at me.But she doesnt let on.She shrugs and moves on. And I move on, too.This is good. This breakfrom senior yearand thinking about collegeand thinking about what comes next.When Im skating, I dont worry about that.I dont even worry too muchabout whats wrong with my head:How everything seems too real.Even things that never happened.How I have to shake the pictures out.Let them fall back to blankness. I get off the subway.Back to Brooklynfrom the rink in Manhattan.I pass the gyro shop.And the dance studio I went to as a kid,before I focused on skating.The stalled construction sitethats been promising condosfor three years now.The little corner bodega.I want to get a drink,but Im almost homewhere waters free.Then our building.I take the elevatorto the seventh-floor apartment.Mom works from homedoing peoples taxes.Dad gets home laterfrom the hospital where he worksas a chemist in the lab.We make a long-distance callto Dads family in Italy.Everything is calm and safe and normal. Two floors down live the Guptas.They have a kid, Julie.Mom is the only other Indian in the building.(And me too, althoughno one would guess it from my name.)Were friends.Mrs. Gupta hired me to babysit last summer.Julie is about two.The terrible twos, they say.Her parents never get a breakexcept when I look after her.Mrs. Gupta is so skinnyyoud think she has no time to eat.Mr. Gupta always seemslike hes in a hurry.But theyre nice people,and I dont mind babysitting. Thats the prizefor babysitting.If I earn some money this year,Mom and Dad will pay the rest.Theyre not really surewhy I want to go to a collegewith a good ice-skating team.Why I care so much about a sport.But they pay for my lessons.And if I help out Mrs. Gupta,and keep my grades up,theyll help with camp, too.My grades arent bad.Well, theyre not like Olivias.Olivia can tell youexactly what she wants to study(history)and where(Columbia).But I do just well enoughthat my parents wont nag me. Today the Guptas have a dinner date.So around six I head over.Julie is throwing a tantrum.WAH! AHHH!NO-NO-NO!Her toys lie all over the floora doll and a whole box of blockstipped over.She really doesnt want them to go.But the clock is tickingcloser to dinnertime.So they have to leave anyway. As I put the blocks back in their box:Do you want me to read you a book? No.Do you want to watch a movie? No.Not even your favorite movie? No, I dont want(Quick, before she starts crying again)Want to help me cook dinner? A little, tiny bit of a smile. She doesnt really help, of course.But I give her a bowl and a spoon to play with.She drums out a song with them.She is very loud.Maybe I was that loud as a little kid, too.As she sings to herself, I think:One day, far away from nowId want to have a baby like that. I am chopping onions when the worst thing happens.I dont know how to explain it.Or what it is.Its like what happened with Olivia.Only much worse.Much, much worse. I keep imagining (This is my imagination, right?)the knife that I am chopping onions withsliding right between Julies tiny ribs. My face is hot.I touch it with my hand,feeling the warmth.To do this,I have to put the knife down.I put it down carefully,as if it might jump upon its own. I cannot chop onions anymore.I cannot make dinner. We will have to get takeout.I cannot look at Julie. Or else I see the same thingagain.I cannot tell anyone whats wrong. Theres no one to tell.I cannot stay here. But theres nowhere to go.I cannot be this person anymore. Because the kind of person I amis a bad person.Only a bad personwould think of hurting a kid.I can never tell anyone.No one would understand.No one should understand.Even though part of me is saying,Its not my fault. It just came to me.And after all, I didnt do anything. I dont want it to happen again.I shake my head side to side.Like I did with Olivia.Trying to get whats left of the imageout of my head.Maybe Im just being dramatic.Im not a murderer.Ive never really hurt anyone.I dont want to start.But it follows me around,this picture in my head.As if it were whispering: