Page 18 of The Kat Bunglar

Chesterton, Indiana

Kat dropped her phoneinto her purse and closed her eyes in pure misery, the buzzing messages and notifications fading into oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore. She was going back to hell on Earth—otherwise known as her hometown of Chesterton, Indiana.

“Dekha ek Khwaab to yeh silsile hue

The one dream I saw, has become so many dreams now

Door tak nigahon mein hain gul khile hue

In these roses all around I see the blossoming of love”

Eighties Bollywood music blasted from the back of the station wagon as Kat looked on in utter despair at the countryside whizzing by.

“Oof. No one sings like Kishore Kumar anymore—he was extraordinary, no?” Kat’s mother popped paan into her mouth and started singing along.

“What are you eating there, Mrs. Malik?” Christian asked before Kat could kick her.

“You people call it the betel leaf. It is a leaf that generates a little bit of stimulus. Gives you energy and makes you feel good,” her father answered.

“Oh, can I try?” Christian asked.

“Sure, sure.” Kat’s mother quickly wrapped the leaf around the areca nut and handed it to Christian.

“Oh, I must put this on the ‘gram,” Christian looked over at Kat. “Unless I shouldn’t?”

“It’s fine,” Kat sighed and closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

“So, why were you in Chicago?” her father asked. “I thought you were making videos in Los Angeles. Your lifelong goals had been fulfilled, no?”

“Don’t ask so many questions,” her mother admonished him. “She just got out of the hospital. You know she has the headaches and such.”

Kat could feel their disappointment like a weighted blanket in the car. They didn’t understand who she had become. She could see the uncertainty in her mother’s eyes. They didn’t know how to talk to her or what to say.

“We were looking at colleges,” Christian interjected into the awkward silence. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise. But Kat was looking at DePaul as well as Columbia. You know, just exploring her options.”

Kat looked at Christian with a gratitude she didn’t know how to fully convey.

“Colleges and universities are wonderful. You know who else is wonderful? Khaleel Quazi. What a strong young man that boy has become. His family is coming to our house for dinner next week. I think he is home from university,” her mother said, nudging her father.

“Purdue University. But he is a smart boy. What would he talk to Kat about?” her father asked.

“Okay, Abu, I don’t want to talk to him. But if I had to, I could. I am capable of making conversation,” Kat said.

“About what? Putting colors on your face? I watched your videos. All you do is mash shiny things everywhere.” Her father glanced at her in the rearview mirror with barely disguised contempt.

“I review makeup and beauty brands. I’m necessary for consumers. I hold brands accountable for providing reliable, safe, and ethical products,” Kat replied hotly, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt over the lawsuit accusing her of failing to do just that.

“Let’s just listen to this music and get home, nah?” her mother chimed in nervously, looking between Kat and her father.

Chesterton, Indiana had never been home, Kat fumed. It was a prison of mediocrity and people bent on making her feel invisible and unwanted.

6 Days Earlier

July 3rd

Los Angeles

Laila Malik

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