What happens when your parents are in Antarctica, your social skills are … questionable, and every attempt to fit in spectacularly backfires? In Almost Sixteen, Arsh Verma turns teenage awkwardness into a sharply funny, painfully relatable coming-of-age journey.
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No one at his new school believed Ashwin when he told them his parents were in Antarctica.
But they were.
They were on a year-long scientific expedition, but by the time he got to the details, he had already lost his audience. It seemed like a made-up thing, like he was trying to be sassy. He had said it brusquely, too, when the geography teacher had asked, ‘What do your parents do?’
‘Oh, they’re in Antarctica.’
He may as well have said, ‘Oh, they’re on the moon.’
But it wasn’t the moon they were on. They were in Antarctica.
By the time Ashwin realized his mistake, the class had already moved on.
Ashwin sat in his seat and fumed. Off to a bad start.
‘Look,’ he said, shoving his phone in his neighbour’s face. ‘A collapsing ice shelf in Antarctica!’
‘I don’t give a shit, dude.’
‘Here,’ said Ashwin, now flaunting his phone under the nose of the girl sitting in front of him. ‘A family of emperor penguins. Look how cute the calf is.’
‘Pretty sure they’re called chicks, whatever-your-name-is.’
‘What are you doing, Ashwin?’ The teacher’s voice cut through the room. ‘Put that phone away!’
Ashwin stuffed the phone in his bag. He turned his attention to his wooden desk instead. It was more scribbled-upon than a jailbird’s back, gnarly and bumpy, like the carpenter hadn’t even tried to do an adequate job. One of the legs sat shorter than the others, and the desk see-sawed precariously.
‘Ashwin, are you trying to get in trouble?’ said the teacher, as the sound of Ashwin’s noisy, joyful rattling filled the classroom. ‘Well, I shan’t give you the pleasure. Get up here.’
As Ashwin headed to the front of the classroom, the teacher drew an irregular shape on the blackboard, something outside the scope of a ninth-grade geography book. ‘You know what this is?’
‘Head of a rhino?’ ventured Ashwin, which was what it looked like.
‘It’s Antarctica. Can you point out the Ross Ice Shelf?’
Ashwin guessed.
‘Nope, it’s actually over here,’ said the teacher, pointing elsewhere. ‘What about the Ronne Ice Shelf?’
Ashwin guessed again.
‘Wrong. This is it.’ The teacher indicated the opposite end of the rhino head. ‘So, why don’t we hold off the Antarctica business until we actually know what we’re talking about, yeah?’
Ashwin headed back to his seat amidst a lot of sniggering, much of which seemed ominously female.
When he returned home that afternoon, he already felt like an outcast.
‘Home’, for a year, meant his aunt and uncle’s place, on account of his parents’ expedition. His uncle—his mother’s sister’s husband—owned a pharmaceutical company. He was fabulously wealthy, and both he and his wife spent most of their time at ayurvedic spas, mud bath retreats and yak milk detox camps. This suited Ashwin just fine, it left him with a whole sumptuous villa and staff to himself.
But for that evening, he confined himself to his room—formerly his grown-up cousin’s—cultivating an image-restoration plan. The plan included a mastery over the geology, geography and ecology of Antarctica, over the course of which came a horrifying discovery.
‘That motherfucker . . .’ muttered Ashwin. ‘THAT MOTHERFUCKER!’
He’d been studying a topographical map. The Ronne Ice Shelf was exactly where he, Ashwin, had guessed it was! No doubt, the teacher had only pointed elsewhere to make him look foolish and secure the reprimand!
No matter, thought Ashwin, with savage delight. He would clear his name with the jury tomorrow. He’d make the teacher look like such a fool!
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