Read Chapter 1 of Reasons We Break
...plus a preorder gift announcement!
If you missed last week’s excerpt of Reasons We Break (the prologue), go back to my last post! You’ll want to read it first. Then, come back here for chapter 1, down below!
Before we get into it, I also want to mention the preorder incentive I’m doing for RWB. Preorders are the #1 way to support a book you’re interested in (which is weird I know but that’s publishing for you.)
And, if you’re in the USA, it’s currently 25% off at B&N with code PREORDER25, until Sept 5!
You can find more details at the end of this post, but I’ll also drop the link to the form here!
Without further ado, here’s Chapter One… this time, it’s Simran’s POV!
“I cannot believe this,” Simran’s mother exclaims in rapid-fire Punjabi. She clutches the phone closer. “How my sister can show her face, I don’t know.”
She paces by the living room couch, where Simran is pretending to be absorbed in her calculus assignment. Simran can’t quite make out what the auntie on the other end is saying, only that she’s talking just as fast. As her mom paces out of the room again, taking the gossip with her, Simran refocuses on her laptop screen. Or rather, the email displayed on it.
Dear Simran,
I heard from our department head that you’re applying to transfer to UBC Vancouver! I’d be thrilled if you joined us. I was so impressed when we met during the Euclid luncheon last year. If I remember right, you were interested in my research—I’d be happy to have you in my lab, should you decide to come.
Hoping to see you in September!
Warmly,
Dr. Emily Maxfield
The sign-off is followed by the professor’s long list of titles and degrees. Simran’s eyes track over each and every one.
“Just shocking,” Simran’s mother exclaims in Punjabi. Simran jumps slightly; she hadn’t realized her mom had paced back into the living room. She hastily switches back to her calculus assignment, but her mother doesn’t notice. One hand is clutching the phone, the other raking through her grey hair—normally tucked under a turban, but currently curling down her back. Then she glances at the clock and does a double take, as if unable to believe how long she’s been gossiping. “We’ll have to talk later. See you Sunday?”
She hangs up and is silent. Simran feigns busyness by typing the same equation into the mathematics software repeatedly. It’s running into three lines by the time her mother speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
For a split second, Simran thinks she’s talking about the email from Dr. Maxfield. “About—what?”
Her mother snorts. “Simran, don’t pretend you didn’t hear. You must’ve known your cousin had a boyfriend? A white boyfriend?”
Oh. Simran relaxes slightly and starts backspacing the gibberish she typed. “No,” she says, like a liar.
Her mother squints at her suspiciously. “TJ didn’t tell you? Aren’t you two always on the phone?”
As if Simran’s going to admit to playing secret-keeper for her cousin’s relationship. “We don’t talk about that stuff. What did you hear?”
“Kamaljot’s daughter saw a photo of them on the internet.” Her mother sits next to her, plunking a bowl of sliced fruit on the coffee table. “Going behind her parents’ backs for so long— You know what your masi’ll do, right? She’ll pretend she always knew. To save face.” She giggles. Simran’s long given up trying to unpack whatever’s going on between her mom and her aunt. “If you have a secret boyfriend, tell me now so I don’t find out from someone else like a fool.” She jabs Simran’s side teasingly.
As if such a thing wouldn’t absolutely end her life. However, Simran is keeping other secrets. Enough is enough.
She clicks back to her email and tilts her laptop screen. “Mom.”
Her mother starts turning her head. “Yes?”
And . . . Simran loses her courage. A millisecond before her mother’s gaze hits the screen, Simran minimizes her email, revealing the math software again. “See this assignment? I need to finish it before class.”
It’s not her best segue. But her mother immediately gets up. “Oh. Sorry. Of course we can talk later. Focus on your homework.” The abruptness of it has Simran feeling guilty; but before she can say anything, her mother’s peeking out the window and tsking. “Your windshield looks horrendous. Do you have any wiper fluid in there? This spring slush is terrible for visibility. I’ll top it up for your drive to the university.” She kisses Simran’s forehead and heads for the door.
Simran returns her gaze to her blinking cursor, listening to her mom’s feet crunch around the gravel driveway. The math software keeps spewing error messages, but she can’t focus. Just as TJ probably should’ve gotten ahead of her secret coming out, Simran should do the same. Especially if she wants her parents to be happy about her transferring to a different university.
She never even planned to apply—truly. She likes Kelowna, and the university here. She got several scholarships, and adjusting to her first postsecondary year while living at home was smart. Plus, her parents love having her around—Simran could’ve gone anywhere, but she knew they were relieved she chose to stay.
Maybe that was even why she stayed.
But in this second semester, Simran has found herself restless. Bored, even. Her cousin always has debate tournament stories that make Simran miss their high school club. And each time she attends guest lectures from the Vancouver campus profs, she wonders if their regular classes are just as fascinating. Not to mention the research being done there that she’d love to participate in. So she applied, on a whim. Her application was haphazard. She hadn’t expected a response, let alone a personal email from a UBC prof she knew from her high school math contest days.
Simran pulls up the email once again to reread it. And again, just like every other time, her mind races with the possibilities of a far more interesting next three years. She doesn’t need that for her math degree. But she wants it.
The only thing left is to mention it to her parents. It should be easy. They wouldn’t discourage this choice, especially if Simran framed it as having more opportunities for the future. And yet, every time Simran tries to bring it up, the words get stuck in her throat.
Frustrated with herself, Simran picks up her phone instead.
She texts TJ: My mom heard about you and Charlie.
The reply is instant: WHAT
Before Simran can type out an explanation, TJ’s name lights up her screen.
When Simran picks up, TJ says, “I knew the secret was out, but I didn’t know it was that out. Was your mom judging me?” “Of course.” Simran gets up to stretch. Dealing with someone else’s problems is always a refreshing change. “I said no when she asked if I knew, by the way. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. We agreed on that already.” They’d discussed it around the third time Simran acted as TJ’s alibi. In the same grim way governments decide their plan in the event of nuclear war, TJ insisted she go down alone in the lie.
But it still doesn’t feel great. “I thought you were careful about what you post.”
“It wasn’t me. It was someone at a party months ago, when we were in Kelowna for Christmas!” TJ sounds irritated; she goes to university in Ontario, across the country, and comes home a couple times a year. “Okay, but seriously, who posts a selfie with people kissing in the background? What the hell?”
Simran winces. Being caught holding hands is one thing, but . . . kissing? That’s nuclear.
She pauses while picking up the fruit bowl her mother left. Come to think of it, this might actually be the best timing to tell her parents about transferring to Vancouver. In comparison to TJ’s news, it’s nothing. They’ll be so relieved that the most deviant Simran’s ever been is going a few hours away for school, they won’t even think to be sad.
TJ, meanwhile, sighs. She sounds like she’s walking somewhere. Simran envisions her tottering around campus in impractical heels, long hair blowing into her face. “My mom’s called four times already. God, my secret boyfriend. She’s going to kill me.”
Simran pops a grape in her mouth. Tonight, she decides. She’ll tell her parents tonight. “What she’s really going to kill you for is avoiding her calls four times.”
“Whatever,” TJ says. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll ask your sister for help. She’s the expert in parental blow-ups, right?”
Simran glances up at the childhood photo of herself and her older sister on the mantel. She hasn’t seen Kiran in ages. “She’s the opposite of an expert,” she mutters. A clattering noise from outside draws her attention to the window.
Simran’s not the only one socializing. Her mother has her cell to her ear as she bends to pick up the jug of wiper fluid she dropped. It’s spilling on the ground. All so Simran can finish her homework. Yet here she is gossiping with her cousin instead.
Guilt creeps up on her. She turns to the couch. “I’ll call you later. After I get back from Hillway, maybe.”
TJ doesn’t get the hint. “Ooh, Hillway. How is that girl you’re mentoring? Did she try to punch you again?”
Simran pulls her computer back into her lap. Hillway House is an organization for troubled youth to help them integrate back into the community, usually via volunteer service. Since Simran started there a year ago, she’s mentored her fair share of interesting people, including her latest, a girl who took a swing at her in their first week together. “Laura graduated from the program. I’m meeting my new mentee today.”
“Is it too much to hope they’re not an asshole?”
“None of them are.” Simran checks her email inbox, but the Hillway coordinator, Paul, still hasn’t sent the new mentee matchups. “They’re just struggling.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay for them to hurt you.” TJ’s voice softens. “I know you like helping strays, but be careful, okay?”
“All right, Mom,” Simran says, exasperated. “I really have to finish this assignment, so—”
“You’re starting homework an hour before the deadline again, aren’t you?” Simran doesn’t reply, just starts scrolling through her code. “Look, I get it. This is your version of an extreme sport. But is the adrenaline worth—”
The front door opens—her mom has returned. Simran lowers her phone. TJ’s still rambling on the other end, but Simran smoothly hits end call before her mother can notice.
However, her mom doesn’t even look up. She’s a little pale, actually.
“Everything okay?” Simran asks.
“Of course.” Her mother straightens. “Your wiper fluid was empty, by the way. If you’re going to have your own vehicle, you need to keep an eye on these things.” Although she’s scolding Simran, she sounds half distracted as she heads for the stairs.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Simran calls.
Her mother mutters something unintelligible before yelling, “Your class starts in twenty-five minutes! Do you ever look at the clock? I swear you’ll be late to your own wedding.”
Well, that sounds more like her. Simran gets up.
Dr. Chen smiles at Simran when she speed-walks into his chemistry class. Simran returns it before finding a seat near the back of the lecture hall. She prefers sitting far away so she can answer emails, study for other classes, or, as in this case, finish assignments that are five minutes from being due.
She pulls her tea mug and laptop from her backpack. A notification pings in the corner of her screen. Paul—the Hillway coordinator—has finally emailed. She ignores it. The math homework takes priority. On her way here, she even triple-checked her calculations by hand at the traffic lights. It should work. So why isn’t it?
Sweat gathers on her back. She shouldn’t have wasted so much time rereading Dr. Maxfield’s email today, or gossiping with TJ. Now she’s only got three hundred seconds to hand in this assignment. Most people would just submit as is. But Simran can’t. She needs the perfect score. The thought of her grades being tarnished, Dr. Maxfield finding out and rescinding her offer as she realizes Simran isn’t as smart as she thought is almost too much to—
“Hey.”
The voice comes from behind her. She jumps, barely managing to catch her mug before it tips into the aisle. Once she’s righted it on her lap, she turns. The Punjabi guy in the row behind her is leaning forward, blinking his green eyes slowly. He’s got a scruffy beard, and a short, black turban.
He whispers, “Your program isn’t working because you’re using the letter e instead of the number e. You see how it’s not italicized?”
Simran glances back at her screen. He’s—he’s right. She hasn’t been using the symbol the program would understand. “How do you—”
“Took a class with Garcia last semester.” He shrugs. “Same problem.”
Simran swaps in the right symbol. Her code goes from red to green, generating her output instantly. How did she not see something so simple? She submits her assignment with a hundred and eighty seconds to spare. Dr. Chen starts class right then, and Simran twists in her seat. The boy is now studying his laptop.
She swallows her pride to whisper, “Thanks.”
“No problem, Simran,” he replies without looking up, voice quiet. Simran turns back around, cringing internally. Of course it had to be Jassa Singh helping her. She likes him fine, but she beat him for the academic award last semester, so he’s probably wondering how she accomplished that when she apparently needs him to do her homework for her. He’s not even a math major; he’s premed. Embarrassing.
Simran sinks farther into her seat, sipping from her tea mug. Dr. Chen’s on his fifth slide. She ignores it and checks her email. The unread ones this time.
Her inbox is full of meeting minutes and class reminders and one passive-aggressive email about how whoever broke the lab’s ten-thousand dollar computer should come forward. The unread Hillway email catches her eye. Paul’s sent out the new schedule with his usual message: You all know the drill. Let me know of any conflicts with your new mentees and I’ll re-match you in a jiffy!
Simran clicks on the attachment. Half-heartedly scans it. And drops her mug into the aisle with a loud, class-stopping clang.
Thanks for reading—next week will be chapter 3 (Rajan’s POV again, in present day!)
Announcing: Preorder Gift!
If you preorder, in any format from any retailer, and fill out the form below, you will receive from me (after Nov 4, the release date):
a PDF bonus extended prologue (if you want the full scoop on the pre-book Simran/Rajan friendship, you will want this! It’s 4 extra chapters of material.)
a signed bookplate! (which you can stick in the front of the book, to have it be signed!)
a Reasons We Break themed bookmark because this book is chunky and you may need to mark your place ;)
If you request the book from your library, you’ll receive the PDF extended prologue! So lots of goodies to go around. And it’s all international!
Preorder Gift Form
And hey, if this particular book doesn’t sound like your thing, that’s totally okay. Thank you for subscribing and following along on my journey, regardless!
Until next week! :)