A Match Made in Mehendi

by Nandini Bajpai

  By the time I’m on my way to the cafeteria for lunch, the buzz is solid.

  Kiran stops me in the hall, grabbing my arm. “Simi, have you tried the Matched! app yet?” She flashes her phone at me. “My icon’s a green owl.”

  I grin because it’s perfect for Kiran, but then realize I’m about to give myself away.

  “She’s cute,” I say.

  “You should take the quiz. It’s really fun!”

  Noah waves at me from across the hall. “Uh, Kiran, I’ve gotta go,” I say. “I promised Noah I’d help him with something before lunch.”

  “Okay, but sign up, Simi,” Kiran says. “It’s amazing!”

  “In. Sane,” Noah says, grabbing my arm and leading me into the lunchroom. We huddle in a corner to scroll through the app.

  “There are a ton of people on here. Sure they’re not creating duplicate profiles?”

  “They can’t. Navdeep only allows one account per email. I’m positive these are legit people—the blue peacock is Jassi, for sure. Rohan’s the red dog, I’m guessing. And here’s Eric, Bela, Marcus.”

  I wonder if Aiden signed up.

  Noah and I keep watching the different profiles pop up in the app as students sign up and take the quiz during lunch. Most have avatars and random usernames.

  Suddenly Principal Pinter walks into the cafeteria. A hush falls over the room. All cell phones vanish from view. We’re not exactly supposed to have them out during school hours, and Principal Pinter has sky-high behavior expectations.

  Hiding my phone under the table, I send a text to Navdeep.

  Check the app stats. It’s on fire!

  Noah comes home from school with me so we can get an app update from Navdeep as soon as he walks through the door.

  “Ah gayi, Simi?” my mom calls from the kitchen as we stomp upstairs. “I made pakore!”

  “Yum!” Noah veers back downstairs.

  Mom sets the crispy fritters on the table along with sticky, sweet-tart imli chutney—Noah’s favorite—and a spicy coriander-and-mint chutney, which I love. We pile our plates high as she strains steaming chai into cups. I dump three spoonfuls of sugar into mine and Noah’s as he chomps into his first pakora.

  Navdeep’s taking forever. And not answering my texts.

  “Hey, I got the new foundations.” Noah digs through his backpack and produces two tubes of makeup. “Alabaster and Barcelona. Want to try them out?” He’s recently figured out that he can get free products by writing reviews and has been steadily building his stash of high-end makeup. He’s really meticulous about his reviews, too, posting before and after pictures and everything. “I think you’re Barcelona.”

  We head up to my room, and I sit on my bed so Noah can go to work. By the time he’s done, my skin is flawless, my eyebrows are defined, my lips are glossy, and my shadow is smoky—and yet I look natural. I’m okay at doing makeup, but Noah is a freaking genius.

  The door swings open and Navdeep walks in, munching an apple. “What happened to your face?” he asks.

  “You’re one to talk. I mean, look at your face!” His face has a few patches of stubble where he didn’t shave right—Dad’s always poking fun about his technique—but I decide that other things are more important than trading insults with my brother. “Spill, Navdeep. What’s up with the app?”

  He grins and opens the laptop he has under his arm. “You’re not going to believe how many people downloaded it.”

  Noah and I hover over his laptop.

  He points at the screen. “One hundred and twelve. And climbing.”

  “Really? That many people took the quiz?” I say, not really believing it.

  “Now one hundred and sixteen. See for yourself.” He taps the screen. “We have just over a thousand students at Mayfield High, so we have more than a ten percent adoption rate. That’s pretty good for day one.”

  “That’s pretty good for any day!” I say.

  “Any problems yet?” Noah asks.

  “Some people tried to create duplicate profiles. Some people kept changing their quiz answers. I’ve set it up so they can only edit their answers twice, just to stop people from goofing off and putting in silly answers. I’m sure some of them have, though.”

  “I know some kids have prank profiles on stuff like Tinder and MyLoL.” Noah rolls his eyes. “We’ll have to check to see if the answers are serious after you run the matches.”

  “That’s why Mom and Masi talk to the clients directly,” I say. “To make sure they’re getting the right information. Sometimes families make stuff up about their kids just to make them sound better.”

  “We’ll see,” Navdeep says, and snaps his laptop shut. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to write my Common App essay.”

  “Wait, can’t you tell us—”

  “No.”

  “But what about—”

  “No.”

  Noah and I exchange frustrated eye rolls as he walks out the door.

  chapter ten

  I have a chance to see how Mom and Masi get their quiz answers firsthand, because I sit in on a late-afternoon client session after Noah leaves.

  A young man is wedged between his parents on the couch in the Shagun office. He smiles nervously.

  Mom and Masi have been chatting with the trio for the last hour. At least, it sounds like chatting, but really they’ve drawn the man and his parents into talking about their values and priorities. It’s like watching two FBI agents gather facts from an unsuspecting informant.

  “Enough gup-shup, right?” Masi says. “Shall we get to work?”

  The parents and the young man put on their serious faces, thinking the actual interview is about to start. Clever, clever Masi.

  “So you’re a strict vegetarian?” Mom asks. “No eggs even?”

  “Eggs are okay,” the mother says. “No chicken, no pork, no fish, and”—she shudders—“definitely no beef.”

  “So ovo-lacto vegetarian,” Masi says, writing on her notepad. Food is a very important part of matchmaking.

  “We want him to settle down soon,” the young man’s mother says. “No waiting around till thirty, forty.”

  “It’s not like he isn’t outgoing,” his father says. “He has many friends. And we always said that if you make a special friend, girlfriend, then fine. It’s okay.”

  “But he’s not finding a girlfriend on his own,” the mother continues. Her son looks sheepish, as if he’s let his parents down. He has a twinkle in his eye, though, like he’s laughing at his own ridiculousness. I don’t think he’s ridiculous. From what I’ve seen, he’s got a great attitude.

  “So I said, fine, you can arrange something. Not arrange like in the old days,” the young man says with a nervous laugh. “Just introduce. Get the ball rolling. You know!”

  “Don’t worry; it’s very common not to be in a serious relationship at your age,” Masi says in a reassuring tone. “It’s just a matter of looking beyond your circle. We can help.”

  “But we want him to meet girls with a marriage-focused point of view,” the mom says. “Girls that want to settle down, see? Not just go here and there and then say bye.”

  “No problem, ji,” Mom says. “We have some very nice possibilities in mind. If you want to move to the next stage, then we can start the matching process and get you ten potential matches in two weeks, at the most. Okay?”

  “Two weeks!” the mother says. “That is a long time!”

  “All good things take time,” Mom says.

  After, Mom and Masi do a debriefing and discuss their first impressions of the young man and his parents. Most of the information they’ve collected is from the first, more informal part of their meeting. The soft data goes into a folder I’ll probably have to file tomorrow. Lucky me.

  Speaking of folders, there are hundreds sitting in mountains on the desk. Uff.

  “How do you ever find anything in here?” I ask. “Some of these are so old.”

  “Yes, the old folders are labele
d Happily Ever After because Shagun has made the match,” Mom says, tapping the red-and-black label.

  I hold up one of the files. “I know this person. She was matched so long ago, she has twins now.”

  “That should have been archived.” Masi frowns at Mom. “We need to modernize, computerize, and I think Simi agrees with me.”

  “You can’t match people through a machine,” Mom says with a shrug.

  “But Navdeep made a killer app for you,” I say. “Maybe you should try it again.”

  “App-shaap!” Mom mocks. “It took too long to put in the data, and then it didn’t work. Who has time for that?”

  “I do, remember?” I say. “As your intern.”

  Mom and Masi ignore me. Mom holds up the paperwork about the young man who just left. “Finding a match for this boy is no problem. He’s young, healthy, sweet-tempered. And he’s going to be a doctor. I can think of three lovely girls off the top of my head without opening a single file.”

  “But we need ten!” Masi looks exhausted.

  Sudden inspiration strikes. “I have an idea for a fourth match! You know Preet’s professor—Miss Chatterjee? She came in and taught social science to my class in middle school once when Ms. Holt was out sick. She’s a client, too, right?”

  “Yes, but she’s not in medicine,” Mom says. “Do you think his family might accept a teacher?”

  Masi consults her file. “She has a double major in American history and early childhood education,” she says. “And she’s starting a PhD in education administration at Rutgers, right near his hospital.”

  “He’s going to be a doctor,” Mom says. “She’s an educator. Different professions, but both successful.”

  “It’s perfect. MD, meet PhD,” I say.

  “Let me see.” Mom’s already pulled out her file. Somehow, she knew exactly where to look in the mountain of folders on the desk. “According to my notes from her visit, this could be a good fit.”

  chapter eleven

  It’s Friday evening, and we’re assembled in Navdeep’s room for the first Matched! batch process. Navdeep and I are here IRL, but Noah is on chat, since he’s stuck at home with a cold.

  “Let’s run some single matches first,” Navdeep says. “Just as a test. Did you two take the quiz?”

  “Not yet,” Noah says.

  “We designed it,” I say. “We know the questions. Is it really fair to take the quiz?”

  “Of course,” Navdeep says. “You’ve had time to think about what your answers should be, so it’ll be more accurate. I need good test data to see if the app is working properly. You’re it.”

  I pull up the app screen. “Give us ten minutes.”

  “I’ll go get something to eat,” Navdeep says.

  I fly through the quiz, then wonder what kind of match I’ll end up with. Hopefully someone who’s cute and kind. Hopefully someone who likes art. Hopefully Aiden.

  I wonder if he took the quiz yet.

  As I select my answers, I also can’t help thinking about how many matches Noah will get. The Gay-Straight Alliance at Mayfield is small, and Noah has never really been into the two other out sophomore guys that are in it. They’ve always just been his friends.

  By the time I’m done, Navdeep’s back with a bag of spicy Kurkure chips and a can of root beer. What a terrible mixture, honestly. He has such bad taste.

  “Done?” I ask Noah.

  “Yeah,” he says. He looks nervous. “Submit on three. One. Two. Three!”

  We hit the submit button simultaneously.

  “I got a silver unicorn!” I say. “I love it!”

  “Chill. You made it,” Noah says.

  “I still love it!” I say. “What did you get?”

  Noah grins. “Purple basset hound.”

  I laugh, and he smiles. “I think it’s working fine, Navdeep!”

  “Hold on.” Navdeep grins and cracks his knuckles. “It hasn’t dealt with me yet. I’m about to submit my quiz.”

  “He’s going to be a gray cat,” I tell Noah.

  “No, a pink rabbit,” Noah shoots back.

  “Wrong and wrong,” Navdeep says. “I’m a blue fox.”

  “Fair,” I say. “Would you say the app’s doing what it should?”

  “Reasonably,” Navdeep says. “The real test is the matching process.”

  He starts the Begin Matching process by pushing a few buttons on his keyboard. We stare at the screen as the rainbow wheel goes round and round and round—hypnotic and frustrating at the same time.

  “How long will it take?” Noah asks.

  “Just give it a sec,” Navdeep says, rolling his eyes.

  I flash Noah a look and put Sweetie in Navdeep’s lap to soften him up.

  After a minute, he announces, “It’s done.”

  “And?” I ask. “Do we have any matches?”

  “Look on your app screens,” Navdeep says. “You should have an update.”

  “Yes, I do,” Noah says. “It says, You’ve been Matched! Click to see your top matches.”

  “I have the same message!” I say. “Are these real matches or test data?”

  “I ran it against the live data,” Navdeep says. “They’re legit. Just check and it’ll show you the icons.”

  “I have five listed,” Noah says. “The strongest match is a yellow peacock.” His eyes light up. I know he’s wondering who they are, just like me.

  “How many did you get, Simi?” he asks. “What did you get?”

  “Your top five matches are,” I read the screen. “A blue seal holding a music note. It says Strong next to that! Then there’s an orange owl that says Moderate. The rest are Weak.”

  “Whoa! I wonder who the blue seal is.”

  “Lemme see.” Navdeep clicks on his big computer display and scrolls down a screen full of data. “Yeah, doesn’t surprise me. You want to know, Simi?”

  “Sure,” I say calmly enough, but my heart is pumping. I, Simi Sangha, have a strong match with someone?

  “Any guesses before I look?” Navdeep says.

  “Just say it!”

  “Aiden James.” Navdeep grins at me. “Woo-freaking-hoo.”

  On video chat, Noah nods like he’s a freaking fortune-teller. “That is like actual magic, right there. You’ve done it, Navdeep. It’s working.”

  My heart leaps like Aiden himself is in the room. We’re a strong match—science thinks so!

  But will Aiden? He’s an artist but, like, an edgy artist. Also, he’s hot. And popular. I bet he has a lot of options. And we’ve always been just art friends. Would he even see me in that way?

  I’m going to have to think about this before setting up an in-person meeting.

  “What about you, Noah? Want to know?” Navdeep asks.

  Noah’s cheeks flame. “You mind texting them to me?”

  “I want to see them,” I say. “You saw mine.”

  “Just want to see them by myself first, okay?”

  It feels like a pinch.

  Navdeep nods. “Give the dude some privacy, Simi.”

  “Hey, what did your matches look like?” I ask my brother.

  He taps a key and his screen clears up. “Deleted,” he says with a grin. “For good. The world will never know.”

  “Not. Fair.” Double standard.

  “Are we okay to run the match program on everyone else?”

  “It’s not going to notify them right away, is it?” I ask.

  “Not until we’ve looked it over and made sure it’s a good run,” Navdeep says. “Just in case anything goes wrong. And they’ll only see the icons of their top five matches, so it’s basically anonymous anyhow.”

  “Go for it,” I say, happy for the distraction from the fact that Noah won’t share his matches with me. I avoid eye contact with him on the iPad.

  Navdeep spins around in his evil-mastermind swivel chair, holding Sweetie, and faces his computer. “Process initiated,” he announces. “Now we wait.”

  “For how
long?” I ask.

  “Ten minutes?” Navdeep guesses.

  It’s the longest ten minutes. I pace the room and pet Sweetie and steal some of Navdeep’s Kurkure and get a soda. I pace some more, and Navdeep throws robot bits at me until I stop.

  “Done,” Navdeep says at last. “Everyone got their top five matches, unless there’s not enough in a subcategory. The strength of the match is noted next to the icon.”

  “Show us a couple,” I say.

  “I’ll print them out,” Navdeep says. “I won’t send out notifications until you’ve okayed the results. You want the actual names of the matches as well as the icons, right?”

  “Yes, please,” I say.

  “Here it is,” he says, grabbing a stack of paper from his printer. “And now you need to get out of my room ’cause I have to submit an AP Chem lab by midnight.”

  “Forget the lab,” I say, scanning the report. “We have forty-two strong matches!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Navdeep says, pointing at the door.

  I march out holding Sweetie, the report, and my iPad with Noah’s face on it, then settle on my bed. “So this shows a list of all the strong matches, according to Navdeep,” I say, scanning the results. “You know what’s weird?”

  “What?” Noah says.

  “I would not have guessed half of these. The app really mixed up the cliques. Do you think it’s matching the right way?”

  Noah looks worried. “These people picked the same answers on all the quizzes?”

  “Not exactly the same. Remember: Navdeep said it can sometimes be better to have complementary answers instead of identical.…”

  “Are they, though?”

  “Yup…”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re all over the place.… Athletes matching with band geeks. Debate-team stars with science-bowl whizzes. Short white people with tall brown people. And whoa…”

  “What?”

  “Kiran matched with Marcus. He’s a great guy, but he’s not Sikh. Her parents would never approve.”

  Noah goes quiet. He fixes a serious stare at me and tilts his head. “You matched with Aiden,” he says.

  “I did,” I admit. “But her family is more traditional than mine, and they’re super religious. At least, I think so. Forget Marcus.”