A Match Made in Mehendi

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A Match Made in Mehendi Page 8

by Nandini Bajpai


  “But they matched, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So?” He looks offended that I’d think twice about introducing them. “Isn’t that what matters most? Sometimes the people you least expect can be the most open-minded. And remember how we talked about people staying in their groups and not seeing what they actually have in common? What about that?”

  I know Noah’s right, but that won’t stop all the aunties fussing about it—in their heads, everyone should stay in their own communities, with their own religions and cultures. “The auntie network will go on a rampage,” I say as Noah rolls his eyes. “But you’re right. The world won’t end if Kiran and Marcus get frozen yogurt and watch a movie together.”

  “Exactly,” Noah says.

  “You know who got the strongest ninety-six-point-five percent soul mate match?”

  “That has to be a couple that’s already going out,” Noah says. “Matt Phelan and Jessica Dowd?” He looks suddenly horrified. “Wait—it isn’t Amanda, is it?”

  “Worse,” I say. “It’s Ethan.”

  “No!” Noah buries his face in his hands.

  “Yes. And he matched with Teá.”

  “Teá Dimaandal…? The girl who just transferred and is, like, the new star of the girls’ soccer team?”

  “The one and only. Amanda’s going to freak out.”

  The best part of a love story is usually the beginning. People almost always remember the first time they met.

  —THE SHAGUN MATCHMAKING GUIDE

  chapter twelve

  Noah and I are at peak stress levels Monday morning. The matches are made. But that feels like the easy part. Soon we’ll have to share them.

  Thankfully, first period is uneventful. I have PE second period, so I’ll be outdoors, burning up the energy I would have otherwise dedicated to overthinking Matched!

  The morning sun is hot on my shoulders, and it feels good to get fresh air. Running a mile is not my favorite activity, but it has its perks. No phones, for one.

  I still can’t believe Aiden is one of my matches. I wonder what he’ll think when he finds out. Thinking about him makes me grin—that slow grin, the way he can talk about art for hours. The way the blue seal is a perfect fit—playful, sweet, and smart.

  Will he guess the silver unicorn is me?

  I’m so in my head, I don’t notice when a tall boy starts running alongside me. Then he pulls ahead slightly, faces me, and starts running backward. What the…?

  It’s Suraj. And he’s smiling at me.

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Which is a problem when you’re doing an oxygen-intensive activity like running. Or living. My feet stumble and he catches me. Old clumsy Simi is trying to make a comeback.

  “Hey, I’m Suraj,” he says.

  I know, I think. I’ve seen him in second-period gym a few times before.

  “Simran,” I say. “Simi.”

  He’s barely broken a sweat, so it’s obvious he’s sort of athletic. Maybe not a complete robotics nerd like my brother. He isn’t wearing his glasses. I guess you don’t wear glasses if you’re running? I have no freaking idea. His hair flops onto his forehead with each step. It’s kind of cute.

  “You’re fast,” he says.

  “You call this fast? Running sucks. I only like to do it when my dog, Sweetie, is chasing me.” True. All this is true. I’m not babbling. Not at all.

  “Ha. That’s funny,” he says.

  “So… Suraj,” I say. “To match your sunny disposition?”

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  I cringe. Ugh! I’m so not funny. Next time I try to reboot my personality and my life, I’ll work on humor.

  He laughs, though. Slow at first, then a full chuckle.

  He grins. “Where’s your friend today?”

  “Noah?” I wipe my face with my wristband. “He has a bad sunburn and can’t be outdoors for more than ten minutes. They let him run the mile on a treadmill.”

  “You guys are tight?”

  “Friends since kindergarten,” I say. “Practically brother and sister.”

  “Your actual brother is president of the robotics club, right?”

  “That’s Navdeep. King of the nerds.”

  Suraj grins. “Hey, I’m a nerd. You’re not into robotics?”

  “Not even if you paid me!”

  Up ahead someone—I think it’s Bela Sharma—stumbles and collapses. She hates running even more than I do, but she’s never fallen before.

  “Oh my God, look!” I say.

  Some runners check on her.

  Suraj stops, and I smack straight into him.

  “Ooof!” He absorbs the impact and steadies me, both hands on my shoulders, with my arms wrapped around his waist. We’re breathing hard and still holding on to each other. Kids run past us on both sides. One whistles. My stomach does a flip-flop. Embarrassment tangles with excitement.

  “Oops!” I detangle myself from Suraj, my face burning. Why am I such a klutz? This isn’t the New Me.

  “No problem. You okay?”

  “Yup, fine!” I say, jogging in place. Can this please be over?

  Maybe he can see what I’m thinking, because he launches into an apology.

  “I’m sorry.… I didn’t mean to… My fault totally…”

  “It’s okay,” I huff out.

  He decides to cut his losses and run. Literally.

  “Nice chatting with you, Simi!” he calls over his shoulder.

  He vanishes into a herd made up mostly of the track team.

  I’m left trying to catch my breath, watching Bela limp off the track.

  I push through the gym doors, looking for Noah, dying to tell him about what just happened. I round the corner, cutting under the gymnasium seats, even though we’re not supposed to.

  I spot Aiden running on an elliptical machine. He gives me a nod and a crooked grin. After my run-in with Suraj, I’m all out of energy. I wish I could just run straight past him without saying hello, but our high matched score flashes in my head, and he keeps smiling at me like he wants me to stop and say something.

  I was able to avoid him in art first period, too amped up about the fact that he and I are such a strong match.

  So I attempt to lean against the empty machine next to his and say hello, but I’m still sweaty from my run and I nearly slide to the ground. I stand up—real smooth, Simi—and give him a flirty smile. “How’d you get out of running on the track?”

  “Sweet-talked Mr. Tate,” he says shamelessly. “It’s hot out there!”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” I say, gesturing to my damp hairline.

  Aiden grins. “I like your hair like that—the curls are cute.”

  Umm. Holy crap. I’m melting—but in the best way. Did he just say that?

  “Next time, I’ll try to get Tate to let you hang out on the ellipticals with me,” he says. “If you want.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He points at the mehendi design on my ankle. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

  “Nanima—my grandmother. She taught me when I was little, when she was visiting from India. I’ve been obsessed ever since.”

  “I like it—it’s kind of like tagging, but instead of spray paint, you use henna.”

  “Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I’ve never thought of it like that, but you’re right. I can show you how to do it sometime, if you want. You know, after school or whatever.”

  I can’t believe that last sentence just fell out of my mouth.

  Did I just ask Aiden, my crush, to hang out after school? Is this a date? What’s happening? Who am I right now?

  Is he nodding and saying yes?

  “That’d be cool,” he says, blotting his forehead with a gym towel. It’s so unfair that boys can pull off the whole winded-and-sweaty PE aesthetic. Just when I think this conversation can’t get any more surreal, he adds, “Hey, what about that app, though? Have you taken the quiz?”

  “I… have. What about you?


  “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to see who I’m matched with.”

  “Same. Any guesses?”

  He gives me the world’s most charming smile. “Not so much guesses as wishes.”

  Okay. I can’t be sure—because this all feels way too good to be true—but I think he’s hinting that he’d be okay with me as a match. Maybe. I’m so not good at this decoding-boy-behavior thing.

  I feel like I’m filled with actual helium.

  Aiden punches a few elliptical buttons, and the machine slows so he can cool down.

  I wave and head toward the treadmills, where Noah has just finished. He’s standing awkwardly, wiping sweat from his brow as he watches someone across the gym.

  My pulse slows its Aiden-induced sprint as I crane to see who has him all pink under his tinted moisturizer.

  Connor from California.

  He’s walking through the gym like a god. Jet-black hair, light brown skin, sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos that mark his arms—wow. I wonder if they’re all real. He hesitates when he passes Noah. Like he might say something.

  Noah glances over his shoulder and catches my eye.

  I raise an eyebrow. Say hi! He’s right there!

  Noah steps forward.

  “Hi, Connor,” he says, and it sounds like the squeak a mouse makes when it’s stepped on.

  Uff. I do a mental face-palm for the both of us. But at least it’s a start.

  Connor takes out his earbuds and smiles. “Hey, Noah. See you in chemistry later.” He heads to the changing rooms.

  Noah flushes.

  “Um, that was smooth,” I say, handing him a water bottle. “You have chemistry with Connor, too? Get it… chemistry?”

  “He’s my lab partner,” Noah says, not laughing at my joke.

  “He really is cute.”

  Noah looks away. “So?”

  “So what do you think? Is he one of your matches?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “Why?” I push. “You still haven’t told me your matches.”

  “I will when I’m ready, okay? Like not everyone is out, and I don’t think it’s cool for me to out them to you. Even if we’re the ones behind this whole thing.”

  His words burn. “But we’re going to be matching other LGBTQIA+ couples. I’ve already seen some in the results.”

  “Just stop pushing me, okay?” He looks away.

  “But… okay…” I try not to cry. I’m so not a crier, but he and I never fight. We might fuss or bicker, but never like this.

  He takes my hand. “Saw you talking to Aiden.”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. He’s impossible to stay upset with. I should stop wishing that he’d just tell me. I should respect what he said and give him space. But it all makes me feel like there’s a wedge between us now. A secret.

  Noah smiles. “Definitely a win.”

  “Also, I talked to Suraj. I was running the mile outside and he caught up—he may have been on his second lap, come to think of it—and started talking to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much, because right after, we… collided.”

  “Collided? How?”

  “My fault. As usual. But anyway, it was awkward and he apologized and ran off.”

  “Next time, try not to be such a klutz?”

  “I’ve been a klutz all my life,” I say glumly. “Too late now, especially because I’m so distracted.”

  Noah laughs. “Uh-oh. Watch out, Mayfield! Things are about to get broken.”

  The shenanigans start at lunch.

  Rohan jumps up on a bench and announces his icon. “I am a red dog,” he says with a flourish. He eyes Priya. “What’s your icon, Priya?”

  She frowns. “Not saying. And anyway, why do you want to know?”

  “Because when I get my matches, I want to know if one could be you,” Rohan says.

  “We won’t get matches till the end of the week.”

  From halfway across the cafeteria, Rohan rounds on me, calling out, “Is that true, Simi?”

  I nearly choke on my sandwich. “Why’re you asking me?”

  “Because you’re the matchmaker!”

  I shoot Noah a surprised look before asking Rohan, “Who told you that?”

  “Oh, come on! Your family runs a matchmaking company. You guys found my cousin a husband even though she’s like forty. All the aunties love you guys. So any idiot can do the math. What I don’t get is why you wouldn’t take credit.”

  I fold my arms. “A matchmaker should be inconspicuous. It’s not her job to insert herself in the matches she creates.”

  Rohan’s face lights up. “So it is you!”

  Thanks to Rohan, everyone in the cafeteria is staring at me, their phones and friends forgotten, their expressions awed and a little anxious. My heart beats against my ribs; in all my life, I’ve never had all these eyes on me.

  Beside me, Noah’s beaming—all but affirming Rohan’s claim.

  Well. We’re not wallflowers anymore.

  RIP, anonymity.

  chapter thirteen

  Welcome, welcome, Sat Sri Akal!” Dad has put on his best turban and brushed out his neat salt-and-pepper beard for the dinner Mom’s hosting for Jolly and his family.

  Masi’s place is still being painted and most of the furniture has yet to be delivered (though Jolly’s working on it!), so we get to host the Singhs, the Sanghas, and the Bhullars. Mom and Masi took the day off to cook and clean the house. Spicy wafts of cumin, cardamom, and cinnamon scent the air, warm and inviting. Sweetie has even been to the groomer and come back all fluffy, wearing a pink bow.

  There are more people than I expected, since Jolly’s youngest masi just moved to New Jersey and brought her family, too. Preet has been going on about how the masi’s son, Jolly’s cousin, is “wicked smart,” which is not a term I’ve ever heard her use before.

  Everyone settles into the living room for introductions. Jolly’s all smiles. He’s wearing a white kurta with jeans and a black leather waistcoat, which manages to look both respectfully Desi and a bit edgy. Preet is in full kudi Punjabi mode with a chiffon salwar kameez in a delicate lilac-and-silver pattern. They’ve been seeing each other since that day in the furniture store and look relaxed and comfortable. “There’s someone I’d like you and Navdeep to meet,” Jolly says to my brother and me. “This is my cousin Suraj.”

  It takes me a second to realize that the person he’s introducing is the Suraj. Suraj Singh. From school. He’s wearing his trademark hipster glasses and a blue kurta over jeans. My smile freezes on my face, but he doesn’t look surprised.

  “We’ve met,” Suraj says to Jolly.

  “I thought you might have run into each other at school,” Preet says.

  “Yeah, literally,” I say, keeping a straight face even when Suraj chokes down a snort of laughter.

  Navdeep nods at Suraj. “Why didn’t you mention Jolly?”

  “I had no idea,” Suraj says.

  Seriously. Smallest world ever.

  “Dude, is that your FTC team coach?” Navdeep asks, pointing at Jolly’s masi.

  “Yeah, Mom’s the engineer in the family,” Suraj says. “She loves helping out with FTC.”

  “I’ve seen her before, but I didn’t realize you were related,” Navdeep says. “My cousin Geet—Preet’s sister—is our coach.”

  “No way,” Suraj says. “Is she here? We should introduce them before they clash.”

  “Too late,” I say, pointing across the room to where Geet, who looks sleek in a red sheath dress, is talking with Suraj’s mom. Given that my father is a physician who needs help setting up the Wi-Fi, and Mom is a matchmaker, it’s a good thing a tech brainiac like Geet was around to help Navdeep and coach the robotics team.

  Seriously, though, where was I when they were handing out the Science Goddess genes to Punjabi women?

  Navdeep and Suraj fist-bump. “Here’s to being on the same t
eam,” Navdeep says. “Let me get you a drink. Mango lassi okay?”

  Suraj nods and turns to me when my brother leaves. He’s looking at me and my stomach gets all squishy and weird. I adjust the pretty sky-blue salwar kameez Nanima brought me from India and I wonder if he can see the wrinkles.

  “So, you’re Jolly’s ‘wicked smart’ cousin,” I say, using air quotes.

  “In the flesh,” he says. “And you’re Preet’s artsy cousin.”

  I do a silly little curtsy while he runs a hand self-consciously over his head. Looks like he’s still getting used to the sensation of short hair. “New haircut?”

  “Kinda, yeah. Still feels weird, not wearing a turban.”

  “Did people give you a hard time at school or something?” Some kids get bullied because of their turbans.

  “Oh no. The long hair was just annoying, no offense. All the washing, combing, and tying… It was too much effort. For me, that is.”

  “And your parents let you cut it?”

  “Sure,” he says, glancing over at them. His dad has a turban, like my dad’s. “They’re pretty laid-back. They explained why it’s important to them, then left it up to me.”

  His parents sound cool. “Your father’s a doctor?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Yours, too, I heard.”

  “Yeah. He’s very disappointed that Navdeep is a total techie.”

  “Same!” Suraj says, and laughs. “At least I haven’t disappointed my mom. Yet!”

  “How do you like Mayfield?”

  “I mean, I miss my friends, but other than that I really like it. I don’t have to wear a uniform, for one thing. And it’s huge compared to my old school. There were only sixty kids in my grade, and they were all boys. Here it’s so diverse. And there are clubs I didn’t know existed, like Intersectional Feminism.”

  “Are you thinking about joining Inter-Fem?” It’s funny to see him all excited about things that seem completely normal to me.

  “Would they let me? I mean, I think it’d be interesting to get a female point of view. I don’t have any sisters, and I went to an all-boys’ school. I probably need some help talking to girls.”

 

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