Aiden smiles. “You can waste my paint anytime.”
“In that case.” I shake a can of paint and point it at him. “Maybe I will.”
“Ooooh no.” He shakes his head.
“Ooooh yes,” I say. But instead of spraying him with paint, I grab my bottle of water and squirt him with it. The stream catches him on the chest and face, soaking his curls.
“Hey, that feels good,” he says. “You should try it… with a hose.” He dashes toward the porch, grabs the garden hose, and cranks it on.
“No!” I run across the grass laughing while Aiden chases me with the hose. Using my water bottle, I retaliate as best I can. Even Rex jumps up to join in the fun. A few minutes later, we’re all soaking wet and gasping for breath.
“I think the app was right,” Aiden says as we sit on the lawn, letting the sun warm us up. He leans close, picking a blade of grass from my hair, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. But Rex jumps between us, licking Aiden’s face, then mine, until we’re rolling in the grass, laughing again.
It’s the best afternoon I’ve had in forever.
“How was it?” Noah asks the following day. We’re at the mall, checking out a new makeup line he’s been researching before we’re due to meet up with Teá. Every so often, he turns to look at me like I’ve grown horns. Like he expects me to be different. I want to tell him that I’ll spill about Aiden if he tells me who he matched with but I don’t. I know I could force Navdeep to tell me, but even the thought sends a hot wave of guilt through me.
“So. Much. Fun!” I say. “We tagged but, like, legally. I think paint is going to live under my fingernails forever, even though I had two showers after. And get this—he invited me to go to ’Burban with him on Friday.”
“Oh, yeah,” Noah says. “I’ve heard he and the popular kids go there a lot.”
“He told me it’s his friends’ tradition: pigging out on sweets every Friday night. You know, as a way to start the weekend.”
I don’t mention that I’m nervous about it. Not because I’ll be hanging out with Aiden—I know now that he and I have fun together—but because his friends aren’t exactly my friends. They’re on another level, socially, is the truth of it. I like hanging out at ’Burban, our local coffee and dessert café, but with Noah. I’m not sure where I’ll fit in with Aiden and his group.
“Whoa,” Noah says. “Two dates in less than a week, and one with his friends? You’re moving up in the world, Simi. I’m kind of jealous.”
I roll my eyes.
“You have your matches. How’s it going with that?”
He flinches. “Fine.”
“What does fine mean?”
“Like fineeee. I’m figuring out who I like the most.”
“So, you’re like chatting?”
“Yeah.”
“When did you start?”
“Questions much?”
I bite my bottom lip. He’d usually gush about it all and tell me everything he liked about each guy. He’s all about the details.
“Just want to keep it to myself. I’ve been on other apps before and—”
“You what? You have?” My eyes feel like they’re going to fall right out of my face.
“Yeah, just to chat. There are so few out kids at our school.”
“But…”
He then starts rambling about this and that, and pulling out more makeup for me to try.
Aren’t best friends supposed to share everything?
“Tell me more about the project you two worked on yesterday.”
“It was street art, on a big board. Aiden’s a genius with a can of spray paint. It was weird trying to supersize mehendi designs,” I say, playing with a bright purple eye shadow. “But in a good way. A creative stretch.”
Noah hands me a rosy gold shadow instead. It’s gorgeous. “Did you like enormous mehendi better than regular mehendi?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, rubbing some on my hand to check out the effect. “There’s something special about the way traditional mehendi is so organic. You know?”
“Get that one, for sure. And yeah, I think I do,” Noah says. “The stain looks different on each person’s skin. Just like makeup.”
“Exactly. You don’t get that with the white henna I tried, either. It’s just paint and it looks exactly the same every time.… The mehendi always turns out unique. Something to do with pH. The problem with using it as an art medium is that it fades, so it’s temporary. I think whatever I come up with for my signature project has to be permanent.”
“You could take pictures of your mehendi designs,” Noah says as we head toward the checkout. “The photograph could count as your project, right?”
“But I’m an artist, not a photographer,” I say, trying to take frustration out of my voice.
Noah shrugs. “You’ll figure it out, Simi.”
“I hope so. I’m running out of time for my signature project.”
“But you’ve been busy with the app. Speaking of which—Teá’s in half an hour, right?”
“Yeah. Let’s hope we can convince her to go along with the Woofstock charity soccer match. Your idea was great!”
“I think she’ll do it for the dogs,” Noah says as the cashier rings up our purchases—the eye shadow for me, and a whole basket of stuff for him.
“And we can tell her Ethan’s helping us organize it because he loves dogs, too,” I say. “That might help push her toward giving him another chance.”
“Worth a shot,” Noah says.
“So you bailed,” I say, pushing a mocha toward Teá.
We decided to meet at the coffee shop in Teá’s neighborhood because Noah suggested she might be more comfortable. I think he was right.
“Yeah, I’m sorry—it all happened so fast. I’ve seen that boy on the soccer field. What’s his name?”
“Ethan Pérez,” Noah says, and I can’t help chuckling.
“What?” Teá asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s just that everyone at Mayfield knows Ethan’s name.”
“I’m mostly trying to remember my teachers’ names,” Teá says, sounding apologetic. “I can’t keep track of every kid.”
“Sure, that’s understandable,” Noah says. “You just got here.”
“So Ethan,” Teá says after a sip of her mocha. “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? I’ve seen him with that brunette girl and her friends.”
“Amanda Taylor,” I say. “They went out last year. And yes, she still hangs around him, but they’re definitely not a thing. Ethan’s not interested, and he’s made that pretty clear.”
“Maybe, but if they have history, I don’t know.… She doesn’t seem like someone to be messed with. And besides…”
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not really the type to date the hottest guy in school, especially when there’s already someone in the picture. It’s just not me. I have so much to deal with right now. School, practice, matches, tests, homework. I don’t have time for drama. I may not have known Ethan’s name, but I know he is popular. We’re too different.”
I reach out to squeeze her hand, like I’ve seen Mom do with her clients. “There’s nothing wrong with Ethan being popular and you being new. The fact that you have different friends shouldn’t stop you from hanging out. If you’d have been here last year, I bet you’d be popular like him. You’re both like the best soccer players in the whole school.” I pause and smile. I finish with, “Really, Teá. Ethan’s a great guy.”
“I believe you,” Teá says.
“What if we could figure out a way for you and Ethan to hang out that’s a little more normal?” Noah asks. “Somewhere without the pressure?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Would you be cool with that?”
Teá smiles shyly. She’s considering, and I’m excited. If Noah and I can see her and Ethan’s match through even after their rough start, we’ll be able to consider our app—and ourselves—successful.
“Okay,” Te
á says. “I’m open to getting to know Ethan.”
The next day at school, I’m flying high. Not only did Teá agree to try again with Ethan, but this morning, Ethan, Noah, and I met with Principal Pinter and convinced her that Mayfield High’s involvement in Woofstock is a fantastic idea. She was supportive of our community helping a local organization, especially one that has a connection with so many families in our student body. She okayed the charity soccer tournament, and right after, Ethan got the soccer teams and their coaches, Mr. and Mrs. Nunez, on board.
Everything’s falling into place!
“We made the school paper again,” Noah tells me when I join him for lunch in the cafeteria, this time at a table near the gym exit. As soon as we were outed as Matched!’s creators, people began swarming our old table, some wanting to know the ins and outs of the app, but most wanting the lowdown on who their top matches are. We’ve taken to moving to a new table each day, the only chance we have to talk in private, at least until we’re spotted. He waves the Mayfield Mirror in my face. “It’s an actual review!”
“Are you serious?” I set my tray down, then spend a minute gently turning down a few classmates who’ve come requesting mehendi designs. Once they’re gone, I say to Noah, “Will you read what it says?”
“Hot and Trending,” he says in a mock newscaster voice. “The Matched! app is full of awesome! When the post announcing the app first appeared on the Mayfield Secrets page, people were intrigued.” Noah looks at me and grins, then continues. “But now the app has become a sensation. Created by Mayfield’s own Simran and Navdeep Sangha and Noah Siegal, it’s Match.com meets Harry Potter.”
“Go on!” I say, enjoying every line.
“Most of Mayfield’s students have been analyzed by the app—like a twenty-first-century sorting hat—and discovered their unique Match Icon, an indicator of each user’s personality. Match Icons are appearing all over school. Are you an owl, a hawk, or a seal? And who’s your perfect match? Mayfield High students say they’re having a blast connecting with others.”
“It’s a glowing review!”
“Wait, there’s more,” Noah says. “There was a rumor that the app might have been a beta test by a famous software company, or a well-funded startup, but our investigation confirms that it’s a Mayfield High student-run program that’s full of awesome!”
“Full of awesome!” I beam at Noah.
“You read the rest,” he says, and I take the sheet of newsprint from him.
“But what’s next from the Matched! app? Rumor has it that the app’s creators—the Sangha sibs and Noah—have been hard at work pairing users up in the school library.”
I stop reading—oops. Principal Pinter’s not going to like this. She made it clear that she didn’t want students using the app during school hours, and now the fact that Noah and I are setting couples up on school grounds has been published in the paper.
This could mean trouble.
Noah looks worried. “I think we need to talk to Ankit about this. He’s editor in chief, and we have to get ahead of the news—especially with Woofstock coming up.”
“But he’s all about breaking stories.” I pause to wave at Jassi and Priya, who are passing by, watching Noah and me with curious expressions. I lower my voice, not wanting to add fuel to the gossip fire. “I’m not sure he’ll cooperate.”
“Word is that Maya Ramachandran and Ankit like each other because of Matched!,” Noah says. “I’d say he owes us.”
He’s right. Ankit owes us. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe we can promise him a Woofstock exclusive.”
The Mayfield Mirror must be having its best circulation day in history. Seems like everyone in the cafeteria has a copy. I page through the one I snagged from Noah. “What else is in here?” I ask. “It can’t just be the Matched! review selling out the paper.”
He flips back a page and points: Student Council Proposes a Student Dress Code Review. “They’re suggesting all visible tattoos be banned, including temporary tattoos.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s got to be Amanda’s doing.” She was recently elected class president, and she’s been suggesting the most ridiculous policy changes.
“Do you think mehendi will count?” Noah asks.
“I think it annoys her that people ask me for tattoos now. Between mehendi and Matched!, I think she’s decided I’m getting too much attention. She doesn’t like it when others snatch the limelight away from her—especially me. But a tattoo ban will never fly. The Inter-Fem Club alone will flatten it.”
Speaking of the Inter-Fems—they’re walking toward our table.
“Did you see the thing in the paper about tattoos?” Amy demands.
“We’re requesting a meeting with Pinter,” Sophia says. “The cheerleaders don’t like the idea, either, so they’re coming along. I mean, what’s wrong with temporary tattoos? Or permanent tattoos. Doesn’t that new kid from California have a bunch?”
“Connor has one tattoo,” Noah clarifies. “A little pug. He only got it to remember his dog when she passed away. The rest are temp.”
“How do you know that?” I ask Noah, eyeing him.
He brushes away my question like it’s a nagging fly, and says, “It’s not fair.”
“Who is Amanda to make the rules for the rest of us?” Sophia yells. “This is a free country and a free school. Who’s with me?”
“We are!” Noah and I shout along with everyone else in earshot.
chapter nineteen
Simi, it’s beautiful,” Noah says a while later.
I stare at the black sheet of construction paper in front of me on the kitchen table. It’s covered in a floral design I made with white henna I had left over. It’s not bad, but it’s kinda one-dimensional, not like traditional mehendi.
I shrug. “It’s too flat and”—I curl my hands into fists—“artificial looking. It’s just paint, you know?”
Navdeep wanders into the kitchen. He’s been studying, but now he’s rooting through the fridge for a snack. “What’s she going on about?”
“She likes organic henna better,” Noah explains. “Right, Simi?”
“Definitely. But I can spray white henna with a sealant, and it becomes permanent. The organic henna bleeds and blots on paper or canvas, and I can’t spray the dried paste on, either.… It’ll just look gross.”
“You should talk to Suraj,” Navdeep says. “He’s researching mehendi for an AP Chem project. I’ll text you his number.”
“I can’t call him!” That would be so awkward.
“Fine, I’ll tell him to call you,” Navdeep says, tapping out a text.
“Don’t you dare!” I warn.
“Too late,” Navdeep says. “You’ll thank me later. That guy has become the king of henna.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask Noah after Navdeep leaves with an apple and a box of crackers.
“You’re about to find out,” Noah says.
“Do you think Suraj knows that I hung out at Aiden’s house?” I ask. “And that we’re going to ’Burban tomorrow?”
Noah laughs. “I guess you’ll find out about that, too. You know I think he’s way hotter than Aiden, right?”
“Aiden’s fine!” I say.
“But Suraj is practically perfect.”
“That’s the problem,” I point out. “You know, that’s exactly what my mom would think. Suraj is perfect for the same reasons that a career as a matchmaker is perfect. It’s exactly what everyone expects.”
“Hey, don’t hold that against him,” Noah says.
My phone rings, startling me.
Noah leaps out of his chair, hopping up and down, biting his fist so he doesn’t give himself away. I compose myself and answer. No big deal, right?
“Hey, Suraj.”
“Hey, Simi. Navdeep says you need help with henna?”
Noah grins. I frown.
“I’m trying to use it for an art project, but not on skin or hair. I want to do something more permane
nt on a traditional art surface, like paper or canvas. Navdeep said you’ve looked into henna for a chemistry project and you might have some info.”
“Yeah! It’s really interesting. Paper didn’t work for me, either, unless it was really dense. Have you tried wood?”
Wood—huh. “I haven’t.”
“For my experiment, I used balsa wood. Tried different ingredients to see what produces a stronger dye stain. Acid base works best with the lawsone stain.”
“Um… what?”
“Lawsone? The hennotannic acid is also known as lawsone.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me now.”
“Maybe we should meet up. It’ll be easier to explain. Do you want to come over?”
“Sure.”
“Wait, what?” Noah says when I hang up.
“He wants to meet up,” I say. My phone buzzes with a text from Suraj—his address. My heart is doing this weird flip-flop thing.
Noah gathers my materials and pushes me toward the door. “We better get going.”
I stop short and shake my head. “I better get going. And you better get going, too. You know—to your house.”
He grins. “It was worth a shot.”
Suraj’s home is huge. Like four thousand square feet for three whole people? That’s really extra. We have two kids, a dog, and a home business, and our house is still smaller than this. Suraj is in sweatpants and a hoodie—not so preppy today. His eyes sparkle through hipster glasses he doesn’t wear at school as he takes my jacket. We settle on the backyard deck, where the afternoon sun casts a warm glow.
Suraj’s mom is excited to have me over. I can tell because she keeps popping outside with snacks and smiles.
“You want pakore?”
“You need more mango lassis?”
“You probably should turn the lights on out there.”
He sighs every time, and I laugh.
She hovers almost as much as my mom.
Suraj is taking his mehendi project seriously. He has a bunch of wood pieces taped to a poster board. “Okay, so here are some samples of henna pastes I tried. This one is henna powder with water and oil. This one also has lemon juice. And this final one has black tea instead of lemon juice.”
A Match Made in Mehendi Page 12