Everyone scatters to their workstations, and the room goes quiet with concentration. But I can’t focus, because my stomach is all twisty. I should have said something. Anything. A Simi who doesn’t speak up when it’s important is not the Simi I want to be. But Aiden can’t have meant anything by what he’s done. Maybe he doesn’t realize that it’s wrong to take sole credit for the piece when I played a part in its creation.
I’ll talk to him later.
But… I can’t stop thinking about it. I keep expecting him to come by my workstation with an apology. Or an explanation. Something.
He doesn’t. The minutes tick by.
He works.
My classmates work.
I keep trying to catch Aiden’s eye, but he’s studiously focused on his piece, avoiding my gaze. If I don’t say something, though, I’ll burst. So I walk to the supply cabinet next to his workspace, hovering and rummaging through the paints, giving him the opportunity. To do something. Say something. Fix it.
“Aiden,” I whisper-shout, and he looks up, like he’s been in a daze, and grins. He gives me a thumbs-up, like we’re on the same team and just won or something. But we’re not on the same team. Not if he’s claiming my work as his own. “Are you gonna tell her?”
“Tell her? Who? What?” He feigns confusion so well. Like he’s had a lot of practice playing dumb. His eyes are crinkling now, the way that usually makes me melt. But right now, all I feel is fire. “It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Because you and I made it together. It’s my work just as much as it’s yours.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, Simi. It became my work the minute it hit my canvas. What do they call it? Found media?”
“They call it bullshit. Are you gonna tell her or am I?”
He shrugs again, like it doesn’t affect him either way. “Do what you have to do. I thought you’d be proud to share a canvas with me.”
“Proud?” I’m so stunned I’m speechless. But if I don’t do something now, he’ll get away with it. And from the smirk on his face, I think he’s kind of counting on that.
I stew. After painting together, laughing together, in his yard… After ’Burban and the kiss… I have a lot of fun with you, he said. And yeah, I have fun with him, too—at least, I did.
Now I feel used.
I feel betrayed.
I can’t take it anymore—I approach Ms. Furst’s desk. “The henna motifs on that piece are my work,” I say, my words coming out soft, rushed, and awkward.
She looks up from her computer. “Do you mean that you showed him how to do the technique?”
“No,” I whisper. “That’s not what I mean.”
She frowns. “Are you telling me that you did some of the work on Aiden’s piece, Simi?”
She doesn’t have what you would call an inside voice. Everyone hears her.
I nod.
She turns to Aiden. “Is that right, Aiden?”
He gives me a reproachful look, but I boldly hold his gaze. If anyone should be ashamed, it’s him.
“Well,” Ms. Furst says, taking Aiden’s silence as confirmation. “It’s beautiful work, but it can’t be on your signature project, Aiden, because it wasn’t completed by you alone. And in the future, please tell me when a piece is a collaboration. Am I clear on that, everyone?”
“Yes, Ms. Furst,” the class choruses.
“And well done, Simi,” Ms. Furst says. “Your mehendi brings something special to the piece.”
“Thank you, Ms. Furst.”
I walk back to my work space.
I’m glad I said something, but I don’t feel better.
And Aiden doesn’t quit shooting me looks of reprimand—like I’m the one who did something wrong.
I don’t draw or paint anything for what’s left of the period.
“What a jerk!” I say, spooning a big helping of choco-lava ice cream into my mouth. Noah and I decided to stop at ’Burban on the way home. It’s therapeutic—the ice cream, and the newer, better memories I’m making within the walls of this café.
“What a loser!” Noah says. “That whole edgy urban vibe? It’s an act. All of it. He was teeing off at the golf club in a pastel whale shirt last weekend. Marcus told me.”
“His parents probably made him,” I say. “Anyway, I didn’t like him just because he’s an artist. I thought he was cute. And talented. And, you know, a nice guy.”
“He definitely isn’t that,” Noah says.
“I feel like such a moron.”
“You shouldn’t,” Noah says. “If anyone should feel bad about themselves, it’s him.”
“You’re right,” I say, drawing my shoulders back. “He totally tried to steal my work. And I almost let him get away with it. Imagine being so very mediocre and so very entitled. I can’t believe I liked him.” My cheeks are all hot again, and I can feel the tears building. But I won’t cry about this. About that ass.
“You know who’s so not a white male entitled jerk?” I raise a brow at Noah, who’s grinning. “Suraj.”
“True.”
“And Suraj is nice.”
“He definitely is,” I say. I can’t help but smile. “He also gets excited about things like the chemistry of mehendi.”
“Whatever. It’s cool to be yourself,” Noah reminds me. “It’s cool to take ownership of your interests and your talents. You did that in art today, Simi.”
“Thanks,” I say, beyond thankful for my best friend. “RIP, my first match, huh?”
“Good riddance,” Noah says. “On to better possibilities!”
At home, I log in to Matched! as an admin and delete my profiles—both my admin and my personal matching ones. It’s not that I don’t believe in the app—I totally do. I’m just not sure it’s right for me. After, I sit in the kitchen with Mom and a plate of hot onion pakore.
“Hey, Mom? When I went over to Aiden’s last week…”
She eyes me curiously. “Yes?”
“It was sort of a date.”
I stop chewing my pakora. Mom stops sipping her chai. It’s so quiet I can hear Sweetie yap out little barks in her sleep as she lies on her blanket by the sofa.
“How was it a date?”
“He asked me over not as a friend.”
“But you just painted, right?”
“Right. But then we went to ’Burban on Friday night.”
“And…?”
“We had dessert. It was no big deal, actually. I just wanted you to know.”
She raises her cup of chai, inhaling its steam. “Okay. Will you go out again?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t like something he did in school.”
Her hands grip her chai cup a little too tightly, I notice.
“Oh? What was that?”
“He took credit for some of the painting I did on his signature art project. So I told the teacher that it was my work.”
“Good. You did the right thing.”
“Yeah.”
“It must have been hard.”
“It was.”
She smiles. Pride shines in her eyes. “Your cup is empty. You want some more chai?”
“I’d love some.”
chapter twenty-two
Simi and Noah,
I know lots of people have had good matches, but it turns out all five of my top matches are weak. It makes no sense! I’m perfect for Ethan Pérez. We’ve dated before and we’re meant to be. Why haven’t we been matched yet? There must be something wrong with your system. Let me know when to expect my intro.
Thanks.
Amanda Taylor
Simi and Noah,
I’m disappointed that I haven’t heard back from you. What kind of service is this? I should have been the first person to have strong matches and I don’t even have one.
This is completely unacceptable!
Amanda Taylor
Simi and Noah,
Is there a way to strengthen a match? I
can pay any fees for my choice of match: Ethan Pérez. This could be a good chance to make money for your company. Please respond ASAP!
Amanda Taylor
Simi and Noah,
I demand to know why I still don’t have any strong matches or introductions, and why no one is responding to my complaints! Honestly, does anyone even check these messages?
Amanda Taylor
Simi and Noah,
I’ve found out from friends of friends that Ethan has taken the quiz!
The app should have matched us right away. Why are other people getting matched when popular people like me are not? Is this a sick joke?
Amanda Taylor
I guess it doesn’t matter if I want to quit the app. Because apparently it won’t quit me. And now Amanda’s stalking it. And us. I can’t make Noah deal with this solo.
“She’s spamming the app!” Noah says. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Amanda is ridiculous,” I say. “Why’s she trying to force what isn’t there? She’s changed her quiz answers twice, and none of them have come close to even a weak match with Ethan. Navdeep should ban her from the app.”
“What about when she finds out about Ethan and Teá? If things go well between them at Woofstock, that’ll happen sooner than later,” Noah says.
“Then she’ll finally have to learn that sometimes you don’t get everything you want.”
Most matches are going off without a hitch. But there are a few problem ones.
Kiran and Marcus are a problem match. They’ve been talking virtually, but getting together IRL has been a no-go so far. Kiran doesn’t want to go out in public with Marcus.
Because what if someone Desi saw them?
“I’m not telling my mom about this,” Kiran squeaks. Noah and I are visiting her at her house, trying to get a read on why she’s being so secretive about Marcus. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Why’d you take the quiz anyway?” I can’t help asking.
“Are you kidding me?” She grins. “Total peer pressure. How could I not?” She looks down at her hands. “And I wanted to. I’m curious. I want to be like every other fifteen-year-old out there. Hang out, have crushes, maybe get kissed.”
I get it. I do. But if my mom was as old school as Kiran’s, I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do it.
I raise an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Okay, well, here’s your chance.” If it works out. “Why don’t you go out and see if you guys hit it off in person? Then you can figure out next steps if you need to.”
We convince Jassi, who has her driver’s license, to give Kiran, Noah, and me a ride to the mall. Marcus will meet us there. Noah and I will stick around at Kiran’s request, in case she runs into someone who knows her parents. “You guys can be our lookouts,” she says.
At the mall, Noah and I sit in the food court and keep an eye out for anyone Kiran might know while she and Marcus grab drinks and snacks at the juice bar a few stores down.
I don’t see anyone from Kiran’s and my combined circle of friends and family who will be a problem, but it’s not long before I spot Suraj. “Hey, Simi!”
Noah pokes me with his elbow. He’s grinning, but there’s something uncertain about his expression, too. I thought he liked Suraj?
“Suraj, hey,” I say, still keeping an eye out for Desis who might interrupt Kiran and Marcus.
“Would you like a bubble tea?” he says. He glances around. “I mean—unless you’re meeting someone?”
“I’m not,” I say, giving him my full attention. Hopefully Noah will pick up the surveillance slack.
“Oh, because I heard about you and Aiden.” Suraj rakes a hand through his hair. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“It’s fine. Aiden and I are… friends. Maybe not even that anymore.”
Suraj’s lips twitch. “Oh, yeah? Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” I say, shaking my head.
His small smile becomes a big grin. “So if you’re not meeting anyone, what are you guys up to?”
“Kiran and Marcus,” Noah says. “They were matched through the app.”
“Wow. I don’t know Kiran, but she seems cool.”
“She is,” I say. “But her parents are old-school, so she doesn’t want them to know about Marcus because he’s not Desi, so…”
“You guys are on lookout duty,” Suraj says. “Got it. So you’re probably really in need of a bubble tea, then.”
I smile. “Lychee, please. With boba.”
“Noah?”
“I’m good. Thanks, though.”
As Suraj walks away, my phone buzzes with a text from Kiran. She’s sent a cute picture of Marcus and her, both holding plastic cups full of fancy gourmet juice.
It’s not long before Suraj returns with two teas. He hands me one. “I’ve got to run—I’m meeting my mom at the movie theater—but how’s the surveillance going?”
“Good,” I say. “And thank you—I owe you money for this tea.”
“We can square later,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I smile at his retreating back. He’s cuter than Aiden. He’s got an interest in mehendi—a scientific interest, but that’s still cool. And he bought me my favorite boba. So what if he’s “expected.” I’m starting to think maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.
He turns around and catches me looking—making me spill a dribble of tea.
Same old Simi.
He laughs good-naturedly, then waves before turning back. My heart does a happy dance.
It doesn’t miss Aiden at all.
“Hey,” Noah says, touching my arm. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you—it has to do with Suraj.”
“Uh-oh. Should I be worried?”
He hesitates. “Maybe? This morning, I took a look at the latest stats printout, and he took the quiz. He’s got a match. A strong match.”
“Oh,” I say.
“It’s Jassi. Jassi’s his strong match.”
Jassi? No way.
“Does she know?”
“No,” Noah says. “I wanted to tell you first. You okay?”
“Yeah, totally. Jassi’s great.”
He nods. “She is. But so are you… Simi.”
There’s a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. Even the heartwarming sight of Kiran and Marcus walking toward us, hand in hand, doesn’t make it go away.
“Jassi texted,” Kiran says. “She’s waiting by Nordstrom. Should we go?”
“Yep!” I say brightly. Jassi doesn’t know about her match yet, so I won’t have to talk to her about it during the ride home.
At least there’s that silver lining.
“You like Suraj,” Noah says after we get back to my house from the mall. “You’ve been acting bummed since I mentioned the Jassi match. He’s cool; just admit you’re into him.”
I bury my face in Sweetie’s fur and mumble, “Okay, fine. I like him. I didn’t really give him a fair chance at first. Then we were busy with all these other matches, and I was caught up in the excitement of going out with Aiden, when really, I should have tried to get to know Suraj better. Too late now, though, right?”
“It’s never too late,” Noah says. “We don’t have to introduce him and Jassi. We can ignore their match.”
“But a strong match is a strong match, and we should stand by our app. Plus, we’re doing this to figure out if the Shagun method works and if we can automate it. We need to study our top matches. And what if they’re right for each other and we get in their way? I mean, I like Jassi. If her match with Suraj brings them both happiness, they deserve it.”
“Fine,” Noah says reluctantly. “You’re a good person, you know that, Simi? I’ll go along with this for the app—not because I think Jassi deserves happiness any more than you do.”
A car horn beeps outside my window.
“Got to go; Mom’s here,” he says, standing. “Do me a favor, though. Don’t send out the new intro invites tomorrow. Take a day or t
wo to be sure this is what you really want.”
Wise advice, maybe, but a real matchmaker would never get in the way of a true connection. I don’t even have to look at the book to know that.
The next morning at school, on my way to a meeting Ms. Furst asked me to attend, I run into Suraj. He’s looking even cuter than usual in a gray sweater that makes his eyes appear more deeply brown. I duck into the art room to avoid talking to him because the Jassi match has really thrown me, but he follows me.
“Hey,” he says. “How was the bubble tea?”
“It was great. Thanks again.” Ms. Furst hasn’t arrived yet, so I move to my work space and start taking out my materials.
“You look busy,” Suraj says. He lowers his voice, mock stern. “Why are you always so busy?”
I can’t help but smile. “Why aren’t you?”
“Oh, I am. But I’ve got time for you.”
My cheeks flood with heat. “Nice of you.”
“Glad you appreciate it,” he says. “So I got asked to meet”—he makes a dramatic flourish in the air—“a match!”
I cross my arms. Can’t he be a little less excited about this whole thing?
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” he asks.
“I would,” I say. “Obviously.”
“And…?” He leans in a little and smiles conspiratorially. Little shock waves go off in my nerve endings and I step back. It’s hard to be businesslike when my face is so hot.
“And you should go to the library to meet her.”
He presses his lips together and gives me an exasperated look. There’s a smile in his eyes, though, which makes my stomach flutter. “You could drop a little hint.”
Ms. Furst walks into the room, spots Suraj, the non–art student, and raises her eyebrows. I’ve never been gladder to see her grizzled gray hair.
He raises his hands in concession and hustles out of the room, leaving me flustered.
“Everything okay, Simi?” Ms. Furst asks.
A Match Made in Mehendi Page 14