He kind of turned his head away and bit the inside of his lips like he was trying to maintain some semblance of control. Arrrgh. Did he think I was being a total perv? What was that look about? “It’s—it’s okay,” he said, his voice strangled. “Um, take your time.”
Thankfully, my legs broke free and I was able to scramble up to a sitting position off of Sahil. I couldn’t look at him as I gathered up the dress and the capelet.
He was on his feet in half a millisecond, straightening his shirt without looking at me either. (I could see him from my peripheral vision.) “So!” he said, his voice high and squeaky. “I’m just gonna … pick out some props.” And then he walked off to the other side of the room.
“O-okay.” I stood looking after him, a giant tangle of feelings inside me.
Disappointment. Relief. Confusion. Exhilaration.
What was happening between us? Why did those annoyingly persistent butterflies hang out with me every time he was around? Why couldn’t my brain just remember that he was Neil’s brother and therefore 100 percent off-limits?
I put the capelet up to my face and made a long, tortured groaning sound.
“Are you … okay?”
Oh crap. Whipping the capelet away, I stared. Of course. Of course Sahil was back, and he’d seen me acting like the mayor of Freakville. “Oh, sure,” I said, smiling brightly. “Just … you know, I wanted to check if we needed to dry-clean these, but nope. Downy fresh!”
“Oh, okay.” He looked a little confused, but had the grace not to call me out on my dubious behavior. “Um, I was gonna go tell Violet some of the stuff we wanted. That cyclorama okay with you?”
He was talking about the curved backdrop with the evil moon. Arrrgh. I super didn’t want that one, but things were awkward and uncertain right now and I was feeling even more “puddle of embarrassed goo” than usual. “Sure,” I said, wishing I could rent a backbone from here too. “That works.”
“Awesome.”
While Sahil was downstairs, I finished picking out the rest of the costumes and a couple more props. We didn’t talk about what happened; the ride home was almost completely silent. It’s obvious Sahil thinks I’m a huge pervert and can’t stand me anymore.
The good news is we’re all set up to begin making our movie. The bad news is I’m turning my room into an airtight container from which escape will be impossible.
Love,
Twinkle
June 6
The Reel Deal Blog
Posted by: Rolls ROYce
The good news is Sparkle made full-on-body contact with me and didn’t run off screaming disgustedly. The bad news is I was so shocked I morphed into a wax museum exhibit of myself.
I can’t help but feel optimistic anyway. Because something happened today. Something shifted.
I’m not one to make up crap in my head. I can see reality pretty plainly. For instance, I know my brother is the epitome of the golden boy: He’s athletic and smart and Harvard bound and does SAT practice tests “for fun, dude.” Girls regularly swoon over him like he’s … oh, what’s that character who died because Kate Winslet wouldn’t scoot the hell over on that door? Oh yeah. Jack. Which is hilarious because we are the exact same from a genetic perspective, but I digress. Basically, everything has always come easy to him, and okay. Am I bitter? Nope. Do I like it? No, but I accept it. We all have our roles to play and stuff.
So you’ll believe me, then, when I say that something was definitely happening between me and Sparkle today. I’m not deluded. I know girls usually just dismiss me as “that geeky dude who has a thing for horror movies.” But she didn’t. The way she looked at me …
Okay, so I was having a hard time, no pun intended, when she was on top of me. I wanted to say something to her in the car, anything that would let her know that I was on board. Like: Sparkle, I am a lovelorn fool, so could you just put me out of my brain-numbing misery already by telling me what you’re thinking. Just a sliver of a thought would be nice.
But instead I sat there in silence. I’d glance at her occasionally, but that girl is a closed book.
That’s okay, though. I’m gonna make a game plan and go with it. What I need to do is come up with a campaign to approach this in an organized fashion so I don’t blow it. Oh! I just thought of a slogan: “I like you, too, Sparkle, but not in a needy way. Also, I’m the cool, geek-chic guy you never knew you always wanted.” Or something with less suckage, but that’s essentially the heart of the message. Never again will she say I remind her of my brother because he will remind her of me, instead. A subtle but very important difference, my friends.
I can do this. I am so there. I’m feelin’ it, as my friend Slide would say. Sparkle, here I come.
Sunday, June 7
My room
Dear Nora Ephron,
Eep! Another e-mail from “N.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: An ode to you
Twinkle, Twinkle, little star
Right now you might be oh so far
But soon in your beauty my eyes will bask
And then at last you’ll see me unmasked
—Your Secret Admirer, N
There’s no doubt in my mind: It has to be Neil. Let’s dissect this poem, shall we?
First, my secret admirer says that we are “oh so far.” Ahem. Neil is away at a pre-Olympic summer swim camp. I never get to see him.
Second, N says “soon our eyes will meet again,” because Neil is coming back to school at the end of the month.
And third, “unmasked”? Neil couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. He’s trying to tell me he remembers that one time we danced at the masquerade ball back in sixth grade, just like I do! (Or maybe it was fifth? And did I dance with Neil? Minor details.)
This has to be Neil. It just has to. And if it is, then … I don’t know. I think I might expire from happiness or something, because if it is him, my shiny, future self might be materializing before my eyes. The movie stuff is going well so far, which means my message will get out to way more people than ever before. With Maddie as the lead, maybe most of the rest of the cast could be silk feathered hats too. Maybe they’ll finally begin seeing me. Maddie’s and my friendship will hopefully be back on the right track. And now Neil? It feels like the last piece of the puzzle has just landed in my lap.
Okay, so there’s a tiny part of me that’s like, okay, cool. Maybe Neil is e-mailing me. But … do I really want that anymore? I mean, my life is already pretty sweet right now for the first time in forever. I have new friends I click with. And … I like hanging out with Sahil. A lot.
But that’s crazy, isn’t it? This, Neil, is what I’ve wanted for so long. The part of me that isn’t ecstatic about the e-mail just needs to be squashed. Maybe the problem is that I’ve become too unfocused. Maybe I’m spending too much time thinking about Sahil when I need to be thinking about his brother instead. Sahil needs to remain just a friend. I can’t let it progress any further. No more looking deeply into his eyes. No more falling on top of him. Focus and maintain my balance. That’s what I need to do.
Love,
Twinkle
Eight
Sunday, June 7
Backyard
Dear Mira Nair,
I walked out to get a snack and saw Dadi on the couch, reading Lentil Soup for the Reincarnated Soul, with Oso curled up like a little prawn by her feet. I asked her where Mummy and Papa were, and she said, “Papa is at the youth home.” Papa works as an aide at a center for runaway teens. He takes his work very, very seriously and goes in a lot even when he isn’t technically on shift. Which is good, because those kids don’t have any reliable adults in their lives. But sometimes I wish I had more reliable adults in mine.
“What about Mummy?” I asked, noticing that she’d purposely left that part out.
Dadi’s eyes got that shifty, darting look they do when she’s trying to cover something up. “She
’s … sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight thirty.”
Dadi shrugged, looking pained. She held out one arm to me and I went to sit by her, curled into her side. “Your mummy has a lot of pain in her heart, Twinkle. I wish it did not affect you so, but I am afraid we must all carry our burdens in each lifetime. Sometimes we must carry a bit of our parents’ burdens as well.”
My throat got all choked up like it does a lot when we talk about Mummy. “Right. Burdens.”
As usual, Dadi read my mind. “Oh, munni, of course I don’t mean you.” Dadi rested her head against mine as if she could beam love through her skull into mine. Knowing Dadi, she probably believed she could. “You are the greatest source of joy in her life. But she cannot help it. She has left behind a part of herself in India.”
“Ever since Nani died,” I said, swallowing away my tears, “she’s been so different.”
Dadi smoothed a strand of hair back from my forehead. “Haan. When your mother dies, it is as if a part of you has died too. And because she could not go to India to be there … she blames herself. It is not her fault, but she cannot see past her pain.” Dadi put a hand under my chin. “But, Twinkle, none of that has to do with you. None of it is because of you. You are faultless.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes, mainly to keep them from filling with tears. You once said, Mira, that nostalgia is a useless thing. It doesn’t move you forward. I so get that. I just wish Mummy did, too. Pulling away from Dadi, I put my feet up on the couch and reached for the remote. “I know. Anyway, I’m done talking about all that. Let’s see if we can find a Mira Nair movie on the Hindi channel.”
I felt Dadi watch me for a good long time, like she was trying to decide whether to say anything else on the subject or not. Thankfully, she just put her arm around me and said, “Okay, munni. Let’s see.”
So what if Mummy’s asleep and Papa’s at work? I have Dadi. I have Oso (and Dada by extension). I have my new friends Sahil, Skid, and Aaron. I have my movie. And I have N, my secret admirer. What else could a girl want?
Love,
Twinkle
Monday, June 8
Honors Calculus
Dear Sofia Coppola,
Today at lunch Aaron was trying to, as usual, convert me to listening to his alternative heavy metal bands. He is six four and he maybe weighs only, like, 140 pounds tops, but he’s got this giant, booming voice I hope (for his sake) that the rest of him will grow into. “Empty Plastic Bottles!” he bellowed around a mouthful of mozzarella sticks. (He was stuffing four at a time in there.) “Just give them a chance!”
Sahil laughed beside me as I made a face. “Aaron. Empty Plastic Bottles?”
“Don’t judge!” Aaron yelled.
“No, forget about all that for a minute,” Skid said, leaning forward. “You’ve never tried truffle balls?” As a chocolate fiend and our resident sweet tooth, Skid lived in a constant state of bewilderment that I was firmly committed to my Reese’s and/or other peanut butter and chocolate sweets.
“Nope,” I said, popping a chicken tender in my mouth. “Aren’t truffles mushrooms or something?”
Skid clutched at his heart all melodramatically.
“Dudes, leave her alone,” Sahil said. “She’s my director. I’m gonna have to start making appointments for you plebs to talk to her.”
“Plebs?” Skid said, glaring at us. “Don’t forget who’s editing the freaking thing.”
“Sahil didn’t mean it,” I said, smiling sweetly. We could not afford to annoy Skid. He’s a genius of video and photo editing. The yearbook group pays him a retainer because he says his time is too valuable to work on puerile and fleeting pursuits like the high school yearbook for free. “There’s definitely a trip to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory at the end of all this. …”
Skid looked placated. “All right, then,” he said, and then he and Aaron got into a conversation about some football team.
I’d been stealth studying Sahil the entire time in the caf, but thankfully, he did not seem to hold any lingering awkwardness over our incident from Saturday. If anything, he was even friendlier today than he’d been before. Which I didn’t get, but I wasn’t going to question either.
“I hope we get at least ten people at the auditions Wednesday,” I said to him, glancing over my shoulder at Maddie. She was sitting at her usual table, but she’d laid out the capelet from her costume (which she loved) for everyone to admire. She was doing a great job as our PR person. The other girls kept touching the capelet, and I could tell a bunch of them would probably show up to audition now that Maddie was the lead and it didn’t look like we’d dress her in anything hideous. “Anything less than that and we won’t have our pick of who we want, I think.”
“Ten is a good number.” Sahil nodded. “I think we’ll get ten.”
He’s one of those eternal optimists, which is another one of those cute Sahil things I’m trying not to notice too much. “So …” I cleared my throat. “About that cyclorama you ordered? The one with the evil moon?”
Sahil grinned. “Yeah. They’ll deliver that Friday to Ms. Rogers’s room. She gave me the okay.”
“Yeah …” I stabbed my chicken tender with a fork. “Um, do you think we could swap it out for the other one?”
“You mean the one with the plain moon?” Sahil asked, frowning.
I nodded. “And the village lights in the distance.”
Maybe I should just let Sahil have the cyclorama. I know this isn’t just my movie. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Sahil, I wouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. Besides, I ended up choosing most of the props and costumes because Sahil kept going for these totally creepy, Victorian-era-esque masks and things. They would’ve just freaked the administration out and then we’d probably be banned from Midsummer Night. Sahil agreed with me in the end, but still. He obviously cared about the cyclorama a lot. And it was the one thing he did pick out without my help. But.
This movie’s my big shot. I’m ready to show the world what I have inside me, to reach out and make that connection. And Sahil had just taken over that piece of it. He didn’t even have a conversation with me like I did with him about the rest of the costumes and pieces.
“Hmm,” he said, his eyes flickering with annoyance. “I already placed the order. I don’t know if they’ll let me swap now. You know how they are over there.”
“Well, maybe I’ll call them anyway,” I pressed, even though my underarms were beginning to prickle with sweat. This was toeing the line of confrontation land, and I was completely out of my element. “Just to—”
“T, would you let it go?” Sahil’s voice was brittle, on the edge of snapping. I stopped short, surprise and hurt churning inside me. I glanced at Aaron and Skid, but they were still deep in a conversation about touchdowns. “I don’t know why you can’t see this,” Sahil continued, just barely meeting my eye before looking down at his food. He stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “The fanged moon is the only way to go. It’s got that shine, that pizzazz we want. The other one is so plain it’s just going to fade into the background, and that is not the message we want to send. Okay?”
I gripped my own fork, unable to speak for a second. I had a thousand things queued up behind my lips. But in the end, the only thing that came out was a thready, “Okay.”
Ugh. I should’ve said something. I know that. Sahil was so out of line, it was ridiculous. I don’t even know what that was about; I’ve never seen him talk to me—or anyone—like that before.
Besides, do I really want to see that moon grinning at me with all its ten thousand and sixteen fangs? No, I do not. But if I want things to change, I have to speak up. And I really don’t know how to do that.
Love,
Twinkle
Monday, June 8
Honors Spanish II
Dear Mira Nair,
Well, now I know why Brij and Matthew weren’t at lunch today. I was walking
from calculus to Spanish when I saw them in the hallway, sitting behind a long table. That’s when Brij took off his head.
Lest you think this journal has taken an unexpectedly dark turn, I should hasten to explain that he’s fine. They were both in costume.
Brij looked like a screaming blue toad, but he was actually “Poliwhirl, a water-type Pokémon that is also bipedal and whose abilities include the swift swim, which is, in fact, a hidden ability.” I nodded extra and showed a lot of interest because I think he was a little embarrassed when I said that thing about the screaming toad and I felt bad. Matthew, on the other hand, was Pikachu, and I guessed that one on the first try.
I thought maybe it was just another Monday for a couple of computer science geniuses, but Brij told me that they were fundraising to build the school a better firewall because apparently our security posture is sorely lacking and is an utter disgrace to the school district.
“Okay, Nath, I’m sure the girl understands all the big words you just said,” Matthew said, rolling his eyes at me.
“Hey,” I said, leaning forward so Pikachu and I were eye to nose, “I may not be a computer prodigy, but I do know what a firewall is. Furthermore, I do not appreciate you saying what you said on the basis of my gender. Let’s not further those outdated patriarchal stereotypes here in the sanctified institute of learning that is PPC, Matthew.”
Okay, so I didn’t say that. The most nonconfrontational girl in the world, remember? Mostly I just glared at Matthew, which was hard to do because I did not know whether to look into Pikachu’s eyeballs or his nostrils, which is where Matthew’s eyeballs were.
Matthew appeared not at all intimidated (as far as I could tell, given the stupid costume), but then Brij said, “Dude, Twinkle’s a genius in her own way. I bet you don’t know the first thing about filmmaking,” which I thought was super nice. Standing up to your friends is not the easiest thing to do.
From Twinkle, With Love Page 8