From Twinkle, with Love
Page 22
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So where the heck does that leave me with Neil?
At least I’ve managed to put Sahil off for now. I think what I need to do is meet up with N. See how I feel. Maybe?
Love,
Twinkle
Ten
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Subject: Sorry to bug you
I know I just wrote to you, N, but I think we need to meet up. Certain life situations have made things all jumbled up in my head (and my heart). I just need to see who you are.
—Twinkle
Wednesday, June 10
17 days until Midsummer Night!
Homeroom
Dear Mira Nair, I know my life is a mess right now with Maddie, Sahil, N, etc., etc. But I cannot even worry about that because …
TODAY IS THE DAY I HOLD MY FIRST AUDITIONS!
I hadn’t expected this day to come for many, many years. But today I get to sit in a room and watch people perform. And based on my decisions, a film will evolve—one that has the power to start conversations and get people talking about things like feminism and art.
Have I mentioned I’m a sixteen-year-old girl from Colorado Springs? A junior at PPC?
I keep wondering if I’m qualified to do something like this. This is a huge, huge responsibility. It just keeps hitting me that this isn’t a two-minute video I’m going to upload to my YouTube channel. This is big. Hundreds of people are going to see this at the end of the month. This is going to influence how people think. What if I ruin it? What if I have nothing to say?
What if, what if, what if?
Arrrgh. It’s too late to back out now, even if I wanted to, which I don’t—not 100 percent. And like Dadi says, I have a feeling that if I don’t take this opportunity, I’ll look back and kick myself.
So here I go, onward and (hopefully) upward! Wish me luck.
Love,
Twinkle
Wednesday, June 10
AP US History
Dear Ava DuVernay, I need to reread the story about how you got your start making films. In the meantime, let me tell you a little story about mine. You know how I was hoping at least ten people would show up to auditions?
Well.
So Sahil and I were sitting in Ms. Rogers’s classroom at lunch, waiting until 12:20, which is the time we put on the flyers that people should show up and wait outside the door. We kept looking at each other, smiling, and then looking away, both too nervous to talk about the cabin and all that stuff (even though every time I looked at Sahil my gaze automatically fell to his lips—traitorous boy-oglers.)
Sahil sat there, too tall for the desks (his legs and arms jutted out and he kept jittering because he was so nervous), and I just closed my eyes and tried to visualize success because I read that all the big athletes do it and it’s not hokey like I used to believe. I visualized the door bursting open and this horde of people swarming in and begging to audition. I could hear some noise, but I knew what it was: people going about their business in the hallway. Would anyone come to our audition?
Then Sahil said, “It’s time!” He leaped up, bumped the desk with his thighs, and sent it sliding off toward the corner. His face flushed, he dragged it back into place.
I stood and took a deep breath. Forget ten, I said to the universe as we walked to the door. Just give me six people. Just so I don’t look like a total failure.
We opened the door. And stared.
It was like a tsunami of noise. I’m not even lying. And it wasn’t because people were loitering in the hallway at lunch either. They were all there for us. For my film, mine and Sahil’s. I just stared at them. Sahil’s paralysis broke first. He turned to me, grinning widely.
“A little more than ten,” he said, giggling. He giggles!
I shook my head slowly. “How are we even going to manage this?” I said faintly, and Sahil leaned forward because he legit could not hear me because it was so loud.
But then Skid and Aaron, who I had not seen come up, began shepherding people into a semblance of a line and Sahil hopped into the fray going, “Okay, people, let’s have some order. No, don’t break the producer, please!”
“Wow, check out the crowd,” Maddie said, pushing her way up to me.
“I know, right?” I decided to put aside our differences for the sake of our professional relationship. Maddie had clearly turned it off, and I could too. Besides, I was fairly sure this was all part of being a director. I couldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of my art. “Oh, and thanks for showing off the capelet.” Most of the people in line were from Maddie’s social circle.
She waved me off. “Ah, it’s no big deal. People are super excited to include this in their college apps, too. It’s so different.” She tucked her hair behind an ear and half smiled at me. “So, are you psyched? This is what you’ve always wanted, coming to life.”
“I’m so psyched,” I said. And then it hit me that we sounded like acquaintances who’d run into each other at a restaurant. Ugh.
“Cool,” Maddie said, wrapping her arms around herself. “So … I’ll go wait in line. See you inside?”
I thought about saying yes. But I could feel it—my best friend slipping further away from me. So, on impulse, I said, “Um, do you want to come inside? Maybe help us pick the roles?”
“Me?” Maddie said, holding a hand up to her chest. “But I’m just an actress.” I could tell by her exultant smile that she liked calling herself that.
“So what? Perks of being the lead.”
She looked at me for a beat and then said, “Squee! Okay.”
I felt a tug of affection for her, despite everything. Maddie is the only person I know who says “squee” instead of just typing it. Smiling, I put an arm around her and led her in.
Maddie turned out to be very helpful in casting. For instance, when Sahil and I had difficulties deciding between two people, she’d say stuff like, “Oh, Olivia just got grounded for going to a frat party without telling her parents, so she probably won’t be able to make practice for a week or two.” So we chose Francesca instead. Or “Mike told everyone he thinks this whole gender-swapped idea is crap but he needs to beef up his college apps,” so we chose Brij for the role of “Morris” (Mina in the original).
Oh, and speaking of Brij—he completely captivated us with his acting! Even Maddie, who’s not into films like Sahil and I are, was leaning forward and watching him. The only reason we’d been considering Mike a little more is because Brij has a tendency to mumble. But better a mumbler than a hater, I say.
Oh, and guess what? Victoria Lyons came up and apologized to me after she auditioned. Maddie was in the bathroom and missed it. Victoria basically said, “That was pretty crappy how we interrupted your conversation yesterday. I’m sorry. Hey, by the way, you should come to Hannah’s birthday party next Saturday at my parents’ cabin. Okay?”
First I just stared at her in utter shock. Not only was Victoria Lyons apologizing to me, but she was also inviting me to a party? Then her words sank in. “Oh, it’s Hannah’s party?” I asked, thinking about our moment in the hall yesterday.
“Yes, but it’s my parents’ cabin,” Victoria said. She put a hand on my arm. “Please, Twinkle. Let me make it up to you.”
I said okay because I’d be crazy to refuse an invitation to a party at Victoria’s parents’ cabin in Aspen. Plus, she wanted to make something up to me? It was finally happening, wasn’t it? The movie was helping elevate me past groundling status, just like I’d hoped. Maybe I could hang out with some of her friends, show her that I could fit seamlessly in with the silk feathered hats. I could probably just avoid Hannah most of the time anyway.
Plus, on a professional note, it’ll be a good time to get some behind-the-scenes interviews with the cast members, like that extra footage at the end of DVDs, to make our film stand out at the festival.
I ended up casting Victoria as Renfield, but the invitation had nothing to do with it, promise. I mean, honestly, I would like to cast Hannah as the character who eats live animals with the hopes of obtaining their life force, but she didn’t show up. Big surprise there. Why would she want to go to Twinkle Mehra’s auditions? Maybe I should be thankful she even let Maddie come. Anyway, Victoria is great at styling her hair and she promised she could style it to look like a rat’s nest to suit the character’s chaotic mind.
At least I’ve managed to put Sahil off for now. I think what I need to do is meet up with N. See how I feel. Maybe?
Love,
Twinkle
Ten
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Subject: Sorry to bug you
I know I just wrote to you, N, but I think we need to meet up. Certain life situations have made things all jumbled up in my head (and my heart). I just need to see who you are.
—Twinkle
Wednesday, June 10
17 days until Midsummer Night!
Homeroom
Dear Mira Nair, I know my life is a mess right now with Maddie, Sahil, N, etc., etc. But I cannot even worry about that because …
TODAY IS THE DAY I HOLD MY FIRST AUDITIONS!
I hadn’t expected this day to come for many, many years. But today I get to sit in a room and watch people perform. And based on my decisions, a film will evolve—one that has the power to start conversations and get people talking about things like feminism and art.
Have I mentioned I’m a sixteen-year-old girl from Colorado Springs? A junior at PPC?
I keep wondering if I’m qualified to do something like this. This is a huge, huge responsibility. It just keeps hitting me that this isn’t a two-minute video I’m going to upload to my YouTube channel. This is big. Hundreds of people are going to see this at the end of the month. This is going to influence how people think. What if I ruin it? What if I have nothing to say?
What if, what if, what if?
Arrrgh. It’s too late to back out now, even if I wanted to, which I don’t—not 100 percent. And like Dadi says, I have a feeling that if I don’t take this opportunity, I’ll look back and kick myself.
So here I go, onward and (hopefully) upward! Wish me luck.
Love,
Twinkle
Wednesday, June 10
AP US History
Dear Ava DuVernay, I need to reread the story about how you got your start making films. In the meantime, let me tell you a little story about mine. You know how I was hoping at least ten people would show up to auditions?
Well.
So Sahil and I were sitting in Ms. Rogers’s classroom at lunch, waiting until 12:20, which is the time we put on the flyers that people should show up and wait outside the door. We kept looking at each other, smiling, and then looking away, both too nervous to talk about the cabin and all that stuff (even though every time I looked at Sahil my gaze automatically fell to his lips—traitorous boy-oglers.)
Sahil sat there, too tall for the desks (his legs and arms jutted out and he kept jittering because he was so nervous), and I just closed my eyes and tried to visualize success because I read that all the big athletes do it and it’s not hokey like I used to believe. I visualized the door bursting open and this horde of people swarming in and begging to audition. I could hear some noise, but I knew what it was: people going about their business in the hallway. Would anyone come to our audition?
Then Sahil said, “It’s time!” He leaped up, bumped the desk with his thighs, and sent it sliding off toward the corner. His face flushed, he dragged it back into place.
I stood and took a deep breath. Forget ten, I said to the universe as we walked to the door. Just give me six people. Just so I don’t look like a total failure.
We opened the door. And stared.
It was like a tsunami of noise. I’m not even lying. And it wasn’t because people were loitering in the hallway at lunch either. They were all there for us. For my film, mine and Sahil’s. I just stared at them. Sahil’s paralysis broke first. He turned to me, grinning widely.
“A little more than ten,” he said, giggling. He giggles!
I shook my head slowly. “How are we even going to manage this?” I said faintly, and Sahil leaned forward because he legit could not hear me because it was so loud.
But then Skid and Aaron, who I had not seen come up, began shepherding people into a semblance of a line and Sahil hopped into the fray going, “Okay, people, let’s have some order. No, don’t break the producer, please!”
“Wow, check out the crowd,” Maddie said, pushing her way up to me.
“I know, right?” I decided to put aside our differences for the sake of our professional relationship. Maddie had clearly turned it off, and I could too. Besides, I was fairly sure this was all part of being a director. I couldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of my art. “Oh, and thanks for showing off the capelet.” Most of the people in line were from Maddie’s social circle.
She waved me off. “Ah, it’s no big deal. People are super excited to include this in their college apps, too. It’s so different.” She tucked her hair behind an ear and half smiled at me. “So, are you psyched? This is what you’ve always wanted, coming to life.”
“I’m so psyched,” I said. And then it hit me that we sounded like acquaintances who’d run into each other at a restaurant. Ugh.
“Cool,” Maddie said, wrapping her arms around herself. “So … I’ll go wait in line. See you inside?”
I thought about saying yes. But I could feel it—my best friend slipping further away from me. So, on impulse, I said, “Um, do you want to come inside? Maybe help us pick the roles?”
“Me?” Maddie said, holding a hand up to her chest. “But I’m just an actress.” I could tell by her exultant smile that she liked calling herself that.
“So what? Perks of being the lead.”
She looked at me for a beat and then said, “Squee! Okay.”
I felt a tug of affection for her, despite everything. Maddie is the only person I know who says “squee” instead of just typing it. Smiling, I put an arm around her and led her in.
Maddie turned out to be very helpful in casting. For instance, when Sahil and I had difficulties deciding between two people, she’d say stuff like, “Oh, Olivia just got grounded for going to a frat party without telling her parents, so she probably won’t be able to make practice for a week or two.” So we chose Francesca instead. Or “Mike told everyone he thinks this whole gender-swapped idea is crap but he needs to beef up his college apps,” so we chose Brij for the role of “Morris” (Mina in the original).
Oh, and speaking of Brij—he completely captivated us with his acting! Even Maddie, who’s not into films like Sahil and I are, was leaning forward and watching him. The only reason we’d been considering Mike a little more is because Brij has a tendency to mumble. But better a mumbler than a hater, I say.
Oh, and guess what? Victoria Lyons came up and apologized to me after she auditioned. Maddie was in the bathroom and missed it. Victoria basically said, “That was pretty crappy how we interrupted your conversation yesterday. I’m sorry. Hey, by the way, you should come to Hannah’s birthday party next Saturday at my parents’ cabin. Okay?”
First I just stared at her in utter shock. Not only was Victoria Lyons apologizing to me, but she was also inviting me to a party? Then her words sank in. “Oh, it’s Hannah’s party?” I asked, thinking about our moment in the hall yesterday.
“Yes, but it’s my parents’ cabin,” Victoria said. She put a hand on my arm. “Please, Twinkle. Let me make it up to you.”
I said okay because I’d be crazy to refuse an invitation to a party at Victoria’s parents’ cabin in Aspen. Plus, she wanted to make something up to me? It was finally happening, wasn’t it? The movie was helping elevate me past groundling status, just like I’d hoped. Maybe I could hang out with some of her friends, show her that I could fit seamlessly in with the silk feathered hats. I could probably just avoid Hannah most of the time anyway.
Plus, on a professional note, it’ll be a good time to get some behind-the-scenes interviews with the cast members, like that extra footage at the end of DVDs, to make our film stand out at the festival.
I ended up casting Victoria as Renfield, but the invitation had nothing to do with it, promise. I mean, honestly, I would like to cast Hannah as the character who eats live animals with the hopes of obtaining their life force, but she didn’t show up. Big surprise there. Why would she want to go to Twinkle Mehra’s auditions? Maybe I should be thankful she even let Maddie come. Anyway, Victoria is great at styling her hair and she promised she could style it to look like a rat’s nest to suit the character’s chaotic mind.
