From Twinkle, with Love
Page 29
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From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: The carnival
Hi Twinkle,
I don’t know what happened tonight, but when I got to the carnival, the crowds were impossible to get through. By the time I made it to the carousel and looked around, you weren’t there. Do you want to try to meet up again?
—N
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
They had some free ride thingy going on that apparently turned everyone into greedy, stampeding zombies. Anyway, on the one hand, I do want to try to meet up again. On the other, what if this is a sign from the universe or something?
—Twinkle
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Since the universe is not a single entity, but rather a collection of nonsentient gases, rocks, galaxies, planets, moons, stars, and also encompasses all of space and time, I do not see how the universe could be sending us, mere specks of carbon, who, in the sheer scope of things, do not matter at all, a sign.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
So … is that your way of saying you still want to meet up?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Yeah, I was thinking next weekend?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Sure. I’m going to Hannah’s birthday party in Aspen on Saturday. Um, if you’re not going to be there, we could meet Friday evening at the Perk? Maybe around 6?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
The Perk sounds great.
See ya then, Twinkle.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
See ya, N.
Is it just me or does he sound … less than enthused? And, okay, if we’re being perfectly honest, I sound < enthused, too. Sahil’s and my notes about scene blocking have more chemistry than that set of e-mails, honestly.
But … I mean, I’m not completely surprised. Sahil and I shared something on the Ferris wheel. There’s something between us that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
Still. I know I need to give N a chance. How can I give up on that picture of shiny, future Twinkle because of a boy I just met?
N and I need to meet soon and figure this out.
Love,
Twinkle
Sunday, June 14
My room
Dear Mira Nair, I barely slept last night. I stared at my ceiling for hours, and then at the strand of twinkle lights on the wall from which I’ve hung pictures of Maddie and me, and Dadi, Mummy, Papa, and Oso. I have a few pictures of Sahil, Skid, and Aaron, and the rest of us on set from last week that I need to put up too. Then I stared at the wall beside my bed thinking the blank boringness of it would lull me to sleep, but no. My brain refused to shut off.
For a minute I had felt like my life was going according to plan. The movie was coming together, Maddie was going to be the lead, and N had begun to e-mail me. It felt like I was getting backdated karma for being a good person. But now? Everything feels muddled and confusing.
The movie is still going well, but Maddie being the lead has only led to even more distance between us somehow. And sure, N e-mailing me is still exciting because it might be Neil … but at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about Sahil and me. How right that feels. How easy it would be. But then what about that image I’ve always had—of leaving the groundlings behind? Of being with someone like Neil? Of being seen for the first time ever in my life? No matter how hard I try, I feel like I can’t make the different parts of my life work together.
So I just lay there and lay there and lay there and I had barely closed my eyes when the doorbell rang this morning.
I put one pillow over my ear because our house is tiny and anyone standing in the living room and talking at a normal volume basically sounds like they’re standing beside me and talking into my ear. My door opened with a soft click, and I squirmed deeper under my covers. Hopefully it was just Mummy coming in to put my clothes away and not to wake me to see some horrible auntie who stopped by because she clearly has no sense of time or propriety. Everyone knows Sunday mornings are for sleeping in. Everyone except aunties from the Indian association.
But then I felt a small hand on my shoulder and smelled rose oil. “Dadi?” I said, my voice crumbly. I turned over to see her smiling exuberantly down at me, her eyes bright and shining. Dadi is 121 percent a morning person.
“Desi ladka aaya hai,” she said, putting one hand under her chin like some coy Bollywood actress from the sixties. “Bahut … Oh, how do you kids say … haan, bahut cute hai! Kehta hai tumhara producer hai.”
I sat up suddenly. A cute boy who happened to be Indian and my producer? There weren’t too many of those. Oh my God, I must look—
“Beautiful,” Dadi said, running a hand over my cheek.
I groaned. Dadi was never an objective judge of whether I looked beautiful or perfectly hideous. And first thing in the morning surely fell in the latter category. “Dadi, why is Sahil here?” I asked, hopping out of bed and running to my closet.
“I don’t know, beta,” she said, looking surprised. “I came here to tell you.”
I went to the bed and pulled her up gently by the hands. “Then can you please go out there and find out? And run interference for Mummy and Papa?”
She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I shall return soon.” The voices swelled as she opened the door and then shut it again. What was Sahil doing here?
I wriggled into my jean shorts, pulled on my Wadjda T-shirt (one of the best films ever, and one of the only ones I’ve forced convinced Maddie to watch that we both loved), and threw on some of Mummy’s magenta glass bangles that I stole a long time ago. Then I crept into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face in, like, twenty seconds. When I was done, I took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway. I could hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears, half in anticipation and half in dread. Because I knew I was going to be overjoyed to see Sahil, as I always was. And I probably would forget all my resolve to keep things strictly platonic until I could figure out where this whole N thing was going.
Sahil grinned at me from the couch and I instantly grinned back as if I’d learned nothing at all. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d hold you to your promise to come to my place and eat my dad’s pancakes. That is, if you still want to? I know this is out of the blue. …”
“Oh, yeah! No, I definitely want to.” I went to sit by him on the couch, my mind thrilling as the memory from the carnival slipped back in. How he’d held me close on the Ferris wheel. How we’d finally just confessed our feelings to each other, one groundling to another, seeing and being seen. Even if I had told him things couldn’t go further than that, it had felt so good to say the words out loud. And to hear what he’d said back to me, to see that softness in his eyes when he looked at me, the gentleness of his hand when he gripped mine. I smiled shyly at him. “You look pretty grab for so early in the morning.”
He did too. He was wearing a button-down shirt again (green this time) with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki shorts. His hair looked like it had been gelled, and he smelled amazing. It was like he’d made an effort to come meet my parents. He’s perfect boyfriend material, my heart said. Swoony, respectful, smart, kind, passionate … It was still extolling Sahil’s many, many virtues when he said, “Thanks.”
Mummy laughed from the armchair across from us. “Twinkle never wakes up at eight a.m. on the weekend!”
I glared at her, feeling this weird mixture of angry sadness I only felt around Mummy (and felt a lot around her, to be honest). Now that we had a visitor she wanted to talk like she knew everything about me? Now that Sahil was sitting here, she wanted to appear to be a mother, someone who gave a crap. But why couldn’t she do that for me all the time?
To: [email protected]
Subject: The carnival
Hi Twinkle,
I don’t know what happened tonight, but when I got to the carnival, the crowds were impossible to get through. By the time I made it to the carousel and looked around, you weren’t there. Do you want to try to meet up again?
—N
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
They had some free ride thingy going on that apparently turned everyone into greedy, stampeding zombies. Anyway, on the one hand, I do want to try to meet up again. On the other, what if this is a sign from the universe or something?
—Twinkle
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Since the universe is not a single entity, but rather a collection of nonsentient gases, rocks, galaxies, planets, moons, stars, and also encompasses all of space and time, I do not see how the universe could be sending us, mere specks of carbon, who, in the sheer scope of things, do not matter at all, a sign.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
So … is that your way of saying you still want to meet up?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Yeah, I was thinking next weekend?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
Sure. I’m going to Hannah’s birthday party in Aspen on Saturday. Um, if you’re not going to be there, we could meet Friday evening at the Perk? Maybe around 6?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
The Perk sounds great.
See ya then, Twinkle.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The carnival
See ya, N.
Is it just me or does he sound … less than enthused? And, okay, if we’re being perfectly honest, I sound < enthused, too. Sahil’s and my notes about scene blocking have more chemistry than that set of e-mails, honestly.
But … I mean, I’m not completely surprised. Sahil and I shared something on the Ferris wheel. There’s something between us that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
Still. I know I need to give N a chance. How can I give up on that picture of shiny, future Twinkle because of a boy I just met?
N and I need to meet soon and figure this out.
Love,
Twinkle
Sunday, June 14
My room
Dear Mira Nair, I barely slept last night. I stared at my ceiling for hours, and then at the strand of twinkle lights on the wall from which I’ve hung pictures of Maddie and me, and Dadi, Mummy, Papa, and Oso. I have a few pictures of Sahil, Skid, and Aaron, and the rest of us on set from last week that I need to put up too. Then I stared at the wall beside my bed thinking the blank boringness of it would lull me to sleep, but no. My brain refused to shut off.
For a minute I had felt like my life was going according to plan. The movie was coming together, Maddie was going to be the lead, and N had begun to e-mail me. It felt like I was getting backdated karma for being a good person. But now? Everything feels muddled and confusing.
The movie is still going well, but Maddie being the lead has only led to even more distance between us somehow. And sure, N e-mailing me is still exciting because it might be Neil … but at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about Sahil and me. How right that feels. How easy it would be. But then what about that image I’ve always had—of leaving the groundlings behind? Of being with someone like Neil? Of being seen for the first time ever in my life? No matter how hard I try, I feel like I can’t make the different parts of my life work together.
So I just lay there and lay there and lay there and I had barely closed my eyes when the doorbell rang this morning.
I put one pillow over my ear because our house is tiny and anyone standing in the living room and talking at a normal volume basically sounds like they’re standing beside me and talking into my ear. My door opened with a soft click, and I squirmed deeper under my covers. Hopefully it was just Mummy coming in to put my clothes away and not to wake me to see some horrible auntie who stopped by because she clearly has no sense of time or propriety. Everyone knows Sunday mornings are for sleeping in. Everyone except aunties from the Indian association.
But then I felt a small hand on my shoulder and smelled rose oil. “Dadi?” I said, my voice crumbly. I turned over to see her smiling exuberantly down at me, her eyes bright and shining. Dadi is 121 percent a morning person.
“Desi ladka aaya hai,” she said, putting one hand under her chin like some coy Bollywood actress from the sixties. “Bahut … Oh, how do you kids say … haan, bahut cute hai! Kehta hai tumhara producer hai.”
I sat up suddenly. A cute boy who happened to be Indian and my producer? There weren’t too many of those. Oh my God, I must look—
“Beautiful,” Dadi said, running a hand over my cheek.
I groaned. Dadi was never an objective judge of whether I looked beautiful or perfectly hideous. And first thing in the morning surely fell in the latter category. “Dadi, why is Sahil here?” I asked, hopping out of bed and running to my closet.
“I don’t know, beta,” she said, looking surprised. “I came here to tell you.”
I went to the bed and pulled her up gently by the hands. “Then can you please go out there and find out? And run interference for Mummy and Papa?”
She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I shall return soon.” The voices swelled as she opened the door and then shut it again. What was Sahil doing here?
I wriggled into my jean shorts, pulled on my Wadjda T-shirt (one of the best films ever, and one of the only ones I’ve forced convinced Maddie to watch that we both loved), and threw on some of Mummy’s magenta glass bangles that I stole a long time ago. Then I crept into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face in, like, twenty seconds. When I was done, I took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway. I could hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears, half in anticipation and half in dread. Because I knew I was going to be overjoyed to see Sahil, as I always was. And I probably would forget all my resolve to keep things strictly platonic until I could figure out where this whole N thing was going.
Sahil grinned at me from the couch and I instantly grinned back as if I’d learned nothing at all. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d hold you to your promise to come to my place and eat my dad’s pancakes. That is, if you still want to? I know this is out of the blue. …”
“Oh, yeah! No, I definitely want to.” I went to sit by him on the couch, my mind thrilling as the memory from the carnival slipped back in. How he’d held me close on the Ferris wheel. How we’d finally just confessed our feelings to each other, one groundling to another, seeing and being seen. Even if I had told him things couldn’t go further than that, it had felt so good to say the words out loud. And to hear what he’d said back to me, to see that softness in his eyes when he looked at me, the gentleness of his hand when he gripped mine. I smiled shyly at him. “You look pretty grab for so early in the morning.”
He did too. He was wearing a button-down shirt again (green this time) with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki shorts. His hair looked like it had been gelled, and he smelled amazing. It was like he’d made an effort to come meet my parents. He’s perfect boyfriend material, my heart said. Swoony, respectful, smart, kind, passionate … It was still extolling Sahil’s many, many virtues when he said, “Thanks.”
Mummy laughed from the armchair across from us. “Twinkle never wakes up at eight a.m. on the weekend!”
I glared at her, feeling this weird mixture of angry sadness I only felt around Mummy (and felt a lot around her, to be honest). Now that we had a visitor she wanted to talk like she knew everything about me? Now that Sahil was sitting here, she wanted to appear to be a mother, someone who gave a crap. But why couldn’t she do that for me all the time?
