Four
Still Wednesday, June 3
Honors Calculus
Dear Sofia Coppola,
I just witnessed the weirdest thing in the history of PPC.
I was waiting by my locker for Maddie (we always walk to Honors Calculus (me) and AP Chem (her) together because they’re right next to each other) when Brij came up to me. “Are you ready for that econ paper?” he asked, pulling a gigantic binder from his backpack. I wasn’t sure how he’d fit that in there. It was like watching one of those clown cars, where people keep coming out of this tiny space.
Oh God, I thought. Not this weird obsession with my studies again. “Um … no.” I eyed the binder warily. It had color-coded little flag things sticking out the side.
“I’ve got all the class notes in here,” Brij said, patting the binder. “Plus old tests I got Mr. Newton to give me. This is the definitive study guide you need if you’ve ever spent a sleepless night wondering about the theory of rational self-interest or the three factors of production.”
I stood there, trying to figure out how to tell Brij that I have literally never had a sleepless night about school, period, let alone about … all the stuff he said, when Maddie walked up.
“Hey,” she said to me, and then, seeing the binder in Brij’s hand, “Ohmygod. Are those econ notes?”
Brij smiled smugly and opened the binder. There was a laminated index at the front. “And so much more. This is the only study guide you’ll ever need.”
“And you used the RealNotes five-color assorted page dividers, Tuff-Enuff limited edition,” Maddie said faintly, swooning as she ran her hand over them.
“Mm-hmm. Everything’s organized by topic, subtopic, and how likely it is to be on the test.”
I couldn’t believe it. They were bonding. Brij Nath and Maddie Tanaka, the most groundliest groundling and the most silky feathered hat person in the entire school. Over sticky tabs and econ notes.
I cleared my throat, and Maddie jerked her head up at me, abashed. “Oh, right. Wake up, Tanaka. Um, you ready to go to class?”
I raised an eyebrow and nodded, and Maddie reluctantly came with me.
“I can give you a copy,” Brij said to our retreating backs.
I looked over my shoulder and smiled. “Um, thanks, but no, thanks. I’m good.” Hadn’t we been over this already?
“No, I meant her.” He nodded toward Maddie.
Her eyes shone like he was offering her the key to the biorhythm lab at Johns Hopkins. “Oh, but I couldn’t ask you to make a duplicate. That would take too long.”
“I’ve already done it,” he said, and his eyes flitted to me and then away superfast. “But I don’t think I’ll need that second copy after all.”
“Wow. Thank you,” Maddie breathed as he handed the binder over.
Brij nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
“Nath, you coming or what?” Matthew called from his locker. “We’re going to be late.”
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand to us and then plodded off.
I stared at Maddie. “What?” she asked, her eyes all big and innocent. Yeah, right. She wasn’t fooling me. “I just liked his notes.”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “His notes. Is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?”
Maddie jostled me with her shoulder. “Shut up. I’m holding out for my Japanese-American tattooed artist, remember?”
“Sure, Maddie.” I grinned, enjoying teasing her way too much. It felt like the old days again, just for those few moments. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I didn’t even have a chance to tell her about the movie stuff. Which was fine, because she told me to call her later. We haven’t talked on the phone in forever. Wanna know a secret? I am ridiculously excited.
Love,
Twinkle
Yep, still hump day, June 3
My room
Dear Mira Nair,
I called Maddie tonight to tell her about the movie, but she didn’t answer. Actually, her cell rang twice and then went to voice mail, which means she looked at the screen, saw who it was, and then hit reject. I may not have a cell phone, but I’m not stupid.
I guess that connection I thought we had at school, where we were back to being Twinkle and Maddie, was just in my head.
I didn’t leave a message.
Love,
Twinkle
Thursday, June 4
School bus
Dear Jane Campion,
I found Dadi naked on the lawn today.
At least, I thought she was naked. It turned out she was wearing a brown housedress the exact color of her skin, and mistakes are easy to make at six a.m. when the sun is barely a blip in the sky.
After Papa poured me a glass of warm milk to steady my nerves, I went outside to see what she was up to. (My parents declined to go, muttering tiredly, Woh Dadi toh aisi hai, na? Which, okay, they have a point. This is just the way Dadi is, but still. My curiosity got the better of me. Besides, Dadi and I always check on each other.)
She was standing in the middle of our tiny patch of grass with this giant tub of water in front of her, her praying mantis arms waving around like she was conducting the world’s hardest-to-hear orchestra. Oso was at the fence, sniffing at our canine neighbor, Maggie, this little white creature that’s more fur than dog. (They have an epic romance that will never be requited because neither of them have opposable thumbs and therefore will always be thwarted by the gate. Legendary.)
I walked up to Dadi, stepping around the tub of water and wrapping my arms around my waist. My pajamas were cotton, and it was chilly enough that I had immediate goose bumps. Dadi, meanwhile, looked like she may as well have been sipping a sloe gin fizz in the Bahamas. (I don’t know what a sloe gin fizz is, but it sounds like something you’d drink on a beach in the Bahamas.) “What are you doing, Dadi?” I asked. “Do you want me to get you a sweater?”
“Great things are coming your way, Twinkle,” she said, like that was any kind of answer to my two very sensible questions. Her eyes glinted in the dim light. I was awed for a second, goose bumps rippling down my skin. Her words sounded … fortuitous. Like she knew something the rest of us didn’t. I was captivated, struck silent.
Until I saw the fortune cookie wrapper. She crumpled up the fortune she’d been reading and slipped it into her pocket.
I sighed. “Dadi …”
Dadi grabbed my arm and yanked me closer to the tub. “Dekho. Look. And stop making your skeptical face. Don’t you see them? Hamaare poorvaj.”
Hamaare poorvaj. Our ancestors. I raised an eyebrow and watched my reflection doing the same. Huh. Dadi was right; my skeptical face was very skeptical. “Our ancestors are … floating in the water?”
Dadi sighed. “Twinkle. The water is a conductor of the heavens. I’m listening for messages.”
I tried to smooth my eyebrow down and only partly succeeded. “Right. Messages.” Dadi was afraid of the voice mail feature on our landline, but sure, messages coming through water from our ancestors she had no problem with.
She grabbed my face with her cold hands. Her soft, iron-gray hair undulated in waves. Dadi was very pretty, even if she was around sixty-five. I bet she was a total babe when she was my age. “The decision you were asking me about yesterday? It will change your life. Our lives. They have spoken.”
Okay, so I knew this was all nonsense. I knew better than to put stock in what Dadi said after one of her “sessions.” I was a girl with a modern education, with parents who were both thinkers and readers, and a best friend who was the next Marie Curie. But I couldn’t help it. I was immediately sucked in. “Really?” I breathed. “They said that?”
Dadi nodded sagely. “Indeed they did. But you must be unafraid, Twinkle. You must live life as if you cannot get hurt.”
“I will, Dadi,” I said, feeling a ripple of excitement pass through me. “I will.”
And I wasn’t only saying that, either. I am director, hear me roar.
Love,
Twinkle
Thursday, June 4
Library
Dear Haifaa al-Mansour,
Mrs. Mears sent me and Brij to the library. You know why? Because we’re the only two people in class who haven’t completely lost our sense of humanity.
Mrs. Mears and the school board are evil. They want us to dissect fetal pigs.
I tried telling Mrs. Mears that pigs are social, intelligent creatures. Some scientists think they’re even more intelligent than dogs. I mean, there’s a reason I don’t eat bacon. Then Brij said, “And also? They’re gross. My family is Brahmin, and therefore vegetarian.”
So she told us that we could both be excused. Brij on the grounds of religious tolerance and me on account of I’m a conscientious objector. We’re supposed to do a report on germ line cell mutations in fruit flies instead. To which I say, fine, school board and Mrs. Mears. You can take away my will to live, but you can never take away my conscience.
Brij keeps looking at me over his computer. He-he. Let me see if I can get a rise out of him about Maddie.
Ten minutes later, still the library …
Brij Nath is so into Maddie. This was how our conversation went:
Me, sitting in the empty chair next to Brij’s: “Hey. How are ya?”
Him, looking at me with big eyes: “Um … good?”
I smiled. “So, I liked your econ binder. Maddie, too.”
He continued staring at me. (Probably overcome with the mention of Maddie.)
Me: “So … do you organize all kinds of stuff? Or only econ notes?”
He actually gulped. Like in the cartoons. “N-no, I organize everything. Math notes, computer science notes, bio notes. Oh, and my MTG cards.”
Okay, I had no idea what MTG cards were. But I rallied. “So notes of every kind, then.” He and Maddie have so much in common. “Do you have, say, special markers?”
He was still staring at me like he couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. It was cute. You know, in a completely fraternal way. “I do,” he said faintly.
“And how many different kinds of Post-it notes do you have?” If it was beginning to sound like an interview, that’s because it was. I was hatching this genius plan while we talked. It had started out fun and games, but imagine if Maddie and Brij did go out? She’d be forced to spend more time with the groundlings. And maybe the Twinkle-Maddie unit would even make a comeback. And what if Neil and I start to go out? What if the groundlings and the silk feathered hats start mixing because of Maddie going out with Brij and me going out with Neil? The entire social structure at PPC would collapse and chaos would reign! (but in a good way). Like how much healthy chaos you caused by becoming the first female Saudi director, Haifaa. Disruption can be really good, right? I could get my best friend back. This had to happen. I was going to make it happen. I mean, sure, Brij was no tattooed Japanese-American artist, but love did weird things to people.
“Thirty-six kinds of Post-it notes,” Brij said, still staring at me in wonder. Just wait till I told him what I had planned. I felt like a modern-day fairy godmother from Cinderella, only without that silly outfit. “And I have four different kinds of flags. And this.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out an actual personalized memo pad with NATH written across the top in this cursive font.
Perfect! I was planning their first date in my head already. It would be at Staples, naturally. Maybe in the office furniture section? Lots of comfortable seating available.
I wasn’t able to tell him that, though, because Ms. Langford’s Honors Speech and Debate class came in. Matthew Weir came to sit by Brij, and then they were discussing what it was like to be a five-hundred-level mage in a two-hundred-level wench world. Or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.
Love,
Twinkle
Thursday, June 4
My room
Dear Sofia Coppola,
Maddie and I are going to a paint-and-sip event tonight. Usually it’s just old married people or working women in their thirties who go there to basically get drunk and paint pictures (why are adults so strange?), but Maddie goes to these things to unwind. She says she didn’t inherit the Tanaka creativity gene (which she also says does not exist but is just a figure of speech and I shouldn’t get sucked into that misconception like so many laypeople do), but that’s not true. Even though we’re both following a template and we get a lot of help from the instructor, Maddie’s bridge at sunset (for instance) always ends up looking like a bridge at sunset and mine somehow ends up looking like a puppet with dentures or something.
She was by my locker after school this time, but she didn’t apologize for ignoring my call last night. It was like déjà vu.
“Hey,” she said, texting furiously while she talked.
“Hey. Oh, it’s working?”
She raised her eyebrows without looking up. “Huh?”
My heart raced for a second while I debated changing the subject. Then I went for it, feeling reckless. “Your cell. I called yesterday.”
She stopped texting. “Oh. Right. I’m sorry. I was at Hannah’s and she was upset about this final in chemistry. …”
I waved her off. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
Slipping her phone into her pocket, Maddie came up to me and put her arm around mine. “I’m sorry. But you can tell me about the movie tonight, can’t you?”
I looked at her sweetly smiling face and knew I should say something more. I shouldn’t just accept this weak apology. But did I mention before that I’m desperate to hold on to my old BFF/sister from another mister? I didn’t know how to not be Maddie’s friend anymore. “Sure,” I said, feeling all crumpled.
Artsy Fartsy has 50 percent off their admission for Teen Thursdays and Dadi gives me the ten bucks if it’s to spend some quality time with Maddie. Dadi acts like Maddie is her lost grandchild. That’s why I haven’t told her that Maddie and I hardly ever hang out anymore. It would devastate her. And then she’d probably want to burn a couple dozen candles and make me dance around them, and we all know that would end up with the cute firefighters storming our house again.
Anyway, I’m wearing my old Nora Ephron T-shirt (the unintentionally creepy one where her eyes have chipped off; I really should throw it out) with leggings tonight, my DIY glitter Keds, and my movie-reel earrings. I went downstairs to get a drink of water—dressing up makes me thirsty—and Mummy and Papa, both of whom were miraculously off work, were sitting at the kitchen table, reading and drinking chai, while Dadi fed Oso bits of Parle-G biscuits under the table. (Papa frowns on feeding dogs people food, so Dadi does it when he isn’t looking and he pretends he doesn’t know.)
So then Mummy looks up at my shirt and smiles and goes, “Oh. Princess Diana. Very nice.”
I’ve worn this T-shirt so many times. How could she think it was Princess Di? When have I ever expressed an interested in British royalty, a concept with which I don’t even agree on principle? I stared at her, realizing that it was because she’d never asked me, not once, who it was on my T-shirt. We don’t talk about my movies or filmmaking or anything of substance. So I literally didn’t even know where to start. It was this gigantic sign of how Mummy and I are like two ice floes, passing each other, cold and silent. Even when we try to make a connection, we can’t get any traction. That’s our relationship. It sucks, but what am I supposed to do?
Oh, and get this. Papa looked up from his book and his face broke into a grin. “You have leg pain?” he said, between guffaws.
You know, because my leggings remind him of compression bandages. Har de har.
Then Dadi looks at me and says, “Oh! Princess Diana! Chandrashekhar says she has a very regal and respected presence on the other side.”
I smiled. “That’s great, Dadi.” So what if she got it wrong? At least Dadi shows up. At least Dadi tries.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if my mother and I are related at all. I bet I was dropped on her doorstep, like Harry Potter, and she just hasn’t figured out how to tell me yet.
I walked off to my room to look for my lightning bolt scar. Because that is the only way any of this makes sense.
And I didn’t even get my cup of water.
Love,
Twinkle