Seven
Saturday, June 6
21 days until Midsummer Night!
My room
Dear Valerie Faris,
I should not be allowed to talk to boys. There should be a federal law. The Twinkle-Versus-Cute-Boy-Communication Act. You may think I’m being dramatic, but I assure you I’m not.
This is what happened: Sahil picked me up at ten thirty this morning. He came in and said hi to my parents and Dadi and called them “Uncle and Auntie,” which made their day. Dadi offered him some of her Parle-G biscuits, which she only does to the most deserving visitors—and Oso. (That’s because we have to go all the way to the Indian market in that shady plaza with the exotic fish store. It’s owned by this guy with orange hair and gold teeth who freaks Dadi out.)
He looked nice today too. He was wearing a cool Blair Witch Project T-shirt, which I secretly coveted the entire day. And his hair was gelled. I’d never seen it like that before, but it suited him. I kept sneaking peeks at him as we drove from my house to his place.
It was hitting me, for the first time, how … um, attractive I find Sahil. I mean, I know he and Neil look alike. That’s the whole thing with identical twins. But it wasn’t just about his nice shoulders or his hair or his square jaw. It was like something happened last night. I saw what Sahil’s made of on the inside, and … I don’t know if this is gonna sound gross, but his insides match mine. I don’t know how else to explain it. I see what he’s made of, and it’s the stuff I’m made of too, I think.
But that doesn’t help me with the whole “leave the groundlings behind and get on Maddie’s level” plan. Only Neil fits into that plan. It’s not that I need him to get to Maddie. It’s just that if I date someone like Neil, things will be so much easier between me and her.
We drove past the city to this tiny town north of the Springs. It’s where Sahil and most of the other, richer people live, and I realized something.
“Wait. Is this where Thoroughly Thespian is?”
“Yep, just five minutes away. Why?”
“Don’t you live up here, too?”
Sahil nodded, looking a little confused.
“You didn’t have to drive all the way down to get me and then come back up here. I could’ve asked my dad to give me a ride.”
“Nah, it’s okay, Mehra,” Sahil said, grinning at me. “I couldn’t leave my director hanging like that.”
My face felt hot and sweaty. “But … I mean, I can get my own rides. Just because I don’t have my own car doesn’t mean you need to bail me out or anything.” I swallowed. I half couldn’t believe I’d said all that out loud—actually calling attention to the fact that I don’t have much money. But the other half of me was proud for speaking out.
“Twinkle.” Sahil looked at me as long as he could without driving off the road. “I just wanted to hang out with you. I like spending time with you. All right?”
My cheeks were still hot now, but for other reasons. “All right,” I said softly, feeling a little shy.
He smiled at me, and even though I knew it shouldn’t, it felt like moonbeams straight through my heart.
We pulled into the parking lot and walked up to the store, which is this weird warehouse-looking thing with rusted metal steps leading up to it. “Huh.” I tipped my head back and took it in. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Sahil checked the GPS on his phone. “Yeah. Unless the Google gods have steered us wrong.”
Shrugging, I reached out and pulled the door open. It creaked like we were in a haunted movie. I stepped into the space—and gawked.
I was expecting something dinky and dark, to match the outside. But this space was enormous, all of it brilliant white. It was like being stuck on Iceland. Not that I’ve ever been to Iceland. But the name implies a land of white ice, and that’s exactly what this looked like.
Along the wall, oversize mannequins with blank white faces stared at us with their eyeball-less eyes. They were all dressed in gorgeous costumes, with Victorian-era thick, brocade dresses and fancy, elaborate hats with fake fruits and birds on them.
“Yikes,” I said at the same time that Sahil said, “Awesome!”
I shuddered as he ran up to one and poked it in the face. “Those things are so freaking creepy.” I sidled over to a shelf along the wall and picked up what looked like a solid gold staff with rubies encrusted on the handle. “This, on the other hand, is cool.”
Sahil bounded over to me. He was an oversize puppy in a pet shop, running from toy to toy. “It is!” He reached behind me, his arm sliding over my shoulders, to grab something else off the shelf. “And look at this!” He showed me a hypnotizing mask that looked like it had raindrops (made out of crystal and light-blue gems) pasted in an ombré pattern down the right side.
“Wow,” I breathed, running my fingers along the bumps of the rhinestones. “That is stunning.”
Suddenly it hit me. We were here, in this fabulous warehouse with all these incredible things surrounding us that we could pick and choose from, because of Sahil and what he’d done last night. I reached out and squeezed his arm on an impulse.
He looked at me, surprised.
“Thank you,” I said, grinning up at him. “This is …” I shook my head. I needed a thesaurus. “What’s a word for ‘so awesome it makes you speechless’?”
“Hmm,” Sahil said, a small smile at his lips. We were so close I could smell his soap. Focus, Twinkle. “Grab?”
I laughed. “This is extremely grab, then.”
We were both looking at each other, and slowly, our smiles faded. My heart trip-hammered. Sahil took a step toward me.
And then I remembered.
I had a secret admirer—N. And he might just be Sahil’s twin freaking brother. Also? I have a grand, master plan to leave my current self behind by joining the ranks of the silk feathered hats. And I’m beyond tired of being a groundling and blending into the walls all the time. What about N/Neil being a part of that dream? What about all of that?
I put my arm down quickly and stepped away, doing that tittery-nervous laugh I do when I’m super uncomfortable, like that one time I walked in on Mummy and Papa and I’m pretty sure they were doing it. (In my defense, none of the Mehras knock because Mummy, Papa, and Dadi say that is a silly Western rule that has no place in our house.) In that case, I’d wanted an extra pillow out of their closet, but I’d just done the silly tittery laugh thing and stumbled backward, closing the door behind me super quick. Here and now, I ran over to the other wall and began to stare at a peacock-themed tapestry as if it were the lost treasure of Tutankhamun.
Sahil cleared his throat, like he was going to say something, and I just thought, Please, Sahil, there cannot be anything between us, so can we just ignore that ripple of electricity between us? when someone behind us said, “Hello? Can I help you?”
I recognized the voice from the phone call yesterday. We both spun around. Sahil straightened his shoulders, and I could see him morphing into Agent Sahil again. “Hello,” he said, all snooty. “I’d rung yesterday. This is the talented Twinkle Mehra, come all the way from Sweden just for a few days.”
Sweden? Did he think I could speak Swedish? At least I was wearing these cool skinny-fit black trousers and a mustard-yellow polka-dot top that Maddie had gotten me once for a gallery showing we went to together for one of Mr. Tanaka’s girlfriends, so I looked the part of worldly European filmmaker. Even if, inside, I was a trembling mound of teenage insecurity.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said, eyeing both of us up and down like we were trolls who’d come tearing out of the forest—a little disgustedly, but also warily, in case we were a big deal. “I am Violet Hayes.”
That could not be her real name. Violet Hayes? Like Purple Haze? Anyway, focus. It was time to play the part. I squared my shoulders, held out my hand, and said, “Enchanté.” Crap. That was French, wasn’t it? “Um, bienvenue.” Nope, still French. And also not making sense anymore. “Uh … thanks for having us.”
Violet, who was tiny and thin and had a lavender-colored pixie cut, smiled haughtily. “It is my pleasure.”
Why do you look like you ate a rotten lemon, then? I wanted to ask but didn’t. I don’t have a problem communicating with women. Just cute boys.
“Miss Mehra’s working on her first movie, which will explore gender relationships in old cinema,” Sahil said, stroking an imaginary beard.
I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to laugh. Ms. Haughty Smile turned her icy blue eyes on him. “Indeed,” she said. “Well, I could escort you around or …”
“No, we can find our way,” I said, a little too quickly. Then I added more coolly, “Gender relationships are a very … private matter for me.”
She nodded, bowed—bowed!—and then left us.
Sahil and I grinned at each other and then whispered, “Yaaaay!” and then we began to explore.
We quickly found that everything we wanted would be on the second floor. Instead of white floors, this level had a black stone floor with threads of red glinting in it. Very Dracula-y. All the props were dark and mystical too. Sahil was immediately drawn to a cyclorama—a curved backdrop—of a landscape that had a moon painted on it that looked like it was screaming.
“Oh my God, I need this,” he said, his eyes lighting up. Then, when I looked at him, he said, “Um, I mean we need this?”
I laughed. “Are you joking? I think something like that is the one that fits our vision.” I pointed at a flat scene, this one with just a regular moon. “It even has lights from a distant village against those hills.”
“Oh, well, we can talk about it,” Sahil said, because he obviously disagreed with my artistic vision, which is a huge mistake, but whatever.
I left him to drool while I went off to the far-right side, where tons of racks of costumes were hanging, all of the clothes in shades of deep purple or inky black or blood red. I’d riffled through about fifteen different dresses and was just about to give up when … You know how TV shows have brides shopping for these overpriced white dresses and they always say some variant of, I knew the moment I saw it that it was the One? And it sounds like they’re talking about their fiancés, but they’re talking about a frothy mixture of tulle and lace? And it feels sort of ridiculous? Well, I apologize to all the brides I ever judged before because I so felt that.
My heart beat faster. My palms got sweaty. And I knew. It was the One.
“Sahil?” I called, my voice quavery. He came over, and I held the dress against me. It was tight to the ankles and then flared out in a swath of purple-black silk, and it came with a little faux-fur capelet. It was perfect.
“That’s it,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That. Is. It. You found it.”
“And look,” I said, pulling the capelet off the hanger to show him. Unfortunately, because I’m a total klutz, I dropped it on the floor.
Sahil and I both went to get it, and as I reached over, his legs got tangled in the long dress I was holding. He began to fall, his eyes wide and panicked, and he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I yelled out some expletive or other, trying to find my center of gravity, but it felt like I was on an ice rink without skates on. Stupid, slippery dress.
And then we were lying on the floor, and somehow I was on top of him. My hair made a curtain around his face. In the hazy corners of my mind, I knew I should be completely and utterly humiliated. I mean, my boobs were pressed into his chest. I could feel his thigh muscles under mine.
His face was flushed, his eyes wide, like a cornered bunny. “I—I am so sorry,” he said. “That was just, um … I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s—it’s fine,” I said, my own face getting hotter and hotter as I tried to get off of him. Only the dress had somehow trapped both our legs inside it and all I was doing was gyrating uselessly on top of him. Oh my God, Twinkle, my brain yelled. Could you make this any more awkward? “Sorry,” I said now. “I’m really … I’m trying …”
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]
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