From Twinkle, with Love
Page 37
“There is no road trip?” I hazarded as I unwrapped my first PB Cup.
“Nooo … the first rule is, you have to have superior road-tripping snacks. Otherwise you may as well turn around and go home.”
I chewed the chocolate thoughtfully, letting the fabulous peanut buttery-chocolaty goodness wash over my tongue. “Hmm. I see your point.”
Sahil bit into his Cow Tale and chewed. “So now we can get to the games.”
“There are games,” I said as I reached into the bag again. “Of course there are.”
“Duh. So, you’ve probably heard of the license plate game, yeah?”
I tried not to groan. Mind-numbing games like that were invented to take your mind off the fact that nearly 3,300 people die in car wrecks every single day in the United States. But they didn’t. If anything, playing the license plate game only made me feel both terrified and like I wanted to jump out of a moving vehicle to escape. “Um, yeah.”
“Well, we’re not playing that. I mean, what are we, seven?”
I laughed. “I have to say, little bit relieved.”
Sahil beamed at me, and it made my traitorous heart stutter. “Instead we’re going to play a game called ‘Did You Hear.’ So, basically, each of us will take turns saying ‘Did you hear that _______?’ and we’ll fill in the blank with either a truth or a lie. The other person can then either accept the statement as a truth or reject the statement as a lie. If you guess correctly, you get a point. Otherwise the point goes to the other person.”
I smiled. “So, like, a take on Two Truths and a Lie? I like it.”
“Sweet. I’ll go first?”
I nodded.
Sahil took another bite of his chewy candy and then said, “Hmm. Did you hear that I once ate twelve doughnuts in one sitting?”
“Twelve??”
Sahil smirked and nodded. “Accept or reject?”
“Hmm.” I tapped a finger on my chin and unwrapped another Mini Cup. “On the one hand, twelve seems like it’d send you into a sugar coma. But on the other … I did see you inhale three cookies and then several loaded pancakes like it was nothing. So, I’m gonna say … accept.”
Sahil laughed. “Yep. You’re right.”
“Yessss.”
“Your turn.”
I stared out the window at the open fields and munching cows zipping past us in the fading light. “Okay,” I said, facing Sahil again and folding my legs up on the seat. “Did you hear that I’m a fantastic singer?”
Sahil looked at me for a couple seconds, his mouth quirked to one side as he considered. “Hmm … I mean, you do have a beautiful speaking voice, so it makes sense that you’d have a beautiful singing voice.”
I felt myself flush and concentrated on unwrapping another Mini Cup to distract from it. “So, what’s your answer?”
“Accept,” Sahil said with finality.
I nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna demonstrate.” And before I could chicken out, I began to sing “Over the Rainbow.” Well, I say “sing,” but I really mean “croak.” It was weird, but before this, I would never even have dreamed of singing in front of people, let alone a boy I had a crush on. It was like directing this movie had given me so much confidence in myself. It was okay that I wasn’t the best at everything because at least I had one talent that I totally slayed at. You know? Plus, there was just something about Sahil. His eyes were kind and gentle, like he’d never judge me, no matter what I did.
He began to laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it! I was wrong! Mercy! Mercy! You don’t have to rub it in!”
I laughed but kept on singing, even louder than before, my voice breaking horribly as I went into the chorus.
He grinned at me. “I love you.” And his grin abruptly fell off his face.
Seventeen
I stopped singing mid-word. I couldn’t do anything but stare at him. Sahil glanced at me before looking back at the road. “Did you hear that,” he said quietly, “I’ve only been in love once? It happened when I was eleven. And it’s still happening.”
I swallowed and shook my head. “Reject.”
He smiled a little. “One point for me.”
“Sahil …” I didn’t even know what I was going to say exactly. My heart felt all melty, butterflies were wreaking havoc in my stomach, and I felt scared and exhilarated and like laughing and crying all at the same time.
“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible, almost covered by the humming of the tires on the road. His big hands gripped the steering wheel loosely. “It’s complicated for you. But, Twinkle, I just wanted you to know it’s not complicated for me.” He glanced at me again, his dark eyes sparkling. “It’s never been complicated for me when it comes to you.” After a pause, he said, “I just want to be honest. I’m not trying to freak you out.”
He wasn’t freaking me out at all. In fact, I’d been marveling at how brave Sahil was. How unapologetically honest and trusting. I felt a little shift inside me, a softening. Maybe I could let down a wall of my own. “Thank you,” I said finally. “For telling me. For … loving me. I appreciate it more than you know.”
Sahil nodded.
“Because … did you hear that my mom doesn’t? Love me, I mean?” I said before I could stop myself. My eyes filled with tears, but I forced myself to not wipe them away.
Sahil looked at me, startled. “I’m sure that’s not true. Your parents love you. And your dadi. I saw it when I came to visit you.”
I smiled a little as a tear dripped down my cheek. “One point for me.”
Sahil reached over and put a hand on mine, squeezing gently.
I laughed a weird, watery-sounding laugh. “My dadi does love me. And Papa … he loves me in his own way. But you shouldn’t believe everything you see.” I shook my head, not able to speak for a few seconds. My throat was painfully tight.
“Mummy used to be this talented artist. I still remember her painting banyan trees from her village and red double-decker buses with Indian people spilling out of them. I used to hang out with her behind her chair and just watch. Sometimes she’d dab my nose with her paint to make me laugh.”
Sahil smiled.
“Everything changed when my nani got sick,” I said, looking down at Sahil’s hand over mine. A tear splattered onto his skin, but he didn’t move. “My mom’s mom died alone back in India when I was nine. My parents didn’t have the money to visit for the funeral. And after that, Mummy just became completely withdrawn. It was like every time she looked at me, she remembered the reason my parents came here when my mom was pregnant with me was so I could have a good life. The reason she wasn’t able to go back to India is because my parents spend all their money—and they don’t have much of it—on me. And she’s never forgiven me for it. Sometimes I tell myself that I’ll earn enough to take her back one day soon. But who am I kidding? Most filmmakers don’t make any money at all, let alone someone just starting out. So I’m doomed. We basically don’t have any relationship at all.” I sniffed, and Sahil reached into his center console to hand me a tissue. “Thanks.” I dabbed at my nose. “Wow, sorry to unload on you like that.”
He rubbed my back and then put his hand back on the wheel. “I’m glad you did. And I’m … I’m so sorry, T. I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “That was one of the things I loved about Maddie. She doesn’t have a mom, so I used to pretend in my head that I didn’t either. It was just easier that way. She had her dad and I had Dadi and we had each other, so it seemed okay. But now Maddie’s gone and my mom’s still gone in almost every sense of the word and …” My voice wobbled. “It just feels sucky all around.”
Sahil looked pained, like he might cry too. “Hey, T. For what it’s worth, you’ll always have me. Okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
I smiled at him through my tears. And in that moment, I completely believed him. Sahil was someone I could count on. He’d never let me down.
“Nooo … the first rule is, you have to have superior road-tripping snacks. Otherwise you may as well turn around and go home.”
I chewed the chocolate thoughtfully, letting the fabulous peanut buttery-chocolaty goodness wash over my tongue. “Hmm. I see your point.”
Sahil bit into his Cow Tale and chewed. “So now we can get to the games.”
“There are games,” I said as I reached into the bag again. “Of course there are.”
“Duh. So, you’ve probably heard of the license plate game, yeah?”
I tried not to groan. Mind-numbing games like that were invented to take your mind off the fact that nearly 3,300 people die in car wrecks every single day in the United States. But they didn’t. If anything, playing the license plate game only made me feel both terrified and like I wanted to jump out of a moving vehicle to escape. “Um, yeah.”
“Well, we’re not playing that. I mean, what are we, seven?”
I laughed. “I have to say, little bit relieved.”
Sahil beamed at me, and it made my traitorous heart stutter. “Instead we’re going to play a game called ‘Did You Hear.’ So, basically, each of us will take turns saying ‘Did you hear that _______?’ and we’ll fill in the blank with either a truth or a lie. The other person can then either accept the statement as a truth or reject the statement as a lie. If you guess correctly, you get a point. Otherwise the point goes to the other person.”
I smiled. “So, like, a take on Two Truths and a Lie? I like it.”
“Sweet. I’ll go first?”
I nodded.
Sahil took another bite of his chewy candy and then said, “Hmm. Did you hear that I once ate twelve doughnuts in one sitting?”
“Twelve??”
Sahil smirked and nodded. “Accept or reject?”
“Hmm.” I tapped a finger on my chin and unwrapped another Mini Cup. “On the one hand, twelve seems like it’d send you into a sugar coma. But on the other … I did see you inhale three cookies and then several loaded pancakes like it was nothing. So, I’m gonna say … accept.”
Sahil laughed. “Yep. You’re right.”
“Yessss.”
“Your turn.”
I stared out the window at the open fields and munching cows zipping past us in the fading light. “Okay,” I said, facing Sahil again and folding my legs up on the seat. “Did you hear that I’m a fantastic singer?”
Sahil looked at me for a couple seconds, his mouth quirked to one side as he considered. “Hmm … I mean, you do have a beautiful speaking voice, so it makes sense that you’d have a beautiful singing voice.”
I felt myself flush and concentrated on unwrapping another Mini Cup to distract from it. “So, what’s your answer?”
“Accept,” Sahil said with finality.
I nodded solemnly. “I’m gonna demonstrate.” And before I could chicken out, I began to sing “Over the Rainbow.” Well, I say “sing,” but I really mean “croak.” It was weird, but before this, I would never even have dreamed of singing in front of people, let alone a boy I had a crush on. It was like directing this movie had given me so much confidence in myself. It was okay that I wasn’t the best at everything because at least I had one talent that I totally slayed at. You know? Plus, there was just something about Sahil. His eyes were kind and gentle, like he’d never judge me, no matter what I did.
He began to laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it! I was wrong! Mercy! Mercy! You don’t have to rub it in!”
I laughed but kept on singing, even louder than before, my voice breaking horribly as I went into the chorus.
He grinned at me. “I love you.” And his grin abruptly fell off his face.
Seventeen
I stopped singing mid-word. I couldn’t do anything but stare at him. Sahil glanced at me before looking back at the road. “Did you hear that,” he said quietly, “I’ve only been in love once? It happened when I was eleven. And it’s still happening.”
I swallowed and shook my head. “Reject.”
He smiled a little. “One point for me.”
“Sahil …” I didn’t even know what I was going to say exactly. My heart felt all melty, butterflies were wreaking havoc in my stomach, and I felt scared and exhilarated and like laughing and crying all at the same time.
“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible, almost covered by the humming of the tires on the road. His big hands gripped the steering wheel loosely. “It’s complicated for you. But, Twinkle, I just wanted you to know it’s not complicated for me.” He glanced at me again, his dark eyes sparkling. “It’s never been complicated for me when it comes to you.” After a pause, he said, “I just want to be honest. I’m not trying to freak you out.”
He wasn’t freaking me out at all. In fact, I’d been marveling at how brave Sahil was. How unapologetically honest and trusting. I felt a little shift inside me, a softening. Maybe I could let down a wall of my own. “Thank you,” I said finally. “For telling me. For … loving me. I appreciate it more than you know.”
Sahil nodded.
“Because … did you hear that my mom doesn’t? Love me, I mean?” I said before I could stop myself. My eyes filled with tears, but I forced myself to not wipe them away.
Sahil looked at me, startled. “I’m sure that’s not true. Your parents love you. And your dadi. I saw it when I came to visit you.”
I smiled a little as a tear dripped down my cheek. “One point for me.”
Sahil reached over and put a hand on mine, squeezing gently.
I laughed a weird, watery-sounding laugh. “My dadi does love me. And Papa … he loves me in his own way. But you shouldn’t believe everything you see.” I shook my head, not able to speak for a few seconds. My throat was painfully tight.
“Mummy used to be this talented artist. I still remember her painting banyan trees from her village and red double-decker buses with Indian people spilling out of them. I used to hang out with her behind her chair and just watch. Sometimes she’d dab my nose with her paint to make me laugh.”
Sahil smiled.
“Everything changed when my nani got sick,” I said, looking down at Sahil’s hand over mine. A tear splattered onto his skin, but he didn’t move. “My mom’s mom died alone back in India when I was nine. My parents didn’t have the money to visit for the funeral. And after that, Mummy just became completely withdrawn. It was like every time she looked at me, she remembered the reason my parents came here when my mom was pregnant with me was so I could have a good life. The reason she wasn’t able to go back to India is because my parents spend all their money—and they don’t have much of it—on me. And she’s never forgiven me for it. Sometimes I tell myself that I’ll earn enough to take her back one day soon. But who am I kidding? Most filmmakers don’t make any money at all, let alone someone just starting out. So I’m doomed. We basically don’t have any relationship at all.” I sniffed, and Sahil reached into his center console to hand me a tissue. “Thanks.” I dabbed at my nose. “Wow, sorry to unload on you like that.”
He rubbed my back and then put his hand back on the wheel. “I’m glad you did. And I’m … I’m so sorry, T. I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “That was one of the things I loved about Maddie. She doesn’t have a mom, so I used to pretend in my head that I didn’t either. It was just easier that way. She had her dad and I had Dadi and we had each other, so it seemed okay. But now Maddie’s gone and my mom’s still gone in almost every sense of the word and …” My voice wobbled. “It just feels sucky all around.”
Sahil looked pained, like he might cry too. “Hey, T. For what it’s worth, you’ll always have me. Okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
I smiled at him through my tears. And in that moment, I completely believed him. Sahil was someone I could count on. He’d never let me down.
