From Twinkle, with Love
Page 5
Except I wasn’t wearing a skirt. And my shoelaces were untied. But, you know. Same difference.
Love,
Twinkle
Three
<Text message 2:02 p.m.> From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
I did it. She’s meeting me tomorrow about the movie idea
<Text message 2:02 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
don’t forget deodorant. i speak from experience
<Text message 2:03 p.m.>
From: Aaron
To: Sahil, Skid
Good luck man. Hope your Twinkle crush finally becomes a real thing
<Text message 2:04 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
yeah then maybe you can drop the Twinkle drama. she doesn’t know I exist guys! no wait! she talked to me at perk! that means we’re gonna get marrieddddddddddd
<Text message 2:04 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
HAHA. Very funny. I can’t stop laughing. Oh wait yes I can and in fact I never started at all
<Text message 2:05 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
srsly tho. you just gotta be honest with her bro. like look twinkle I like you baby girl. let’s go out for a burger
<Text message 2:05 p.m.>
From: Aaron
To: Sahil, Skid
DO NOT DO THAT
<Text message 2:06 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
Skid man I’m not gonna take dating advice from you. your last gf dumped you because you laughed at her great-uncle’s funeral
<Text message 2:06 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
dude next to me farted! it was a 6-second symphony; a one-of-a-kind auditory experience
<Text message 2:07 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
Sure man just keep telling yourself that. I better go before Rotten Staunton takes my phone for his collection
Tuesday, June 2
School bus
Dear Nora Ephron, Maddie didn’t meet me at my locker. I wish I could say I’m used to it and I don’t feel bad, but I’m softer inside than I look on the outside. Like a slightly stale jelly bean.
So I was standing by my locker like a total loser well after the last bell had rung, in case Maddie showed up late, when Brij Nath came by. Brij is Indian too, so I’ve always felt a little bit of solidarity with him even though most of the time when he talks I can’t understand what he’s saying because he functions on a completely different level from my own. I mean, it’s sweet that he thinks I can keep up with his thoughts on the approaching technological singularity and human-machine interfacing, but yeah.
Anyway, today, out of nowhere, he gave me these notes he’d taken in econ (to be more precise, they were photocopies of his notes. And they were bound together in a little folder. And they came with a cover letter, which I’m pasting below).
“I noticed you were writing in your journal and not exactly paying attention,” he said, smiling a little.
“Wow,” I said, taking the folder and flipping through quickly. “These are really detailed. Thanks!” I put the notes into my locker and rummaged around for my umbrella.
“Uh, no problem,” Brij said to my back. “Some of that stuff is complicated and I remember you saying you hate econ.” Huh. I had said that, but I was pretty sure I’d been muttering to myself during a test. “So, if you want to get together to study or if you want me to explain anything, let me know.”
I turned back around with my umbrella, a little confused. “Oh, no, thanks. That’s okay.” Then I laughed. “I mean, the less time I spend on econ the better.”
Brij laughed really quickly before getting serious again. “Right. If you want to study something else, I can help too. How’s your grade in calculus?”
He wanted to know my calculus grade? What was he, Principal Harris’s spy? “Um, it’s, you know, fine, as far as calc grades go …,” I said vaguely, edging forward. “But it’s getting late and I’ve gotta go or my dadi begins to troll the Missing People’s hotline. Talk to you later! And thanks again!”
“Yo, Nath!” It was Matthew, Brij’s friend, waving to him from the computer lab.
With one last look at me, Brij walked way.
What was that about? Was he just trying to be friendly? Nora, you always said boy/girl friendships were complicated pits of madness, and if that was an example, I was beginning to understand why.
But maybe Brij was scoping out the competition? Indian people could get pretty intense about grades, and maybe his parents were putting the pressure on. Ha. As if I were even anywhere near Brij’s GPA league. He needed to spy on Maddie if he was worried about his future valedictorian status.
Thinking about Maddie made me feel pathetic and unwanted all over again. Why was I so desperate for her friendship when she obviously didn’t value mine even a little? Ugh. My excitement about making a movie for Midsummer Night felt damp and wilty. If I had a cell phone, I’d angry text her right now.
Brij Nath’s Economics Notes, Cover Letter Dear Twinkle,
Economics isn’t easy, but these notes are. They’re guaranteed to cut your studying time in half (I timed it). Some of these terms are pretty complicated, though, so if you have problems, just text me. Here’s my number: 555-555-0128.
Sincerely,
Brij Nath
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100011 01110101 01110100 01100101
The one thing I can’t figure out is his weird signature at the bottom—is that a special code? Okay, Brij, maybe you don’t know this, but my IQ is not higher than 1,890 and therefore, like 99.9 percent of the population, I do not speak binary.
Tuesday, June 2
My room
Dear Ava DuVernay, I walked up our cracked sidewalk and in the front door to find Dadi sitting there in her white cotton sari on the couch, with her hands on Oso’s cheeks. Oso is our little black Pomeranian. Also, Dadi thinks he’s the reincarnated form of my dada, my grandfather and her late husband, Chandrashekhar.
I told you, as grandmothers go, Dadi’s pretty out there.
“Twinkle, tum aa gayi,” she said in this mystical voice. Oso’s beady black eyes rolled toward me, like, Help. She’s doing it again. “Dada told me you would be arriving soon.”
I kissed her on the cheek and crossed the tiny living room to the kitchen to wash my hands and grab a banana. “Right, Dadi. Dada told you.”
When I flopped down beside her, Dadi sighed and put her arm around me. Oso, sensing her distraction, made a hasty escape. “Such a skeptic. Perhaps one day you will understand, Twinkle. Perhaps one day you will accept this gift.” She cupped her bony brown hands to her chest and then held them out to me, but I gestured with my hands full of one whole banana, to show Dadi why I wasn’t accepting her socially unacceptable gift of aatma. That’s what she wanted to give me: a piece of her soul.
So we’re clear, this isn’t Hinduism that Dadi’s practicing. When she immigrated to the United States with my parents before I was born, she enthusiastically embraced American New Age culture like a long-lost friend. She still practices her own version of spirituality, which she cobbled together from too many Deepak Chopra-esque books and TV shows. The rest of us mostly put up with it because, well, Dadi’s just Dadi, and so what if we have a few dozen crystals on our windowsills and we’ll probably never get the smell of sage out of the couch and we’re on a first-name basis with the county firefighters because of the number of times her “scrying” experiments have gone awry? If Dadi wasn’t all hippie-dippie, she wouldn’t be Dadi.
“Are Mummy and Papa working?” I asked, biting off a chunk of banana.
“Yes,” Dadi said. “So it’s a Twinkle and Dadi night.” She grinned, genuinely happy, even though we had “Twinkle and Dadi nights” all the time because my parents are workaholics. I try not to take it personally, but it’s hard when your dad would rather spend his time with kids who aren’t his own and your mom pretty much pretends like you don’t exist because, through no fault of your own, you happened to be born in a different country than the one where she wants to be.
Love,
Twinkle
Three
<Text message 2:02 p.m.> From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
I did it. She’s meeting me tomorrow about the movie idea
<Text message 2:02 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
don’t forget deodorant. i speak from experience
<Text message 2:03 p.m.>
From: Aaron
To: Sahil, Skid
Good luck man. Hope your Twinkle crush finally becomes a real thing
<Text message 2:04 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
yeah then maybe you can drop the Twinkle drama. she doesn’t know I exist guys! no wait! she talked to me at perk! that means we’re gonna get marrieddddddddddd
<Text message 2:04 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
HAHA. Very funny. I can’t stop laughing. Oh wait yes I can and in fact I never started at all
<Text message 2:05 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
srsly tho. you just gotta be honest with her bro. like look twinkle I like you baby girl. let’s go out for a burger
<Text message 2:05 p.m.>
From: Aaron
To: Sahil, Skid
DO NOT DO THAT
<Text message 2:06 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
Skid man I’m not gonna take dating advice from you. your last gf dumped you because you laughed at her great-uncle’s funeral
<Text message 2:06 p.m.>
From: Skid
To: Sahil, Aaron
dude next to me farted! it was a 6-second symphony; a one-of-a-kind auditory experience
<Text message 2:07 p.m.>
From: Sahil
To: Skid, Aaron
Sure man just keep telling yourself that. I better go before Rotten Staunton takes my phone for his collection
Tuesday, June 2
School bus
Dear Nora Ephron, Maddie didn’t meet me at my locker. I wish I could say I’m used to it and I don’t feel bad, but I’m softer inside than I look on the outside. Like a slightly stale jelly bean.
So I was standing by my locker like a total loser well after the last bell had rung, in case Maddie showed up late, when Brij Nath came by. Brij is Indian too, so I’ve always felt a little bit of solidarity with him even though most of the time when he talks I can’t understand what he’s saying because he functions on a completely different level from my own. I mean, it’s sweet that he thinks I can keep up with his thoughts on the approaching technological singularity and human-machine interfacing, but yeah.
Anyway, today, out of nowhere, he gave me these notes he’d taken in econ (to be more precise, they were photocopies of his notes. And they were bound together in a little folder. And they came with a cover letter, which I’m pasting below).
“I noticed you were writing in your journal and not exactly paying attention,” he said, smiling a little.
“Wow,” I said, taking the folder and flipping through quickly. “These are really detailed. Thanks!” I put the notes into my locker and rummaged around for my umbrella.
“Uh, no problem,” Brij said to my back. “Some of that stuff is complicated and I remember you saying you hate econ.” Huh. I had said that, but I was pretty sure I’d been muttering to myself during a test. “So, if you want to get together to study or if you want me to explain anything, let me know.”
I turned back around with my umbrella, a little confused. “Oh, no, thanks. That’s okay.” Then I laughed. “I mean, the less time I spend on econ the better.”
Brij laughed really quickly before getting serious again. “Right. If you want to study something else, I can help too. How’s your grade in calculus?”
He wanted to know my calculus grade? What was he, Principal Harris’s spy? “Um, it’s, you know, fine, as far as calc grades go …,” I said vaguely, edging forward. “But it’s getting late and I’ve gotta go or my dadi begins to troll the Missing People’s hotline. Talk to you later! And thanks again!”
“Yo, Nath!” It was Matthew, Brij’s friend, waving to him from the computer lab.
With one last look at me, Brij walked way.
What was that about? Was he just trying to be friendly? Nora, you always said boy/girl friendships were complicated pits of madness, and if that was an example, I was beginning to understand why.
But maybe Brij was scoping out the competition? Indian people could get pretty intense about grades, and maybe his parents were putting the pressure on. Ha. As if I were even anywhere near Brij’s GPA league. He needed to spy on Maddie if he was worried about his future valedictorian status.
Thinking about Maddie made me feel pathetic and unwanted all over again. Why was I so desperate for her friendship when she obviously didn’t value mine even a little? Ugh. My excitement about making a movie for Midsummer Night felt damp and wilty. If I had a cell phone, I’d angry text her right now.
Brij Nath’s Economics Notes, Cover Letter Dear Twinkle,
Economics isn’t easy, but these notes are. They’re guaranteed to cut your studying time in half (I timed it). Some of these terms are pretty complicated, though, so if you have problems, just text me. Here’s my number: 555-555-0128.
Sincerely,
Brij Nath
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100011 01110101 01110100 01100101
The one thing I can’t figure out is his weird signature at the bottom—is that a special code? Okay, Brij, maybe you don’t know this, but my IQ is not higher than 1,890 and therefore, like 99.9 percent of the population, I do not speak binary.
Tuesday, June 2
My room
Dear Ava DuVernay, I walked up our cracked sidewalk and in the front door to find Dadi sitting there in her white cotton sari on the couch, with her hands on Oso’s cheeks. Oso is our little black Pomeranian. Also, Dadi thinks he’s the reincarnated form of my dada, my grandfather and her late husband, Chandrashekhar.
I told you, as grandmothers go, Dadi’s pretty out there.
“Twinkle, tum aa gayi,” she said in this mystical voice. Oso’s beady black eyes rolled toward me, like, Help. She’s doing it again. “Dada told me you would be arriving soon.”
I kissed her on the cheek and crossed the tiny living room to the kitchen to wash my hands and grab a banana. “Right, Dadi. Dada told you.”
When I flopped down beside her, Dadi sighed and put her arm around me. Oso, sensing her distraction, made a hasty escape. “Such a skeptic. Perhaps one day you will understand, Twinkle. Perhaps one day you will accept this gift.” She cupped her bony brown hands to her chest and then held them out to me, but I gestured with my hands full of one whole banana, to show Dadi why I wasn’t accepting her socially unacceptable gift of aatma. That’s what she wanted to give me: a piece of her soul.
So we’re clear, this isn’t Hinduism that Dadi’s practicing. When she immigrated to the United States with my parents before I was born, she enthusiastically embraced American New Age culture like a long-lost friend. She still practices her own version of spirituality, which she cobbled together from too many Deepak Chopra-esque books and TV shows. The rest of us mostly put up with it because, well, Dadi’s just Dadi, and so what if we have a few dozen crystals on our windowsills and we’ll probably never get the smell of sage out of the couch and we’re on a first-name basis with the county firefighters because of the number of times her “scrying” experiments have gone awry? If Dadi wasn’t all hippie-dippie, she wouldn’t be Dadi.
“Are Mummy and Papa working?” I asked, biting off a chunk of banana.
“Yes,” Dadi said. “So it’s a Twinkle and Dadi night.” She grinned, genuinely happy, even though we had “Twinkle and Dadi nights” all the time because my parents are workaholics. I try not to take it personally, but it’s hard when your dad would rather spend his time with kids who aren’t his own and your mom pretty much pretends like you don’t exist because, through no fault of your own, you happened to be born in a different country than the one where she wants to be.
