From Twinkle, with Love
Page 9
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.
“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.
