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Sure, it can be all heart bursting and undeniable and Bollywood dance numbers and meet me at the Empire State Building. Except when someone else wants to decide who I’m going to sleep with for the rest of my life. Then destiny is a bloodsucker, and not the swoony, sparkly vampire kind.
The Bollywood-ized suburban wedding hall feels pretty cinematic, yet the thought of the awkward social situations to come makes me turn back and look longingly at the doors.
He sports a goatee that I assume is meant to make his boyish face look older or tougher. It does neither.
Every guy this age
The no kissing is anticlimactic, but some taboos cross oceans, packed tightly into the corners of immigrant baggage, tucked away with packets of masala and memories of home.
“NYU wants the deposit in a few weeks. There’s no way they’ll let me go. But I have to go. So many amazing directors have gone there. I mean, James Franco teaches there.”
Even my film professor went there
“Maybe get more shots for your movie? I could be your key grip.”
I like how he accepts the supporting role and doesn’t try to desi-mansplain things to me. He’s willing to try new things even if he might fail or look like a dork. It’s a different kind of confidence than I’ve seen in some of the guys at school, and it’s really appealing.
I grin. Probably for a little too long.
Me too 😄
“When it counts,” Kareem breathes into my ear and slips my phone into my palm.
It is too early for panties dropped
Kareem: The party wasn’t the same once you left. Me: Awww, you say that to all the documentarians, don’t you? Kareem: Only the cute, irreverent ones.
It’s all a little cliché for my tastes—the words on the phone, the silly smile I can’t get rid of—but so is being seventeen and unkissed.
That dialogue! It’s even unfolding like a screenplay. We had the meet-cute, so I allowed us the full rom-com text treatment this weekend. Now it’s Monday morning and I’m second-guessing, right on schedule.
“Maybe there’s a kiss in my future after all, Aishwarya. Maybe lots of kissing.”
“No suitable boy will marry you if you can’t cook.” “Counting on it,” I whisper to myself.
Me all the time
My cinematic imagination immediately takes over. “As in droplets of blood bouncing off the well-buffed wood floor of the gym?”
Is this me?
I know better than to read into it. Phil is taken. Extremely. Or is he? Regardless, we inhabit separate planets.
This child is me
“He’s Indian, goes to Princeton, and took your number. And you’re not jumping out of your seat why?” “And he’s Muslim,” I add for full effect. “He sounds like your parents’ wet dream,”
On the back he wrote, Sparkly vampires rule. He didn’t sign his name, but when I looked around, he was at his locker watching, grinning.
And I’m quoting Macbeth. I’m in high school. I have to stop quoting Shakespeare. At this rate, what will I have to look forward to in college?
Was I nerdy in high school?
A meet-cute with the suitable Indian boy. The hot football player at my locker. I feel queasy. I was joking with myself earlier, but now I’m wondering how it’s possible that I’ve stepped into the most predictable teen rom-com ever. How is this my real life?
Not wanting attention is part of why I love working at the bookstore. That, and opening up boxes of new books, their pages crisp, spines unbroken.
It’s mostly spend, though, and honestly, mostly spent here.
Me if i worked in a bookstore
Phil is heading toward me. He has this walk that is somehow languid and confident at the same time. Like a slow-moving river that doesn’t need to show its strength because it’s a known fact.
Crap. Did I say something wrong?
How I feel anytime I speak
Phil and Brian bump forearms. All the athletes do this. It’s like they have the swine flu and are trying to avoid germs.
“I’m reading American Sniper.”
Get out. Now.
Dessert definitely takes precedent over homework.”
I want to high-five myself for managing to sound breezy and casual. Then I realize I’m smiling like an idiot, and my face warms with embarrassment.
“You blush a lot,”
So shes been told
“It’s a weird genetic anomaly. I call it the Maya Paradox. I’m a world-class visible blusher despite loads of melanin. I’m pretty much a scientific wonder.”
“It’s confusing to him, too. Plus Gogol is not an Indian name, so he’s like a total outsider, even in his own culture.”
But they were all searching for belonging. She was, too. Not that it’s an excuse to have possibly mind-blowing sex with a French dude . . .”
😂😂😂😂 I'm dead
“To not having random sex with French dudes.” I lean in to touch the tip of my cup against his, then pull it away. “I feel like I should keep my options open,”
Its impossible to love her more than I do now
It’s not Violet. It’s Kareem.
You are still young. Free . . . Do yourself a favor. Before it’s too late, without thinking about it first, pack a pillow and a blanket and see as much of the world as you can.
“Chocolate cake is like our tradition, so . . .” he starts. “So two times officially equals tradition?” “Well, football players are superstitious creatures of habit.”
Why is this so cute?
“You did three movie projects for health class. Health class. A class that requires barely any work. Like for the whole tobacco will kill you unit? You made that movie with all those clips about the smoker from The Breakfast Club . . .”
I love how extra she is
“Good.”
Why good?
“When you meet someone and fall in love and decide to get married. In India, it’s called a love marriage.”
“No. I don’t want to hide anything, and I don’t want something . . . expected. I want to go to film school and be the first Indian American to win an Oscar, and then I can meet the One and fall in big, heart-bursting love, and we’ll travel the world, my camera ready to capture our adventures.” My cheeks flush; I know I’m blushing, but I can’t bring myself to shut up. “Oh, my God. I want my future life to be a cheesy romantic comedy.”
My sweet summer child
“I’m going to teach you.” “No. No. I can’t. You can’t—” “I can. Literally.” He’s not letting me off the hook. “You know, I lifeguard at the Y in summer, and swimming is a necessary life skill. I can teach you. I want to.”
My bitter heart cant handle the cute
“It’ll be fun. I promise. I won’t let a rogue wave take you.” Phil smiles, giving rise to the irresistible dimple. Maybe I don’t want him to let me off the hook. “Stop smiling. Fine. I’ll do it, but I’m not going to be happy about it.”
“Trust me: Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn are pretty much Saturday afternoon perfection,”
My mom picks Bride and Prejudice. Hina picks Roman Holiday. Somehow their movie choices totally define my relationships with them. They both try. One misses the mark. The other nails it.
The bell rings. He’s five minutes early. How un-Indian of him.
“So, Geja’s? Going for dark, romantic, and sophisticated, are we?” I’m going to die.
“One of us has to say something soon. Ideally a witty or brilliant observation,”
“So you’re a Thoreau fan.” “Nah, just pretentious.”
“I guess this place is kind of over the top, huh?” Kareem asks. I smile back. “It’s very film noir. All we need is a fog machine and a dame with a gun and checkered past.” Kareem laughs. “Wait. That’s not you?” “You never can tell.”
“Simple is never a word I’d used to describe you.”
Flirting on point
