“You don’t want to join Inter-Fem,” Navdeep cuts in, handing Suraj a mango lassi. “Amy and Sophia can be seriously scary.”
“Stop with the stereotypes, Navdeep,” I say.
“You should join, Simi,” Navdeep says. “You’ve got time, since Art Club went under.”
“There was an Art Club?” Suraj asks.
“You like art?” I ask. “And tech?”
Suraj smiles. “Can’t a guy be into both? I like stuff that combine art and engineering—like product design or architecture. I did some pretty big sculptural pieces last year at camp. They were metal, and I got to use a blowtorch. But I didn’t have room for art with all the APs I’m taking this year, and anyway, I’ve fulfilled Mayfield’s art requirements already.”
“You should think about applying to Cornell,” Navdeep says. “Great architecture program. And that big dragon thing they make every year? It’s cool.”
“It’s definitely on my list,” Suraj says.
Mom calls the crowd for dinner, and we all file into the dining room. I smile in surprise when Suraj automatically pulls back a chair for me.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting down a little too fast and almost sliding off. Ugh!
“Smooth,” Navdeep mutters.
I stick my tongue out at him, angling my face away so no one else sees. Suraj is kind of interesting. A techie who is also into art.
Mom and Masi’s food is delicious—saag paneer, chicken tikka, kali daal, and rogan josh—and Dad keeps everyone happy with drinks ranging from lassi and lemonade to Patiala pegs of his favorite single malt whiskey. As we finish eating, he raises his glass in a toast.
“To new beginnings, and all the young people in the room. And especially to Simi, the reason behind our new friendship, and Shagun’s latest junior matchmaker.”
I fumble my glass, spilling some mango lassi on the white tablecloth.
After the cheers die down, Suraj leans toward me.
“You’re a matchmaker?”
“I help out with Mom and Masi’s business,” I say, leaving it at that.
“Your family business is matchmaking?”
I flush. Some people think matchmaking is backward—I mean, even I used to. “Yeah,” I say. “It goes back generations.”
“That’s cool. Does that mean you guys really are behind the matchmaking app everyone’s talking about at school?”
Over Suraj’s shoulder, I notice Masi straining to eavesdrop on our conversation. He grimaces in pain at my well-aimed kick. I make an apologetic face but also narrow my eyes at him, probably confusing the heck out of the guy. Navdeep flashes a quick thumbs-down in Suraj’s direction, too.
He takes the hint and drops it, thankfully.
It seems Mom caught a bit of the conversation, though. “Those matching apps don’t work,” she says. “Much better to talk to people face-to-face to get a sense of who they are before matching them. How can a program do that?”
“Ekdum right,” Jolly’s masi says. She can probably get a program to do anything, come to think of it, but she’s polite enough not to say so.
Suraj waits until after dinner’s cleaned up to pull Navdeep and me aside to ask for an explanation. I guess we owe him one.
“I thought your mom and masi would be into the idea of a matchmaking app,” Suraj says. “You didn’t tell them about it?”
“Mom doesn’t believe in matching programs,” I say. “You heard her. And I’m sorry about kicking you. Are you okay?”
Suraj grins ruefully. “It’s fine. You know, I did wonder who at Mayfield would have the matchmaking know-how and the programming expertise to pull off an app like that.”
Navdeep and I exchange a guilty look.
Suraj grins knowingly. “So what made you guys do it?”
“I wanted to fine-tune the app so I can prove to our mom that it works,” Navdeep says.
I don’t say anything. When Noah and I first started this, it was a little more for him than for me and part of our let’s-be-new-people-this-year plan. But now it feels like it’s becoming something else.
He nods. “That’s a whole lot of coding,” Suraj says. “The user interface is so clever. The icons are pure genius.”
“Noah helped with those, too. You’ve taken the quiz?” I ask.
“Not yet. But now that I know you guys are definitely behind it, I might give it a shot.”
He and Navdeep fist-bump again. I roll my eyes and go off in search of more mango lassi. Suraj’s icon will be in Academics for sure.
I wonder who his matches will be.
I wonder if I should run the search again, just to see if he shows up in mine.
chapter fourteen
The next day, I have economics first period, and class begins with morning announcements, broadcasted through the school via the SMART board in each classroom. After the opening jingle, the usual hosts appear onscreen. “Hello, Mayfield High! Marcus Matson here.”
“And I’m Amanda Taylor!”
“Today we want to talk about what’s really going down at Mayfield High,” Marcus says, then swings his gaze toward Amanda.
She flashes a dazzling smile. “The Matched! dating app!”
My stomach bottoms out.
“If you haven’t tried it, what are you waiting for?” she says like a bubble about to pop.
Marcus takes over. “The Matched! app is a fun quiz geared specifically toward Mayfield students. It’s meant to reveal your values, personality, and interests and guide you in finding possible romantic matches.”
“We took the quiz,” Marcus says, “and are ready to share our personal Matched! icons, or as people have started calling them: MIs.”
My first-period teacher, Ms. Holland, who’s usually super enthusiastic, looks bored to tears. But my classmates stare at the SMART board, riveted, as Amanda and Marcus pull T-shirts from beneath the desk in front of them and put them on.
“My MI is a purple peacock,” Amanda says.
“And mine is a white raven!” Marcus says. No surprise there.
“So, Marcus, I’ve heard the best is yet to come as far as Matched! is concerned.”
He nods. “The next phase of the app is promised to release on Friday. That’s when we’ll find out who our top matches are.”
Several heads swivel around to look at me; my classmates are grinning like we’ve all been best buddies for ages. Rohan’s cafeteria spectacle has clearly made the rounds.
“We can’t wait!” Amanda says, her voice even more grating than usual.
“Have you taken the quiz and claimed your MI?” Marcus asks, shooting the camera his best newscaster smile. “Keep us posted!”
My phone buzzes with a text. I sneak a glance at its screen.
This is brilliant!
No—this is nuts.
I don’t have a chance to reply before Noah has sent another text.
Our adoption rate’s gonna skyrocket. Not to mention our social standing.
Ms. Holland’s trying to call the class to order, but everyone’s talking excitedly, pulling out their phones despite school policy. The Matched! app stares back at me from at least a dozen screens as Ms. Holland claps her hands and tries again to get everyone’s attention. I think she’s about to start throwing phones into the trash.
Noah and I might be making strides toward Mayfield fame, but I’m starting to worry we’ll end up in trouble before we have a chance to enjoy it.
On Friday, right after school, everyone who took the Matched! quiz receives a message containing the MIs of their top five matches. Just after, Navdeep becomes nervous about the next phase of the project: introducing couples.
“I’m not going to leave them hanging after all this work,” I say, stomping my foot on the floor of his bedroom. Noah came home from school with me so we could double-team my brother into seeing things our way. “They have to meet! There’s no other way to make sure the matches actually work.”
“Who cares if they work?” Navdeep says. “The
re’s enough data to show Mom that the process is valid. We have what we need—proof that the app can match people.”
“But that’s not all that’s important,” Noah says.
“Yeah, we have to know that the app can match people well,” I stress to Navdeep. “That’s what Mom needs to see. She doesn’t trust technology. And she won’t until we can show her that couples have met, gone out, and connected. We need feedback.”
“You guys are asking for trouble,” Navdeep says. “We’re already pushing it matching Mayfield students anonymously. If Pinter finds out we’re setting up actual students, presumably on school grounds, she’ll be livid.”
Secretly, I’m worried about Principal Pinter, too—not to mention the possibility of some vague policy about dating apps buried in the school’s Code of Conduct. But I’ve also become invested in the app. Noah has, too. He says, “We’re not doing anything illegal. It’s all for fun!”
I nod. “No one made kids sign up. If they exchange personal information, it’ll be because they’ve chosen to.”
Navdeep looks unconvinced. “I don’t want any disciplinary actions on my record before applying to colleges.”
“I totally get that,” I say. “We’ll make sure everything is all good before we start intros. Walk us through what we should do?”
He sighs, then starts clicking rapidly on his keyboard. “First, you get the okay from both parties about setting up an intro. That’s the most important thing, from a legal standpoint. Then you set a specific time and place to meet.”
“The library!” Noah and I say it together. We laugh and high-five each other.
“The library?” Navdeep asks. “Isn’t that too public a place?”
“I think a public place might be good for first meetings. People will probably feel more comfortable without the pressure of, like, a private meeting. Also, there are like secret nooks there.”
“True,” Noah says. “So, okay. Matches show up in the library. Then what happens?”
“Their app will be in intro mode,” Navdeep says. “Which means that if they get within fifteen feet of each other, the app will open a chat channel for them. Both have to click okay for the channel to stay open. If one or both say no, the channel closes. That’s the end of the intro.”
“If one of them says yes and the other person says no, don’t you think that would hurt?” Noah asks.
“We need to set the expectation that there is a risk of rejection,” Navdeep says.
I nod. “No risk, no reward.”
“So who are the people who have strong matches?” Noah asks.
I look at the most recent stats printout Navdeep’s given me. “Kiran Kaur and Marcus Matson. Rebecca Chen and Hasina Bagayoko. Also Teá and Ethan. They’re nearly identical on the values and priorities quizzes. They loved the same memes and had nine out of ten things on their Hate List that were the same. They had the same personal hero—some soccer player I’ve never heard of. It wasn’t even an option on the multiple-choice quiz. They both wrote her in.”
“Teá’s new, so this might be a great way for her to get to know some new people,” Noah says.
“She’s not going to make many new friends when Amanda finds out she’s been matched with Ethan,” I say. “Some students will shun her because Amanda says to, and who even knows what Amanda will do to her. But she seems tough. Mom always says it’s better to see if someone could be your match despite the obstacles.”
Navdeep smiles. “I think she was quoting The Shagun Matchmaking Guide.”
“You should bring the guide to school on Monday for good luck,” Noah says.
I imagine the big red book at our school. There’s never been anything so rare and beautiful in our library, for sure. Maybe it will bring us luck, along with good fortune to everyone we’ve matched.
I smile. “I will.”
Never trust the answers people put down on paper or type into a computer. You need to look into a person’s eyes to see if they truly mean what they say.
—THE SHAGUN MATCHMAKING GUIDE
chapter fifteen
I’ve brought The Shagun Matchmaking Guide to school as a good luck charm for introduction day. Mom’s practically got it memorized and doesn’t look at it very often, so I’m hoping she won’t miss it.
“Where’s Navdeep?” Noah asks as we head into the library. It’s still early; our potential matches won’t be here for another ten minutes.
“Cramming for a quiz he has second period. He’s swamped with school stuff. From now on, we’ll probably be running the app mostly by ourselves.”
“He’s bailing after the epic launch we had?”
“I know, I know.” I’m a little bummed about my brother bailing on us for a while, but excitement’s still zipping through me. “He was interested in the tech part.… What we’re doing now—the human stuff—is making him nervous.”
“The human stuff? We’re setting up potential soul mates, Simi!”
I scoff. “Soul mates in high school? Yeah, right.”
“Oh, come on. Where’s your faith in the vichole techniques of your ancestors?”
“I have faith. But I also like proof.” I think on the techniques of my foremothers and attempt to channel the Science Goddess genes of the badass Sikh ladies I know instead, like Geet and Suraj’s mom. “Let’s get some of these people together and see how well the app’s really working.”
The way Navdeep described the app’s intro mode unfolding sounds pretty straightforward. I think. I hope. Don’t let this blow up in our faces. And he promised he’d be around “virtually” to troubleshoot in case there’s a snag and people need technical help. But Noah and I are the boots on the ground.
“I’m glad you brought this, Simi,” Noah says as I place The Shagun Matchmaking Guide on the table between us. “Can I touch it?”
I laugh. “Go ahead! Read something from it.”
“Isn’t most of it in Punjabi or Hindi?” he asks.
“Yes, but there’s English, too. Mom’s been working on translations of the most important stories and instructions.”
“Like this.” Noah points to a page he has open. “It’s the definition of vichole.”
He reads aloud: “Vichole means ‘middlemen’ in Punjabi. Anyone that sets up a deal, brokers an agreement, or brings two parties together for any purpose is a vichola. There are vichole for business deals, property disputes, and the buying and selling of cattle. All good vichole should have a reputation for honesty, be able to resolve differences, and have knowledge of the field they are in. There are also vichole for marriages. But vichole who set up marriage matches need special skills. They need to be observers of human nature, planners of lifetime alliances, and students of love. Some are so well respected that they are paid highly for their skill and knowledge. This type of vichola, or vicholi, since they are almost always women, is becoming rare.”
“Our family matchmakers were exclusively vicholi,” I say.
“I love it.” He keeps reading. “There may be a day when no one in our family has the gift. However, if one of our children does have the predisposition to be a matchmaker, let them not waste it. There is great need in the world for those who can help love and happiness take root and lay a firm foundation for families that last.”
I squash the pang of guilt that surfaces. I’m still not interested in being an actual matchmaker, even though Mom and Masi think I have the gift.… Nanima would be disappointed.
“I wish your nanima would adopt me,” Noah says, reading my mind. “That way I can stop the Shagun tradition from dying out, since you’re too stubborn to carry it on.”
“Or, now that we’ve launched the app, maybe people can make their own matches and potential matchmakers can pursue jobs they might like better,” I reply. “Like being an artist.”
“Do you hear that?” Noah says, closing the guide. “I think there’s someone coming.”
I check my silver wristwatch—a gift from Nanima’s last visit from India.
My heart thumps hard as I grab the matchmaking guide and slide it into my bag. Then I pull out a novel so I can pretend I’m occupied. Noah makes as if he’s busy on his computer. The door to the library opens and closes a few times as some of our first matches walk in. I try to be subtle about watching while Rebecca and Hasina turn into the Data Processing and Computer Science aisle, Jason and Liz take over Dictionaries and Encyclopedias, and Rohan and Priya head to the Science Fiction and Fantasy section.
“I wonder how Hasina and Rebecca will react when they see each other,” Noah says.
“We’ll find out. Navdeep said he’ll give us the status of all ten matches via email. If they opened the chat channel or if one or both bailed.” My phone vibrates. “Here’s something from him now!”
“What does he say?”
“All the matches are currently on open chat channels,” I say after reading the message. “Wow!”
“That’s great!” Noah stands and cranes his neck to look over the bookshelves. “Better than expected.”
“Sit.” I grab his hand and pull him down.
“I’m dying to see what they’re up to,” he says.
“We don’t want them to feel like they’re in a fishbowl or whatever.”
Not a full minute later, movement at the front of the library catches my attention. “Noah, look over there!”
Hasina and Rebecca are walking out of the library. They’re not holding hands or anything, just walking, but walking together.
Noah and I grin at each other as we grab our bags and head out of the library.
Matched! is working!
I’m on my way to first-period economics when Aiden stops me in the hall.
“If it isn’t Simi, matchmaker extraordinaire,” he says.
“Guilty,” I say.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
“Yeah, I was kind of hoping to keep a low profile for a while. Rohan and his big fat mouth ruined that!”
“I say own it. You guys created something cool.”
A Match Made in Mehendi Page 9
