“Thanks,” I say, gazing up at him. And if this was the emoji version of my life, my eyes would be flashing with hearts.
“This means you have all the inside info, right? I bet there’s a list of matches right in your backpack.”
“No way! I’d never bring it to school.”
“But you can spill about who’s on it,” Aiden says. “To trusted friends only, of course. Like, if you really wanted to, you could tell me who my matches are?”
Me! I think. I’m your match!
“Uh, I could, but, like, that wouldn’t be fair,” I say, even though the secret tickles the tip of my tongue and I want to tell him so badly that it’s me. But Noah would kill me. “You’re going to have to wait and see.”
“Build up the anticipation,” he says, smiling. “I get it.”
A twinge of fear twists a knot in my stomach. I hope he isn’t disappointed. But he’s flirting with me, right? Like this is what flirting is… I think?
The warning bell blares through the crowded hallway.
“I’ve gotta go,” Aiden says. “See you later.”
Well. Not a bad start to the day. Not a bad start at all.
When I get to economics, Amanda’s in class—unusual, because she’s usually doing the morning announcements. I can feel her ice-blue eyes boring into the back of my head as I take my seat, slinking down into my chair.
The SMART board flickers to life. “Good morning, Red Hawks! This is Natasha Qureshi and Marcus Matson with your morning announcements!” Apparently Natasha’s taken over for Amanda, which isn’t terrible news. I find her way nicer to listen to, but I’m curious why Amanda would bail on the broadcast.
“We have some more news to report about a certain popular app that’s gone viral in the halls of Mayfield High.”
Oh no. This can’t be good. I sit up in my chair, laser-focused on the broadcast.
“Rumors have already been swirling, but we can confirm with certainty that the app developers are Mayfield’s own Navdeep Sangha, Simran Sangha, and Noah Siegal.”
I’m redder than Noah’s hair. I want to legit be a ghost. Right here and right now. Poof! Be gone! RIP! Everyone turns to look at me.
Natasha goes on: “When asked about the app, Ms. Pinter said this is the first she has heard of it, and that she will request that Mr. Wall of the technology department review the app, then make a recommendation to the school-leadership board.”
School leadership? Oh no. Ms. Pinter doesn’t have patience for students stepping out of line, especially when what they’re doing is creating distractions on campus.
Are we about to end up in major trouble?
Marcus starts talking. “So long as the app doesn’t violate the Code of Conduct, Ms. Pinter says, she won’t take issue with it, but she does ask that no students use the app during school hours and says she’ll be in touch with the app’s creators regarding a review meeting. As a satisfied user of Matched!,” he continues, grinning, “I hope the review goes splendidly, and I’d like to be the first to offer Simi, Noah, and Navdeep a huge congratulations for coming up with such a cool app. This is Marcus and Natasha, signing off.”
The room bursts into applause.
My face is on fire, but I attempt a gracious smile, giving my classmates a little wave—until I notice Ms. Holland looking at me with disapproving eyes and her signature scowl.
She’s not the only one in the room who doesn’t seem impressed by the news—Amanda’s practically green. Maybe it’s envy. Maybe she’s sick and about to vomit. Maybe she’s traded in pink for this new color. Now I understand why she wasn’t on today’s broadcast. She’d come to school makeup-free and pink-free before she’d sit in front of the whole student body singing the praises of something I helped create.
All day, people stop me in the halls and approach me in class. My phone won’t quit buzzing. And at lunch, Noah and I end up in the midst of a swarm.
“How did you guys think of it?”
“It’s freaking kickass!”
“I mean, it’s great that it’s free and all, but I’d pay money for it!”
“Did you draw the icons?”
“Who helped you with the quiz questions?”
“Navdeep is legit going to be the next Steve Jobs or something.”
Jassi comes by with praise for Matched!, then asks if I have my mehendi cones with me in the cafeteria. “Seriously, Simi, you’re so talented. I’d love one of your tattoos. Maybe you can do them for matched couples? Part of the service.”
I wolf down what’s left of my lunch, then spend a while creating an intricate design on her wrist, chatting with her and Priya about designing the app. Beside me, Noah finishes his lunch, adding his part of the story here and there, jokingly taking full credit for the idea. Which is mostly true. Without him, I’d never be doing this.
When I finish Jassi’s mehendi, she blows softly on the design, then holds out her arm to admire her decorated wrist. “It’s so pretty!” she says, giving me a one-armed hug. “Really, Simi, you’re so good.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Make sure you scrub it off with oil, not water. That way the color will get darker.”
“I will.” She smiles, thanks me one more time, and then she and Priya prance off to join their friends.
I look after her, feeling fulfilled. Maybe I will make an impression with my art—even if it’s not in the exact way I thought I would.
The day continues in a blur. It seems everyone wants to congratulate Noah, Navdeep, and me on Matched! While I’m glad it’s a hit, all the attention is making my head spin. Also, my teachers have been super annoyed with the distractions, and I’m starting to worry someone’s going to report the disruption to Principal Pinter. And then, to Mom.
But now that the news is out, we have to go full speed ahead, with or without Navdeep’s help. Which means Noah and I have a lot of work to do.
chapter sixteen
It feels weird to go from high school dating drama to the seriousness of a real-life Shagun consultation—one that might end in an actual wedding. But I’m excited, too. Because this one was my idea.
Mom ushers Maya Chatterjee into her office. “It’s nice of you to come see us on such short notice.”
Maya Chatterjee has come by herself, without any family in tow. She’s average height and has a warm tan toasting her already brown skin, and an even warmer smile. She’s wearing jeans and a silk sweater set. She looks just like she did back when she was a substitute teacher for my seventh-grade class.
“Simran,” she says. “You’re all grown up!”
“Hi, Miss Chatterjee,” I say.
“Please, call me Maya.”
“Simi is interning with us,” Mom says. “She’s going to be sitting in on our session today. Are you all right with that, Maya?”
“That’s totally fine,” Maya says. “Are you interested in joining the family practice, Simi?”
“She has the aptitude for it,” Masi says.
“That’s fantastic.” Maya laughs. “People like me need all the help we can get.”
“Rubbish,” Mom tells her.
Turns out, Maya’s pretty talkative. It’s been a while since she started the process at Shagun and Mom is only now ready with her matches, but she’s not upset about the delay.
“I’d rather wait a while and get matches that might actually work,” Maya says. “I’m so tired of the online-dating scene. And between teaching, grading, and working on my thesis, I don’t have time for a social life. But I would like to have a family one day, so this is a step in the right direction, right?”
“Right,” Mom agrees, and then she gets down to business. “I’d like to go over some details, just to make sure we have the right information. You left the dietary restrictions section blank?”
Maya shrugs. “Because I don’t have any.”
Mom gulps. “You eat… beef?”
“Uh-huh.”
I grin at the shock on Mom’s face.
“Wahe Gu
ru,” Masi says under her breath. “Uh-oh! The guy and his family are vegetarians. Could mean trouble.”
“I didn’t while I lived at home with my parents, so don’t blame them,” Maya says. “It’s best to be honest about stuff like this, right?”
“True, true.” Meera Masi nods in sympathy. “It’s best to be honest about everything at the start than find out later. And you can always give up meat, no?”
Maya is nothing if not forthright. “Not likely. Okay, maybe I can give up red meat because that’s healthier anyhow, but not seafood. I love fish!”
Mom makes a note, then asks, “How old did you say you were, beta?”
“Twenty-nine.” Maya notices the quiet glance Mom and Masi exchange. “Am I beyond hope, then?”
“Not at all,” Masi says. Maya is the same age as the young man we met with, not younger like the other matches Mom pulled out.
“We had discussed backgrounds,” Masi says. “And you had said it’s okay if the boy is not Bengali. You’re open to other states. Is that right?” She means other states in India, as in Gujarat, not California or Minnesota.
“Right,” Maya says. “Our family isn’t at all orthodox. As long as we can visit pandals for Durga Puja once a year, I’m happy.”
“Good, good. Let’s look at some of the profiles we’ve selected,” Mom says. “We have a ladies-first policy, as you know, so none of these gentlemen have your information yet. Please read through the profiles and let us know if you’d like to meet any of them. Then we can move the process along.”
Maya opens the folder. The first profile belongs to the Indian doctor who came in last week. Mom made it my job to pull the files on all the guys, so I was careful to put him on top. Not that the other profiles Mom and Masi pulled are terrible, but I ship Chatterjee-Khanna.
“Great! I’ll have a read and get back to you,” she says, blushing a little. “It’s okay to call if I have questions, right?”
“Absolutely, beta,” Mom says, putting an arm around her. “We are here for you!”
The next day, when I get to art class, Aiden’s waiting in my workspace.
“Hey, Simi,” he says. “I heard we’re blending paints today.”
“Oh, are we?” I say. “What are you working on?”
He pulls the tarp off his easel. Underneath are the bare bones of a sketch, the start of a painting. “It’ll be a portrait of my grandmother,” he says. “I never met her, because she died when I was a baby, but I’ve been working off this old photo.” He picks an old black-and-white picture up off the table, holding it out so I can inspect it.
“Wow. I bet it’ll be beautiful.”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second, staring at the sketch. “I just hope I can do her justice.”
“Will this be your signature project?”
“Nah. This one’s just for me, you know? I’ve got something large-scale in mind for the big project. Something I’m gonna do with spray paint.” He pulls out the paint bin and starts sorting. “I heard you’re doing something cool for yours. Seems like Furst is excited.”
I nod. “I’m excited, too. But it’s a lot—something I’ve never tried before.” I pull out some of the mehendi cones I brought from home and gesture to the design on my ankle. “I mean, I’ve done mehendi before, obviously. But this—”
“Is going to be good.” He grins, handing me a few tubes—brown and russet and burgundy and wine, all the right tones. Our hands touch as I take the tubes from him. I swear I feel a spark, the tingle everyone always talks about. He grins again, and though I manage to smile back, I suddenly feel bashful.
I’ve daydreamed about Aiden-induced tingles for so many years. It’s weird, in a good way, being within arm’s reach of something I’ve wanted since middle school.
We both turn to our easels, ready to work.
I wonder if he has any idea how strong a match we are.
“I feel like everyone is watching us,” Noah says as we walk into the cafeteria.
He’s right—our remote corner of the cafeteria is more crowded than usual. I’m so thrown by the influx of people, I nearly slip off the bench as I slide over to my place. “Sure you don’t miss blending in?” I ask, recovering with passable grace.
“No way,” he says, then pauses to fist-bump Rohan and Jordan before taking his usual seat. I’ve always like known people and been friendly, but like people want to know me now and hang out.
“Hey, Simi! Hey, Noah!” Sophia says, pushing through the crowd with Amy, Rebecca, and a few other Inter-Fem Club girls in tow.
“Congratulations on the app,” Amy says.
“Thanks,” Noah and I say in unison.
Sophia smiles. “I saw the henna design you did for Jassi—it’s beautiful. Do you have your cones with you today, by chance?”
“I do.” I pull one out of my bag to show her.
“We’d love to get #NOM henna tattoos to help us stay mindful of the issues surrounding the school mascot,” Amy says seriously. The Inter-Fem Club, as well as a few other groups, recently pushed to have our school’s mascot changed from the Red Men to the Red Hawks, a campaign I’m happy worked.
“Some people refuse to embrace the fact that we’re now the Mayfield Red Hawks,” Rebecca adds.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “But #NOM? I don’t get it.”
“Stands for ‘not our mascot,’ right?” I say to the girls.
“Yep,” Rebecca says.
I smile, pulling a few more cones from my backpack. “I like it. Where do you want the tattoos?”
They agree on their wrists, and I get started, snagging bites of my lunch between tattoos. I add swirls and flourishes to the letters so they look pretty as well as powerful. As I finish the last, Suraj stops by our table. The Inter-Fem girls know him, too, and call out hellos before heading for their usual spot in the cafeteria.
“Did you end up joining their club?” I ask.
“I went to a meeting, but they meet the same time as the Poetry Club,” Suraj explains. “I’m going to be involved, but unofficially.”
“Cool,” I say, wondering what kind of poetry he writes. “You want a #NOM tattoo?” I’m only kidding, but he immediately pulls up his sleeve and bares his forearm.
“Really?” I’m taken aback, not gonna lie, because he hasn’t been at school very long, but I like that he’s in support of the mascot change and totally cool with rocking a mehendi design. “Okay, then!”
My hands shake a little as I start to swirl the mehendi over his arm—what’s up with me? I take a breath and steady them, focusing on the conversation Noah’s having with a few people who’ve joined us at our table to keep my nerves in check. I manage most of the tattoo before the cone runs dry. “Sorry, I’m out of mehendi.”
“No, you’re not,” Noah butts in, handing me a fresh cone. He gives me a conspiratorial wink and a pointed poke with his elbow.
“Oh, sorry! Noah, this is Suraj. Suraj, my best friend, Noah.” They do that head-nod thing guys do to each other.
I go back to the design on Suraj’s arm, finding that if I hold my breath, my hands don’t shake as much. I manage to do a decent job getting the letters onto Suraj’s arm, which I’m now noticing is muscled. “All done.”
“Thanks, Simi,” he says before heading to his regular table.
Noah leans back in his chair.
“Hey, Simi?” he asks with a teasing smile. “You sure Aiden’s the right match for you? I think you have like a thing with Suraj.”
I think he might be right—there is something between Suraj and me. But what about the tingles I felt this morning with Aiden in art class?
If only matching myself was as easy as matching others.
I roll my eyes, because Noah so doesn’t know what I want. I mean, I barely know what I want. His attention shifts to the far side of the cafeteria, and I’m happy to be done with this topic of conversation. I follow his gaze to Teá, who’s standing in the hot-lunch line. She’s wearing gym shorts, a basic T-shirt,
and sneakers. But she makes it look good. Amanda’s a few people behind her, and while Teá’s vibe is effortless, Amanda works for it. Her hair looks like she just stepped out of a salon; her bangs are always flawless.
“Weird!” I say to Noah, because when Amanda notices me looking, she turns and gives me a casual wave. “Is she actually talking with us now?”
“Because of the app,” Noah says, waving back with a dubious expression. “She wants to be a part of anything and everything that’s deemed cool. But that may not last long if we introduce Ethan and Teá. Think we should?”
“Definitely,” I say. “Matched! isn’t about Amanda. It’s about bringing people together.”
“I hope they’re a good fit.”
“Well, at the very least, they can talk about soccer. The rest is chemistry. Nothing we can do about that.”
Noah crumples the paper his sandwich was wrapped in and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. “We’ll have to see how it—”
“Oh, oh!” I clutch at his hand. “Teá’s looking at Ethan.” She peers out from behind her water bottle, taking another sip. He catches her, smiles, then turns back to the lunch line. “She doesn’t even know he’s her match, but she still checked him out.”
“News flash!” Noah says, rolling his eyes. “The whole cafeteria has checked Ethan out at one point or another.”
“Aha!” I turn his chin five degrees to the left. Ethan’s looking at Teá now.
They are so a match.
I lift my bottle of juice and tap it against the carton of milk Noah’s holding. “Cheers to successful matches!”
chapter seventeen
Two weeks and twenty very smooth introductions later, we’ve run into our first rejection.
Unfortunately, it’s the pair we were most excited about, too: Ethan and Teá.
Teá is the one doing the rejecting. She has corralled Noah and me into the library to let us know her worries. What’s crazy is that she doesn’t even know who her match is yet.
Cold feet, I think.
A Match Made in Mehendi Page 10
