Sweetie set the phone down, smiling.
The next morning …
If there was one thing Ashish loved, it was a girl of mystery. Sweetie Nair, he’d erroneously thought, would be a Goody Two-shoes, full-bottle-of-coconut-oil-in-the-hair, devout Indian daughter. Basically a female version of Rishi, his perfect older brother. But this? Texting him (who knows how she’d even gotten his number) behind their parents’ backs? Asking to meet him alone at the school on a Sunday? Okay, so the running shoes thing was weird. But whatever. The important thing was that maybe Sweetie Nair was just as much of a dark horse as he was.
The thought had him hopping up to take a shower. After he’d lathered and rinsed multiple times, Ashish put some gel in his hair for good measure (and for the first time since the breakup). He debated what he should wear, but ultimately decided on his looks-handsome-but-not-like-he’s-trying-too-hard outfit of a simple red T-shirt and gym shorts. He laced up his tennis shoes and was heading out when Ma said, “Kahaan ja rahe ho is vakt?”
Dang. Busted. He spun around slowly. “Oh, just to Oliver’s. Shoot some hoops.”
Ma glanced at the clock on the wall. “At eight forty-five on a Sunday morning?”
She had a point. Ashish had been known to ask her if she was trying to “off him” when she woke him up before noon on the weekends. “Uh, yeah. It’s just … you know, I couldn’t sleep. And so I just texted him and …” He trailed off as Ma stepped closer, her nostrils flaring.
“Are you wearing cologne? And gel in your hair?”
“Um … kind of?”
She raised one eyebrow, crossed her arms, and waited.
“Ma …”
“Ashish. Just tell me the truth. Are you meeting a girl there? One of your cheerleaders?”
Ashish sighed. At least he wouldn’t have to lie. “No, I’m not meeting a cheerleader or any one of those other girls you and Pappa don’t like, okay?”
She studied his face and then nodded. “Okay. Do you want some breakfast before you go?”
“Ah, no, that’s okay, Ma. Thanks.” He was actually too nervous to eat, he realized. Weird, considering he had no idea what Sweetie even looked like, beyond the fact that her mother apparently thought she weighed too much. After that phone call, he hadn’t even bothered to ask Ma for a picture.
He could pull her up on his phone, he knew. She was probably on some social media website—and hadn’t Ma mentioned she’d been in the local paper recently for some sport or another? But Ashish decided to wait anyway. He wanted to see her in person for the first time, this girl who’d already defied his expectations.
The track at Piedmont was large, though not quite as luxurious as the ones (yeah, plural) at Richmond. Ashish parked behind the chain-link fence surrounding it and hopped out of the open side of his Wrangler. The day was cool and dry, and the wind ruffled his gelled and coiffed hair. He felt a slight flutter in his belly; the first such feeling he’d felt in forever. And I don’t even know this girl, he thought. He did know she wasn’t afraid to take control, though, and that he really, really liked.
She wasn’t there yet. He walked past the fence onto the track and looked around. It was empty this time of day. His phone beeped, and Ashish fished it out.
Ready to race?
He spun around and saw her. She’d just gotten out of her car and was walking toward him in track pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hair didn’t look doused in coconut oil. Even at this distance, he could see the sun sparkling off its shiny black waves. She had it up in a high ponytail, and it bounced slightly with every step she took. As she got closer, he noticed other details too.
Her skin was smooth, the creamy color of that moonstone bracelet he’d bought Ma for Mother’s Day last year, a shade or two lighter than his own. Her stride was confident, her full hips swaying with every step. She smiled.
Ashish blinked. So she wasn’t the kind of girl you saw in Sports Illustrated. She wasn’t the kind of girl he or any of his friends had ever dated. But even he, in his demojoed state of mind, could see that there was something about her. Something magnetic, something that had him closing the gap between them even though he’d told himself he was going to play it cool, dammit.
“Hi,” he said, telling himself not to gaze too long into her hazel eyes and then doing it anyway. He held out a hand. “I’m Ashish.”
She took it. Hers was soft and small, and he felt his grip automatically loosen. “Sweetie.” Squinting in the sun, she looked up at him. Wow, she was as tiny as Ma. “You ready to race?”
Right. She’d said that in her text, too, hadn’t she? “Race. As in …?” He looked around the track.
“Yep. Come on. We’re gonna do a four-hundred-meter dash.”
Ashish looked at her, frowning. “Uh …”
“That’s one full lap around the track.” She began to walk toward the starting line, and he hurried to follow.
“Okay, but … why are we doing this again?”
She looked at him seriously. “To get it out of the way.”
Ashish waited, but there didn’t seem to be more forthcoming. “Get what—”
“You’ll see,” she said, taking her place. She gestured to the marker on the adjacent lane where he should stand. “Okay, when I say ‘go,’ that’s when we start running. Ready?”
He opened his mouth to ask again but then shut it, nodded, and turned around. He copied her stance, butt in the air, hands on the ground.
“One, two, three—GO!”
CHAPTER 8
Ashish took off like a rocket. He was just wondering if he should slow down, give the girl a chance, when her shadow encroached on him. He barely had time to look over his shoulder before she was zooming past him, the look on her face telling him she was in Balltopia. Or, in her case, Tracktopia.
Balltopia was a term Ashish, Oliver, and Elijah had come up with to describe that feeling of pure adrenaline, pure bliss, that came with really kicking butt on the court. You were so in the zone, you needed a different zip code. Nothing could shake Ashish out of Balltopia when he was in it. He hadn’t been there for a couple of months, thanks to Celia, but that was another matter.
He almost wanted to stop and stare at Sweetie. He wanted to drool over her total Tracktopia face. He wanted to get back to Balltopia so badly, but in the past three months he’d only been able to graze around the circumference.
Ashish kept running, beginning to take in different things about her. The way her legs ate up the track easily. Her arms were bent loosely by her sides, her breathing was perfectly paced, her gorgeous, high ponytail swung and bounced. She was power. She was grace. She was beauty.
She was totally kicking his ass.
Ashish rallied and made a gallant effort, but he could see there was no point. There was no way he could beat her now. Winning was a huge part of Ashish’s identity—he was unapologetically competitive. But even so, watching her mercilessly crush him on the track didn’t hurt his ego at all. Weirdly enough, as he closed in on the finish line, he was smiling.
Sweetie was already there, smiling too, hands on her hips. Tendrils of hair were plastered across her sweaty forehead and neck; little drops of sweat beaded along the bridge of her delicate nose. Ashish found this detail almost painfully cute, and he had to rearrange his facial features to look chagrined. “Oh, man,” he said. “What, did you pop caffeine pills with a Red Bull chaser for breakfast?”
She laughed. “Nope. I just wanted to show you.”
“Show me what?” He remembered how she’d said she wanted to get something out of the way, and frowned at her as sweat dripped into his eyes. Stepping away, he shook like a dog.
“Good idea,” she said like she was impressed. Then she followed suit. He watched the sweat arc off her in the sunlight, like crystal drops of rain. He tried not to notice other parts of her anatomy that were outlined rather nicely now that her shirt was wet with sweat. When she was done, she cocked her head. “I wanted to show you I’m not lazy, unhealthy,
or any of the myriad other things people tend to assume. Or someone who’s only on the track team because her parents know someone important. I’m really good.”
Ashish nodded, sensing she wasn’t done yet.
“And before you ask, I can run because I practice. My weight has nothing to do with my overall health. I kick pretty much everyone’s butts at Piedmont, guys and girls alike.”
“I can totally believe that,” Ashish said seriously. “Are you gonna run in college?”
“That’s the plan,” she said, looking at him funny.
“Awesome. I’m gonna play ball in college.”
She nodded, still with that funny look on her face. Finally she said, “Do you have any questions for me about my weight and track?”
Ashish thought about it, then shrugged. “No. Why should I? You’re clearly ridiculously talented.”
Sweetie smiled. It was like a ray of light piercing the clouds; Ashish felt his dormant heart spark just a bit. Her teeth were straight and just the right size, like a neat row of Chiclets. No, not Chiclets. Tic Tacs. White Tic Tacs. Nah, that wasn’t it either. Damn, he really needed to get his compliments together if he was going to win her over with the trademark (and now hibernating, apparently) Ashish Patel charm.
“But I do have another question, though,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Why’d you ask me to come here and do this? Besides wanting to show me up as the clearly inferior runner, I mean.” He grinned to show he didn’t take it personally. If he was going to be beaten by anyone at an athletic event, he’d much prefer it to be someone as kick-ass as Sweetie.
They began to walk to the bleachers together. When the breeze blew, Ashish caught a whiff of her—even sweating, she smelled soft and sweet, like caramel laced with something heady and girly. He inched a little closer so his arm brushed hers, and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, like she was a little flustered. He found himself hoping she really was.
As they sat, close together, Sweetie answered his question. “I asked you here because I heard my mom talking to yours. About how …” She looked down at her feet and then back at him. The way her jaw was set, Ashish knew she was trying to be brave as she said the rest. But he heard the slight wobble in her voice and had to fight the urge to put an arm around her. Totally not creepy at all, Ash. You just met the girl. “About how I’m too fat to date you.”
Ashish winced at the word. “Hey, don’t call yourself that.”
Sweetie looked at him frankly. “Why not? It doesn’t bother me.” She paused, considering her next words. “What does hurt is that my own mom thinks it’s a reason I couldn’t date someone like you. But the word itself? Doesn’t bother me.”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, the word ‘fat’ isn’t inherently bad or gross. It’s people who’ve made it that way. ‘Fat’ is just the opposite of ‘thin,’ and no one flinches at that one. So, to me, ‘fat’ is just another word that describes me, like ‘brown’ or ‘girl’ or ‘athlete.’”
Ashish closed his mouth, put away all the responses he had lined up, and thought carefully about what she’d said. Why was “fat” such a bad word in most people’s minds, anyhow? Studying Sweetie, he got an inkling that there were many things she’d had to deal with all her life that he’d never given a second thought to. “You’re totally right,” he said slowly.
“Yeah, I mean, obviously people can hurl it at me—and have hurled it at me—as an insult. But when I use it, it’s not an insult. It’s almost a way to take it back and reclaim it, if that makes sense.”
Ashish nodded. “It actually does.”
“Good. So … back to your question.” The words seemed to flow out of her in a gush. “The reason I texted you last night is I heard your mom say my weight didn’t bother her—or you. So, now that you’ve seen me and my body doing what it does best”—here Ashish had to force his mind out of the gutter—“I wanted to ask you if it was true, what your mom said. That my weight doesn’t bother you. Or do you subscribe more to my mom’s train of thought, that a fat girl and a thin boy will only be cause for mockery?”
Ashish looked at her, a little taken aback. She’d obviously given this a lot of thought. And to just put it out there like that without knowing him at all was … really brave. He’d never met a girl quite like Sweetie, and no lie, he was really, really intrigued. Ashish thought of a million charming things he could say in response. Just more of you to love or Supermodel-thin just ain’t my thing. But in the end he settled for the simple truth. “I think you’re beautiful. And I don’t mean on the inside, though I’m sure that’s true too. When you run … I see power and passion. I see focus and dedication. I see someone who isn’t afraid to break people’s expectations. And to me, that’s way more attractive than the number on your weighing scale.” He paused and then continued in a rush. “Okay, and also I think you’re really just straight-up pretty. I want to lay it all out there in the open, and it’s all one hundred percent true.”
Sweetie studied him in silence. He wondered what she saw in his eyes. After a moment she graced him with a tiny smile. “I believe you.”
“Great. So … is this your way of asking me out?” He jutted his chin toward the track in front of them. “Dueling me and making me lose?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If that were true, that would mean dating me is the loser’s punishment.”
He froze. “That’s totally not what I meant at all—”
She laughed, a delightful sound like a bell pealing in a temple. “I’m kidding. But … yeah. I mean, I know my mom doesn’t want us to date, but …” Shrugging, she tugged on her ponytail. “You ever get the feeling you just want to say ‘screw it’ and do whatever the heck you want once in a while?”
Ashish laughed, a little hysterically. “You’ve basically described my life and why my dad had an ulcer two years ago.” More calmly, he added, “Actually, recently I’ve been more willing to let my parents take the lead. Hence my mom ambushing you and your mom.”
Sweetie smiled. “She didn’t ambush us. Your mom’s lovely.” After a pause she said, “So what happened, then? To curb your rebellious ways?” She asked it in a joking manner, but Ashish couldn’t quite bring himself to return her smile.
“Ah, nothing I want to bother you with. But yes.” He looked at her. “Let’s do it.”
She beamed. “Really? You’re on board to go behind our parents’ backs and everything?”
He took her small, warm hand in his and smiled. “Absolutely.”
She stared at him and his breath caught. Suddenly her hand seemed to be made of electricity, arcing across his skin. There was an interesting beat between them.
Her phone trilled.
She jumped back and pulled it out of her pocket. “Sorry. It’s Amma. Achchan’s coming back from a business trip today, and I’ve got to go get ready. …”
Ashish ignored the disappointed thud of his heart. “Sure, no worries. But can I call you later?”
Putting her phone away, she smiled up at him. Then she squeezed his bare arm, sending a wave of something warm rolling through him. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
So, Ashish thought as he watched her walk away, this weekend had turned out a little bit different than he’d expected it to. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be sipping a Coke despondently on his balcony tonight. Ashish sat there at the track, whistling to himself, long after Sweetie was gone.
Sweetie drove back to her house, a smile on her face the entire time. That had gone way better than she’d even hoped. Seeing how kind Sunita auntie was and then hearing that she and Ashish apparently didn’t have the same hang-ups about her weight as Amma did, she’d thought he deserved a chance. And she hadn’t been wrong.
She turned up the Hindi love song “Bol do na zara” and sang at the top of her voice. Okay, this had been their first meeting. But there was something about Ashish Patel. Something completely and utterly compelling. It wasn’t just his
physique, though it had been hard to keep her eyes off those ridiculous biceps and broad shoulders. It was something about him … Behind the cocky smile and the easy laugh, there was something vulnerable and almost sad. Definitely something lonely, especially when she’d asked about what had curbed his rebellious ways. Whatever had happened, it had made him softer and sweeter, someone she wanted to get to know better.
She already couldn’t wait for him to call her. Where would they go on their first official date? And was she really keeping this from Amma and Achchan? She felt a thread of guilt wrap around her brain, but it was immediately broken by excited anticipation. This was for her. This was to show herself that what she knew in her heart—that she was beautiful and worthy—was absolutely true. Sweetie laughed. Her first real act of rebellion at nearly seventeen years old. It was about dang time.
Achchan came home just as Sweetie was done with her shower and dressed in a nice salwar kameez.
“Molu kutty!” he said when he saw her, wrapping her up in a hug that smelled like airport. Achchan was wide enough that his arms actually wrapped all the way around Sweetie, which made her feel almost small. It was a nice break from being around Amma, who was about the size of a Hobbit (but with hairless feet) and made her feel like a giant troll in comparison. “How’s my favorite child?”
Sweetie laughed as they walked, arm in arm, to the living room. “I’m your only child, Achcha. And I’m fine. How was the flight?”
He groaned. He’d been gone only a week, but he always said leaving them was the hardest thing about his job. “Please, let’s not talk about that. How was practice on Friday? Did you beat your old time?”
Sweetie grinned. “I did. By a whole two seconds.”
“Adipoli!”
They high-fived, Achchan’s face pink with unadulterated glee. Looking at his round, almost cherubic face, thick black mustache streaked with gray, and his big, soft belly, Sweetie felt a tug of affection. Achchan had always accepted her without question. It was like she was more his child than Amma’s. They had the same heart, just cleaved in two.
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