An abyss opened inside Sweetie’s soul. She wanted to cry and throw things. She wanted to scream and hit something. The Sassy Sweetie Project had been going so well. And part of that had been her relationship with Ashish. Part of it was knowing that a boy like him could find her not just desirable—the opposite of what Amma thought—but that they might actually be happy together. She’d finally begun to accept that what she’d always believed in her core—that her weight did not signify anything bad about her, that she was just as worthy and talented as any thin person—was true, in spite of what anyone else might say. And now … now it turned out Ashish had been toying with her. He’d decided she was not actually a whole person, with feelings and a heart. And why would he think that? Her appearance, of course.
Molten fury pulsed in her, like a volcano about to erupt. She balled her fists and took a deep breath. She counted backward from a hundred so she wouldn’t begin flipping chairs and Hulk-smashing the wall. Nothing has changed, Sweetie, she told herself. He broke your heart, but that says more about him than it does about you. You’re still the girl you were yesterday. You can still continue the Sassy Sweetie Project. You don’t need him; you never did. Her heart rate began to slow. She unclenched her fists.
Well, if this had all been an act, she had to hand it to him. He was an excellent actor. She’d fallen for it, every bit of it. Heck, she’d fallen for him in the process.
Tears threatened and Sweetie blinked them away. She wouldn’t let him ruin her night or her makeup. She was going to go up there and put on the best show Atherton had ever seen. So what if they were love songs? She’d sing them with every fiber of her battered being. She’d bring everyone—including Ashish, especially Ashish—to their knees.
“Hey, man. You, uh, left your phone.” Oliver dropped the phone into Ashish’s palm with a weird expression on his face. Like, half judgy, half curious.
“Huh. Thanks.” Ashish frowned, pocketing it. “Um, everything ok—”
“Why are we doing this?”
Ashish turned to find Elijah on his other side, staring intently at Oliver, who scratched his jaw and looked away. “We’re doing this because you wouldn’t deny sleeping with someone else,” Oliver said.
Elijah stepped in closer. Ashish realized he was in the middle of their couple sandwich and discreetly backed up a half step. Should he leave? Nah, that’d be too abrupt. Besides, he needed to moderate if things got too feisty … uh, in a bad way feisty, not the good kind of—anyway.
“You should’ve trusted me,” Elijah said. “You know how I felt about you.” His voice dropped a notch. “How I feel about you.”
Oliver bit his lip, and his eyes got misty. “Maybe … maybe you were right. Maybe we got serious too quickly. Maybe … maybe we should see other people.” His voice wobbled and he shrugged.
“I know I said that, but I reject that idea out of hand. I reject the idea that we don’t belong together.” Elijah stepped even closer to Oliver and took his hands in his. “The thing is, Ollie, I feel so incredibly fortunate to know you. Love is unpredictable and so … so freaking elusive. I just can’t stop thinking about how damn lucky I am.”
Oliver looked steadily into Elijah’s eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re lonely.”
“I’m not,” Elijah said without missing a beat. “I’m saying that because it’s true. I love you. Don’t you remember the good times? Don’t you remember how it used to be?”
“I’m starting to forget,” Oliver said, taking his hands from Elijah’s.
“Dude.” Samir grabbed Ashish by the arm and turned him around, and Oliver walked away.
“Sense the mood,” Ashish hissed, turning back to Elijah. He put a hand on Elijah’s shoulder, but Elijah shrugged it off and strode away, not meeting his eye. Sighing, Ashish turned back to Samir, who was basically dancing from foot to foot, impatient with news. “What’s going on?”
“Yo. It’s all set.” Samir flashed a set of very white, very straight teeth.
Ashish waited. “Is that supposed to make sense to me?”
“Everyone, please take your seats,” Andre said into the mic onstage. “The first band is just about ready to begin their set. Please find a seat.”
“Damn,” Ashish said, looking over his shoulder. “I wanted to wish Sweetie luck one last time.” But he saw the bands were all sequestered over to the far right. He couldn’t even see her, thanks to the line of tall dudes in the front.
“Forget about all that,” Samir said as they made their way to their seats. The yellow overhead lights in Roast Me switched to multicolored ones, and the crowd whooped and clapped. There were so many people, those who couldn’t find a chair were crammed into the back. “I have the definitive answer to Oliver and Elijah’s problems!”
Ashish looked at Samir as they sat. “Bro. What did you do? Is this what you’ve been plotting?”
Samir frowned. “Plotting?”
“Yeah, I saw you on the balcony last night, looking all Brutus-like.”
“Okay, but Brutus was the bad guy. I’m not betraying anyone, I’m bringing the lovers together.”
“If you can do that, I’ll have to call you David Blaine.” At Samir’s confused expression, he shook his head. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“So I went and spoke to the first band when we got here, and they’re on board. They’re going to play ‘Crazy in Love.’” He looked all gleefully expectant.
“That old Beyoncé song?” Ashish asked, totally confused.
“Not just that old Beyoncé song, Oliver and Elijah’s song,” Samir said in a tone that suggested it was common knowledge.
“Um, what? How do you know that? I don’t even know that and I hang out with them every single day.”
Samir crossed his arms and looked a little abashed. “Let’s just say when people don’t like you, they don’t talk to you. And if they don’t talk to you, you learn a lot by just listening and learning.”
“Ah.” Ashish felt a pinprick of sympathy for Samir. Being disliked and ignored had to have sucked big-time, but he’d still stuck by them. “So okay, back to your nefarious plan.”
“If by ‘nefarious’ you mean ‘ingenious,’ then okay.” Samir smiled and leaned forward again. “So, the first band’s going to play that song, and before they begin, they’ll say, ‘This message is from an anonymous audience member. When two people are meant to be together, things just fall into place. This song goes out to the man of my dreams.’ And get this.” Samir leaned even closer, all excited. “I’ve sent Oliver and Elijah each a note that says the other one dedicated the song to him!”
Ashish stared at him. “You what? When does that ever work out well in the movies? And let me tell you, it’s usually the messenger who ends up shot. So don’t come crying to me if that happens to you.”
“O you of little faith,” Samir said. “Just watch and see. Those two just need to get together and talk to each other without all that anger and guilt in the way. This is going to be amazing.”
“Ye.”
Samir glanced at him sideways. “Gesundheit.”
“No, it’s not ‘O you of little faith,’ it’s ‘O ye of’—you know what? Doesn’t matter. I hope you’re right, man. They were just talking to each other, and … I feel like their whole problem is that this love thing just hit them between the eyes when they weren’t expecting it. They need to understand how lucky they are to have found it at all. I think Elijah has, but I’m not sure about Oliver.” Ashish craned his neck to find Oliver. He saw him opening a little note, reading the message, and then putting it away in his pocket just as the first band began to introduce themselves up onstage. He couldn’t figure out from his expression what he was thinking. He found Elijah a couple of seats down from him, opening a note too. Elijah’s eyes immediately began searching the crowd for Oliver.
Ashish’s heart hitched. He really, really wanted this to work out for them, he realized. And maybe Samir’s plan seemed totally hokey, but he couldn’t
help hoping. He turned to Samir. “I’m glad you’re trying this,” he said. “Thanks.”
Samir nodded.
Pinky settled in beside him with a giant blended coffee. Her eyes glittered, feverish and bright. “These are buy one, get one! I got this one for free! Free!”
Ashish rolled his eyes just as Samir laughed.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. He had three text messages from Celia he hadn’t read yet. A fourth one had just come in: a picture of her in a bath towel.
Getting ready for you, the caption said.
Swallowing, Ashish put the phone away.
The first band, Hot Cup of Tea, finished up right at their allotted five-minute mark, and the second band went on. They were all guys, dressed in black, with fake tattoos up and down their arms. They called themselves Torn.
Sweetie stood staring at them as they began to play. She felt like she was here but not really. The world felt like it was at a remove. She laughed a little and joked with Suki, Kayla, and Izzy, all of whom were hopped up on free espresso shots courtesy of Antwan, but Sweetie couldn’t fully get into it. She’d given up trying to find Ashish in the crowd when the guys from Torn had been in front of her blocking her view (darn tall people), but she could now see unhindered.
He was sitting in a chair next to Samir and Pinky, and he was looking at his phone. He had the weirdest look on his face as he put it away. Sort of like anticipatory determination. Sweetie pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and looked away. She didn’t even want to know what he was anticipating.
Torn wasn’t half bad, and when they finished four and a half minutes later, it was Sweetie, Kayla, Suki, and Izzy’s turn. They walked up onstage with their instruments (all except Sweetie, who wasn’t playing one, and Suki, who was using the drum set that someone had loaned to Roast Me for the night). Like he did with Hot Cup of Tea and Torn, the emcee introduced all of them by name and what they’d be doing that night. There was immediate cheering from Antwan’s crowd and Ashish’s crowd. Sweetie was kind of glad the spotlights made it hard for her to see the audience. She didn’t want to see Ashish being supportive and sweet right now. Not when she half wanted to murder him and half wanted to sob against his chest.
She had a moment of panic at the thought of all those pairs of eyes on her—the last count had been at sixty-eight audience members. She thought she looked adorable in her dress, and so did her friends (and apparently Ashish, but she didn’t want to think about that), but people in general did not echo that sentiment. She began to self-consciously tug at her dress, wishing she’d worn a cardigan or something to cover up her arms, then forced herself to stop. This was about the music, just about the music. She could do this. So what if they laughed at her? She thought of Anjali Chechi’s words. You’re getting up there and singing because you have a beautiful voice and you believe in yourself.
And she began to sing.
She’d heard people muttering to themselves and laughing a bit—usual not-completely-engaged audience stuff—as Kayla introduced their band. But when she filled the coffee shop with her music, the silence fell like a hammer. It was immediate, absolute. Sweetie closed her eyes and felt the music flood her blood; it wrapped around her bones like sinuous vines and filled her heart to bursting with light.
Ho-ly cra-ap.
It was like watching something heavenly, something unearthly, come into being right before his stupefied eyes.
She was a goddess. She was … she was unspeakably … stunning. There were no words that did her justice in that moment.
Ashish couldn’t look at anything except Sweetie. The entire world melted away.
CHAPTER 28
Sweetie had a moment of clarity, of near panic, when she wondered what she looked like to the audience. Were they totally distracted and grossed out by her arms? By her stomach? Her thick calves? What about Ashish? He was probably just staring at his phone and thinking about stupid Celia in her stupid red halter.
She put even more of herself into her song, in a desperate attempt to forget everything else.
Sweetie didn’t give the audience much of a chance to jeer—or cheer—between the two songs she was singing. This was for her own mental health. It was easier at track meets—she was on the track, running past them, so everyone just looked a blur. Plus, most people could barely see anything from the bleachers besides a girl in a blue-and-gold track uniform streaking past them. But this … this was almost as bad as if she’d invited everyone to come watch her sing in the shower. Almost. There was nothing else for them to focus on but her. And Sweetie knew what people were like. She didn’t want to give them a chance to shout out humiliating comments about her weight or for them to laugh at her. She didn’t want to let the girls down, and if she heard anything like that, it’d be really, really hard for her to keep going. Especially after what had happened with Ashish.
As the last note of the second, and final, song drifted through the air and spiraled into silence, Sweetie’s palms broke out in a sweat. This was it. She had nothing more to give them; their judgment would come now and she wouldn’t be able to stop it.
The room almost cracked in half with the force of their applause.
At first Sweetie wasn’t sure what was happening—this applause sounded so different from the applause the other bands had gotten. She wondered if it was the acoustics of being onstage. But then she saw shadowy shapes getting to their feet and a rhythmic chant began to go up. It took Sweetie a moment to realize they were saying her name. And then she realized they were giving her a standing ovation. She turned to Kayla, Suki, and Izzy in complete surprise, grinning, and they were all grinning back at her, too. Suki raised one fist in the air and whooped—the audience went even wilder. Sweetie closed her eyes, letting the sound of their cheering and her name wash over her. Her heart was a helium balloon, lifting with pure, giddy joy. They loved her. They loved her. They didn’t care what her stomach or her thighs looked like. It was like they could see the light she’d always nurtured inside of her and were acknowledging that, yes, it was just as special as she’d suspected and, yes, she had something extraordinary to offer the world.
There were chants of “Encore, encore,” but Andre came on the stage and said that, in the interest of time, there’d be no encores. (He got booed bad. Sweetie didn’t envy him.)
As she made her way off the stage, a man came up to her holding the giantest bouquet of pink peonies—her favorite. “Sweetie Nair?” he said (he pronounced it like it rhymed with “hair,” but she didn’t even correct him because FLOWERS).
“Yes?”
“These are for you.” He smiled and thrust the bouquet at her, got her signature, and left.
“Oh my God!” Izzy said beside her, her eyes like giant brown beacons. “Who are those from?”
“I think I know,” Suki mumbled. “Let’s just be glad Antwan has Kayla, uh, ocupado, or she’d take those from you and get the entire crowd to stomp on them.”
With slightly trembling hands Sweetie opened the card: The only flower that seemed to even remotely match your beauty. Got these in advance because I knew you’d enrapture everyone … just like you did me. Obviously. —A
Biting her lip to keep her emotions from engulfing her, Sweetie looked over to where Ashish had been sitting. His seat was empty.
She pushed the flowers at Izzy. “Here. Keep them. Or throw them away. I gotta go.”
She pushed her way past everyone and stepped outside into the cool night.
There was a bench outside, around the side of the building. Sweetie went there, shivering lightly in the breeze. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Her mascara would smear and make her look like a raccoon. So what? She sat on the bench and stared off into the distance at the halo caused by the streetlights down the road.
“Mind some company?”
She turned to see Suki and Izzy loitering a few feet away. She waved them over. They sat on either side of her in silen
ce. Izzy had the giant bouquet of flowers still, and she set them by her feet.
“You were amazing tonight,” Izzy said. “No crappy-arse boy can take that away from you.”
Sweetie managed a small smile. “Aww, thanks, Iz—”
“And you’re an amazing athlete,” Izzy continued fiercely. “He can’t take that, either. You’re totally going to kill it at the big meet next Friday.”
“Hey, girls.” They all looked up at the female voice to see Kayla walking toward them.
Sweetie wrapped her arms around herself as Kayla squeezed in beside Izzy and the giant bouquet. “What happened to Antwan?”
“I told him my girl needed me. Sisters before blisters, am I right?”
Suki snorted. “Did you just call boys ‘blisters’?”
“She’s right,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes. “They’re irritating and painful and unneeded.”
Sweetie laughed weakly. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you didn’t let me come out here alone.”
Izzy put her hand on Sweetie’s just as Kayla said, “Of course we didn’t let you come out here alone. Now the only question is, do we put itching powder in Ashish’s shoes or in his jockstrap?”
“I ain’t touching either of those things,” Suki said.
Sweetie shook her head. “I just don’t get it, you know? That card in those flowers … it’s so incredibly sweet. And everything we’ve shared … I felt like it was all real.”
The girls were silent. Then Suki said quietly, “Do you feel up to telling us what happened?”
Sweetie filled them in on the gist of everything. They were silent while they took it all in.
There's Something About Sweetie Page 25
