Love Inc.

by Yvonne Collins

  ‘I can’t, Nani,’ I say. ‘I’m afraid I’ll lose them.’

  Ignoring my protests, she threads them through my ears herself. ‘My Nani gave me these on my sixteenth birthday. I was going to wait for yours, but today is a good day.’ She spins me back toward the mirror, repeating, ‘Khoobsurat.’

  Obviously I’ve been too hard on her. ‘Thank you, Nani,’ I say, hugging her.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she says. ‘Now, let’s see what Riaz thinks of them.’

  Nani sticks to me and Saliyah like glue as we stroll through the carnival grounds. After accepting the earrings, I can’t ditch her as I normally would.

  Behind the gaming tents, we find Nana playing dominoes with some of his cronies. To my surprise, I spot a pair of cool aviator glasses in a sea of spectacles.

  Nani is excited to see Riaz, so I make it a point to ignore him completely, even after my mother joins us.

  Riaz extends a hand and introduces himself. ‘Ms. Ahmed,’ he says. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your parents have told me so much about you.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Ahmed-MacDuff,’ I correct him.

  Mom brushes off Riaz’s apology and says, ‘It’s fine.’

  Not to me, it isn’t. If Mom’s that comfortable using her maiden name, it says she believes there’s no going back.

  ‘Hey, Zahra,’ Riaz says. ‘Can you give me a hand? I’ve got something for your grandfather in my truck.’

  Nani’s hand lands on my back and gives me a shove. ‘She’d love to help.’

  I trail after Riaz reluctantly. ‘This had better not be a trick.’

  ‘No trick,’ he says, leading me into the parking lot.

  Riaz probably thinks it’ll impress me that he has his own set of wheels. It worked with Eric, but Nani’s profile said Riaz’s parents are doctors. It’s not like he bought his own fancy ride.

  We pass several nice SUVs before Riaz slaps the fender of a rusted orange pickup truck. As if reading my mind, he says, ‘My parents are firm believers in earning your own way. I don’t make a ton at the theater where I work, but my manager sold me this baby for a song. I think she likes me.’ He thumps the hood. ‘It’s great for taking my little brother camping.’

  I try to picture trendy, urban Riaz pitching a tent. ‘No offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the outdoorsy type. Why don’t your parents take him?’

  Riaz opens the passenger door and hauls out a huge cooler. ‘He’s not their kid,’ he says. ‘I volunteer for Big Brothers.’

  That was on Nani’s profile too, but I assumed it was padding. Riaz seems too self-absorbed to be a Big Brother. ‘For your college applications?’

  ‘I don’t need it for that,’ he says, smiling. ‘I’ve volunteered at the mosque for five years. My grades are great, and I’m involved in enough to look perfect on paper.’

  It’s a good thing colleges don’t care about humility, because he’s running a little short in that area.

  Grabbing one side of the cooler, he signals me to take the other. ‘What’s in here?’ I ask as we lug it out of the parking lot.

  ‘Ice. I always bring extra bags in case the vendors run low.’

  I drop my side of the cooler. ‘You said you had something for my Nana. So it was a trick.’

  ‘I just wanted to get you alone for a few minutes,’ he says.

  I walk ahead of him out of the parking lot, and he struggles with the cooler on his own. ‘Then you should have said so,’ I call back. ‘I hate guys who play games.’

  He leaves the cooler behind and trots after me. ‘You’re strung a little tight, aren’t you?’

  My mouth opens to argue, but the words die as I catch sight of a jewelry booth that’s an explosion of color and shimmer. I stare at the booth until my vision blurs, and it becomes a tiny galaxy of fuzzy multicolored stars.

  Catching up to me, Riaz flips his sunglasses onto the top of his head and tries again. ‘I’m actually a pretty great guy when you get to know me.’

  ‘Great guys don’t act like flirty, arrogant jerks,’ I say.

  ‘A guy’s gotta put up a few defenses when he knows a girl will reject him just because he’s granny-approved,’ Riaz says. ‘Anyway, your Nani said you have a sense of humor.’

  ‘Only when the joke’s on her.’ I head over to the jewelry booth to admire the rows of colored glass bangle bracelets. Riaz trails after me and watches as I take a turquoise blue bangle from the display and slide it onto my wrist.

  ‘You need to wear a bunch of them,’ he says. ‘It’s all about the noise they make together. At least that’s what my cousins say.’

  I select two bangles in gold and two in pale blue. ‘Won’t they smash if they hit each other?’

  ‘The tighter the fit the less likely they’ll break.’ He selects smaller versions of the bracelets I’ve chosen, but I can’t squeeze them over my hand. ‘Do you have any of your mom’s famous hand cream?’

  I give him the small bottle I always keep in my bag. He squirts a dab into his hand, then gently massages it into mine. ‘The secret,’ he says, making small circular motions on the palm of my hand with his thumb, ‘is a smooth, relaxed hand.’

  It’s having the reverse effect, particularly when he’s staring at me in close proximity. Holding my hand vertically, Riaz takes a bangle off the counter and coaxes it past my knuckles and down to my wrist. One by one, he slides the remaining four bangles in place. I raise my wrist, smiling at their musical jingle.

  He calls over the saleswoman and tries to pay. ‘To make up for teasing you,’ he says.

  They only cost a few dollars, but I insist on paying myself. I already sold my soul to Nani today for the price of earrings.

  Saliyah notices the bracelets as soon as we arrive with the cooler. ‘You said I couldn’t have any, Nani. How come Zahra gets to wear them?’

  ‘You’re too young yet, my girl,’ Nani says. ‘You’re more likely to break them and cut yourself.’

  Saliyah flushes at being called a child in front of Riaz, and he notices.

  ‘Next year,’ he says. ‘When you’re fifteen.’

  It works like a charm, and Saliyah skips off to tell Mom she can pass for fourteen.

  Riaz says he has to get back to his rounds. He pulls me along with him for a few yards, before ducking behind a cotton-candy cart.

  Before I fully realise what’s happening, he leans down and kisses me.

  Kali props her elbows on the kitchen island and rests her chin on her hands. ‘So,’ she says, ‘was there tongue?’

  I glance up nervously from the bowl of stiff batter I’m stirring. Brody has a habit of appearing out of nowhere. ‘Could you keep your voice down?’

  I’ve taken over their kitchen again to test some healthy recipes for René’s upcoming store promotion. He’s paying me to make low-fat snacks to offer people while they shop. I’m glad he has faith in me, but I’m afraid I might let him down. As with Love, Inc., the minute you put a price on your product, you have to up your game. That’s not going to be easy when healthy baking usually isn’t that tasty.

  ‘No worries,’ Kali says. ‘Mom and Brody are out, so don’t skip a single detail. Tongue or no tongue?’

  I take the first batch of fat- and sugar-free oatmeal spice muffins out of the oven. If they taste half as good as they smell, I could have a winner. ‘Why does it matter?’

  ‘I can’t help you figure out what it means without having all the facts,’ Kali says.

  ‘Fine. No tongue. That’s bad, right?’

  ‘On the contrary. No tongue suggests he wasn’t feeling that confident and didn’t want to scare you off. He’s leaving something for next time – because he’s hoping there will be a next time.’

  ‘OK, that’s good. I guess.’ Maybe a new guy is what I need to put Eric out of my mind. Despite my current distractions, I still find myself looking back, wondering where I took a wrong turn and lost my self-respect. Next time I want signposts, or better yet, a romantic GPS. ‘But I can�
�t tell what the guy’s really like.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on him,’ Kali says. ‘Putting on an act at the start is a way to guard against getting hurt. We’ve both done it. The real question is, how did Riaz measure up against Eric in the kissing department?’

  I test a warm muffin and wince. Biting into a haystack would taste better. ‘Riaz has promise,’ I say. ‘But Eric … well, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. That was a gift.’

  Comparing anyone to Eric causes the straw muffin to turn over in my stomach. I’m not ready to be kissing other guys yet.

  Kali must see that talking about Eric is bringing me down, because she changes the subject to her matchmaking program. ‘The test launch is stalled on the pad,’ she says. ‘I asked Mom a few basic questions, and she accused me of secretly creating an online dating profile for her. Apparently, when she’s ready to find someone new, she intends to “let the fates provide.” Like that’s worked in the past. The problem is that Mom jumps headfirst into relationships before she really knows the guy. She’s in love with being in love.’

  I suspect Kali might suffer from the same affliction, but I’ll leave the therapy to Dieter. Friends should not psychoanalyze friends – or criticize their friends’ parents, for that matter.

  ‘Maybe your mom doesn’t want a new relationship right now,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you test the matchmaking program on yourself instead?’

  ‘Already in the works,’ she says, reaching for a muffin.

  I block her hand with a spatula. ‘Don’t. Unless you like straw.’

  Picking up a handful of raisins instead, she continues. ‘I’ve started a compatibility profile for me and Owen Gaines. Of course, I don’t have enough info on him yet, but the signs are promising. I’d start one for you too,’ she adds, ‘but your grandmother seems to have a talent for matchmaking.’

  ‘The jury’s still out on that one.’ I scrape the batter into the garbage and put the bowl in the sink. ‘For all I know, Riaz is an actor she hired to help brainwash me.’

  Since I’m still staying at Mom’s place, Nani has ramped up her efforts to convert me to more traditional ways. She’s probably inspired by the results she’s had with my sister, who appears to be breaking down faster than a berry in a compost heap. I knew something was up when Saliyah happily handed over the iPod Touch my cupcakes won at her school bake sale. Sure enough, she’d preloaded it with all things Pakistani – from street maps of Karachi, to books in Urdu, to curry recipes, and even Pakistani pop music. It’s digital assimilation.

  ‘Listen to this.’ I take the iPod out of my bag, scroll to Hadiqa Kiani, and press play.

  ‘Hey, this song’s kind of cool,’ Kali says.

  She leaps off her stool, grabs my hands, and pulls. Laughing, I give in and start dancing. Tossing a tea towel on my head, I lead her in a mock Bollywood–style dance.

  A few minutes later, the sound of clapping stops us cold. Brody has taken a front-row seat at the kitchen island. I shut off the music and return to my mixing bowl.

  ‘Nice moves,’ he says.

  Kali plucks the chicken-print tea towel off my head and flicks Brody with it. ‘You were supposed to be at practice.’

  ‘We finished early,’ he says. I refuse to look at him, but I can feel that he’s still grinning. ‘Hey, Red, you seemed almost fun there for a minute. Now the frown’s back.’

  Somehow Brody seems to tap into my worst insecurities.

  ‘Brody, she’s my guest,’ Kali says. ‘Go watch TV or something.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m meeting Jada in an hour. I have to grab a quick shower.’ Looking at me he adds, ‘No peeking.’

  ‘I’ll try to resist,’ I say.

  On his way out, Brody helps himself to a muffin. I consider stopping him, but decide he deserves it. After a few chews, he makes a face and spits it into the garbage can. ‘Are you trying to kill people?’

  ‘It’s fat-and sugar-free,’ I say.

  ‘You mean flavor-free,’ he says. ‘If I were you, I’d add some fruit and maple syrup.’

  ‘I do not need your advice on baking,’ I say.

  He picks up a muffin and fires it at me. I duck and it bounces off the wall, intact.

  ‘Yeah, you do,’ he says. ‘Unless you have a license to carry a weapon.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The final bell rings and my History teacher flicks on the lights and dismisses the class. Rambo ambles from the back of the room and waits beside my desk while I gather my things. Since our lockers are in the same hall, we’ve fallen into the habit of walking there together on Thursday afternoons. He’s a small, nondescript guy who makes up for his size with silent menace. Behind the front, though, there’s a decent guy.

  ‘How cool was that?’ he asks, once we’re in the hall and it’s safe to show some enthusiasm without getting the teacher’s hopes up. Rambo is genuinely pumped about the film on ancient civilisations. ‘Roman war tactics were awesome.’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say. No need to explain that I spent the class on The Sweet Tooth set, where Oliver James continues to mock me for my mistakes with Eric. Gordon Ramshead, on the other hand, has become a surprising ally. I’d love to give Eric a dose of Gordon in real life. Gordon shames the shameless without breaking a sweat.

  In the next hall, two of Kali’s friends are sitting on a wide windowsill, sharing earbuds and singing a Radiohead number. They shout hello as we pass.

  My social network here at Austin has expanded because of Syd and Kali. My favorite group is Kali’s fun musical friends, who are always putting on the impromptu performances Syd scorns. Kali’s eco-Nazi friends are a little too earnest for me, but they’re not as intimidating as Syd’s small fringe group of arty friends. Every clique has its own language, and I haven’t learnt them all yet. Nor have I found any foodies who speak my language. But it’s nice to have options, and I never have to sit alone at lunch anymore.

  After dropping Rambo at his locker, I stop at mine, then head over to Kali’s. As usual, she’s flirting with a hot guy. Only, this one is really off the charts. He’s at least six feet tall, with great bone structure, just the right amount of stubble, and killer arms. Kali introduces him as Miller, and he enters her number into his phone while Syd and I wait.

  ‘That’s a step up from SpongeBob,’ Syd says, when Miller is out of earshot.

  ‘He came to that meeting I organized about getting watercoolers in the caf,’ Kali says. ‘He loves Notts County, and he’s a junior.’

  ‘So he might even last till Halloween,’ Syd says. ‘Although that’s only a week.’

  ‘Why are you always so negative?’ Kali asks.

  I interrupt the bickering by telling them about the gift I received in the mail yesterday: an Iron Man poster signed by Robert Downey, Jr. himself. The poster was the one thing Sinead and Leo both wanted after dividing up the rest of their stuff, so they agreed to give it to me.

  ‘I was thinking that all swag acquired through the business should be enjoyed communally, or sold online with profits divided equally,’ I say.

  Kali and Syd agree we should add that to the growing list of Love, Inc. commandments. Then Syd votes to sell the poster and Kali votes to keep it. Typical, but since I acquired the poster, I get the final word. No sooner have I resolved to hang the poster in the trailer than my partners go to battle again, this time over Kali’s pro bono work with Luke. The date she arranged for the City Limits Festival was a bust. Kali was sure they’d click, but when Luke suggested they participate in the Rock and Recycle program, the girl called him a garbage picker and took off.

  Kali is determined to try again despite Syd’s protests. ‘I can’t walk away now,’ she says. ‘Brody will never let me live it down.’

  ‘Brody doesn’t run Love, Inc.,’ Syd says.

  ‘Failing will be bad for business,’ Kali argues. ‘Especially the way guys gossip.’

  ‘Working for free is bad for business,’ Syd counters.

  ‘It won’t take me lon
g to figure out what Luke needs,’ Kali says. ‘I’ll find him a date for his cousin’s wedding and …’

  A guy’s voice drowns out her last words, although it’s muffled by a closed classroom door. ‘I told you not to join that club,’ he roars.

  Beckoning to the others, I peek through the window in the door and whisper, ‘It’s Hollis and Fletcher.’

  We eavesdrop long enough to learn that Hollis joined the jazz band against Fletcher’s orders. Now he’s pissed that Bronco Garcia lent Hollis a CD.

  Hearing a smash, I peek through the window again. ‘There goes the CD.’

  Hollis loses it. ‘Oh my God, Fletcher! Do you know how much that cost? We’re reworking a classic, and Bronco lent it to me to study. It was a limited edition import, and one of his favorite CDs.’

  ‘I think she’s crying,’ Kali says. ‘Should we interrupt?’

  ‘Nah, she’s holding her own,’ Syd says. ‘Don’t forget she threw Z in the pool.’

  There’s a high-pitched scream inside the room. Syd charges through the door, with Kali and me on her heels. Fletcher is holding Hollis’s wrist at an awkward angle.

  ‘Let go of her now,’ Syd tells Fletcher. ‘Or I’ll call for a teacher.’

  ‘Chill,’ Fletcher says, releasing Hollis. ‘She was about to pick up that broken CD case. I was worried she’d cut herself.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like she was thanking you,’ Syd says.

  I turn to Hollis. ‘We were just heading out. Walk with us?’

  Hollis wipes her eyes on her sleeve before shaking her head. ‘And risk being seen with you psychos? I don’t think so.’

  Kali tries again. ‘Maybe you guys need a bit of space right now.’

  ‘Maybe you need to mind your own friggin’ business,’ Hollis says.

  We step out of the classroom, and she slams the door behind us.

  ‘That confirms it,’ Syd says. ‘Working for free is a bad idea.’