by Nisha Sharma
She wanted to ask if that meant her mother was going to pay for college, wherever college was going to be, but now probably wasn’t the right time. She gave her mother the most dazzling smile she could. “We’ll win, all right. Even with these stupid parents fighting us.”
“Parents? What parents?” Whatever sappiness Sujata had been displaying immediately dried up.
“Nothing,” Radha said. “I’ll handle it.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just—”
“Mom.”
She let out a deep breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Tell me if you need me. Because I can crush them if you want.”
“Mom!” Radha burst into laughter.
Some things never changed, and that was totally okay, she thought.
“Hey, Radha?” Jai stood in the doorway. He’d stopped when he saw Sujata.
Well, now was as good a time as any, she thought.
“Jai, come meet my mother.”
“Oh. Hi.” He came closer and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Mom,” Radha said. “This is Jai. He’s my boyfriend.”
Sujata took Jai’s hand and shook it. “Ah. Nice to finally meet you, too. Maybe now you can drop my daughter off by pulling into the driveway instead of leaving her at the curb.”
Jai flushed. “Uh, yeah. That would make things a lot simpler.”
* * *
It had been one year.
One year since her last performance.
Since her parents had decided to get divorced.
Since she’d stopped dancing.
Since she’d been so full of questions and had zero answers to any of them.
Radha stood on the stage next to her team and looked out at her mother’s calm and confident expression in the audience. The drumroll sounded over the stereo. “And the winner for the group performance is…Bollywood Beats!”
The audience roared, and Radha was swept off her feet.
Epilogue
April
Radha
THREE MISSED MESSAGES
SIMRAN: Can’t wait to see you! Two months and counting!
TARA: Hey there. It was fun hanging with you guys at the Bollywood Funk workshop. We should do it again soon. If it’s not weird or anything.
DAD: Chutki! I need that recipe for mango pie you saw in the Times??
Radha was prying the lid off her pink tiffin when Shakti slid across the cafeteria’s tiled floor and collapsed on the bench next to her.
“Look what came in the mail!” she shouted. “I picked mine up from the administration office. You’ll have to go get yours.” She placed a crystal leaf-shaped statue on the table next to Radha’s lunch bag. “It’ll match my first-place trophy from the Winter Showcase.”
“Is that—” Radha started.
“It is.”
“It’s here already?”
“Yeah, they were quick.”
Radha touched the inscription on the base of the statue. Under Shakti’s name and above the italicized date, it read:
FIRST PLACE
Group Performance
Northeast Regional Varsity US Dance Association
“I still can’t believe we won,” Radha said softly. “I mean, the competition was tough.”
“But we were better. We have to celebrate!” Shakti reached over and took a forkful of Radha’s butter chicken. “Oh my God. This is so good.”
Radha pushed her dish forward to share. “Didn’t we already celebrate after regionals?”
“But now we can celebrate our trophies. And Jai’s Columbia admission and your NYU admission starting in the spring semester too. Which by the way, oh my God. I can’t believe that I’ll be a few subway stops away at my dance academy.”
“It would never have happened if Jai hadn’t helped me study for the SATs and ace my exams and portfolio, and if Guru Nandani hadn’t vouched for me.”
“Well, it’s exciting. You’ll go to India for six months, come back, and start an amazing life in New York City with your bestie and your boyfriend.”
Radha’s phone buzzed.
JAI: Meet me in the arboretum?
RADHA: Weren’t you supposed to come and meet me here? I just started eating.
JAI: Woman, pack it up and come upstairs!
RADHA: Text me “woman” like that again, and I’ll give you a thappar so hard that your mother would be proud.
JAI: Please? LOVE OF MY LIFE, ARBORETUM
Radha sighed. “He wants me to go to the arboretum now.”
“Oh, you go ahead,” Shakti said. “I can put your food away, and meet you in the arboretum later to drop it off. I want to eat some more chicken first.”
“You sure?”
She nodded with her mouth full and gave a thumbs-up.
Radha picked up her backpack and cut through the cafeteria.
It took her less than five minutes to reach the top of the stairs and open the arboretum entrance door. She expected to see Jai sitting at the picnic table where they’d eaten before, but it was empty except for a tent card with an arrow on it.
“What are you up to, Jai Patel?” she said as she dropped her backpack.
Radha pocketed the card and walked down the gravel path toward the center of the arboretum. She smiled when she remembered the first time she’d been there with Jai, in the early fall. She’d wanted to practice her contemporary routine, but she hadn’t known if a studio would be open to the new girl.
Radha was halfway down the path when she heard music. The familiar song had her grinning. Only Jai would play Bollywood music to…wait, what was he doing?
She almost screamed when three familiar faces jumped from behind bushes into her path. “Oh my God, you guys…are you wearing tuxes?”
Instead of answering, they circled her, and then broke out into a coordinated dance.
Radha laughed. “What is going on? Oh my God!” She was off her feet and being tossed in the air like a sack of freaking potatoes.
Her Bollywood Beats friends put her down and spun her in a circle before leading her to a bench farther up the path.
Then they danced for her and, in a wave, got to their knees and pointed ahead.
“Oh, I go now? Okay.”
She got up and skipped forward, not nearly as surprised when three more dancers jumped out. The song continued to play, and they moved in unison together, urging her forward.
When she finally got to the clearing, she was laughing. This was where she’d danced with Jai. She spun as the entire team danced around her, Shakti included, that sneak.
Then the crowd parted like the ocean, and Jai stepped through. He wore a tux, and his swagger reminded her of the first time she’d seen him. He extended a hand to her.
She didn’t hesitate to grab hold. He spun her out, and then back so she was pressed against his chest, leaving her dizzy with love.
The song ended before she wanted it to, and she jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist in a full-body bear hug like she always did when she was this happy.
“What the heck is happening?” she said with a laugh.
“Radha…,” Jai said slowly.
“Yes?”
“I have something to ask you.” He swallowed and looked at their team members, who encircled them.
“Radha,” he said again.
The team exploded. “Will you go to prom with him?”
“Yes!”
According to the National Stroke Association, Act F.A.S.T. to identify the most common symptoms of a stroke:
F.A.S.T.
Face drooping—Does the person’s face droop on one side or appear numb
? Ask them to smile.
Arm weakness—Is one of their arms weak or numb? Ask the person to raise their arms. Check if one arm drifts downward.
Speech difficulty—Ask the person to say something simple. Check for slurred speech.
Time to call 911—If any of these signs exist, call for help. Note the time, too!
An Apology
and an Author’s Note
Over a decade ago, I lost both my grandfathers to complications caused by their diseases: Parkinson’s and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). They were incredible men, and it was imperative for my family and me to always remember their personhood before the disability caused by their diseases. I thought about them a lot when I researched for this novel. Although Radha & Jai’s Recipe for Romance is about…well, Radha and Jai, Nana Veeru and Jai’s dad play critical roles in their story. I am an able-bodied person who has tried to address any biases, but I still come from a place of privilege. I am deeply apologetic about any and all errors, which are completely my responsibility.
In all honesty, when working on the concept for Radha & Jai’s Recipe for Romance, I hoped to tell a story as fun and quirky and fluffy as My So-Called Bollywood Life, but dance has never really been fun and quirky and fluffy for me. In addition to losing my grandfathers during the eleven years I studied kathak, I experienced insecurity and manipulation from people I trusted. That led to a rejection of the art form for years before I had the guts to sit down and write about it.
Thank you for reading and cheering me on as I worked on Radha. I learned a lot about myself while writing this book, just like Jai and Radha learn about themselves and their passion. In the end, I hope you discovered what I have, too: that you don’t have to have a recipe for happiness. You can figure things out along the way.
Xoxo
Nisha
Acknowledgments
Writing acknowledgments has always been one of the hardest parts of completing a novel for me. With this book, I’m even more emotional because it was one of the most difficult novels I’ve ever written.
First, you should know that all my novels start the same exact way: with an email to Joy Tutela at the David Black Literary Agency. Joy, you’ve seen all the ugly that I’ve gone through to finish this book, and I want you to know that I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for your support, guidance, and faith. Thank you for being the best advocate, friend, and agent a girl could have. Thank you also to Susan Raihofer and my UK agent, Caspian Dennis, for advocating for me. I also have the calm, easygoing support of my film agent, Jon Cassir of CAA. Jon, I didn’t get to thank you enough for your work with Bollywood Life, so I hope this suffices to show my appreciation.
To my publishers, Crown Books for Young Readers and Stripes Publishing in the UK: Without the support of the marketing departments, phenomenal cover art departments, publicity departments, and literary assistants, this book wouldn’t be possible. Special shout-out to Elizabeth Stranahan, Charlie Morris, and Lauren Ace.
To my editors: Phoebe Yeh and Sarah Shaffi. Phoebe, we’ve been together since 2014, and despite our ups and downs, you’ve made me a better writer. I will always appreciate and love you for changing my life. Sarah, we haven’t known each other quite as long, but I knew you were the right one for my books from the moment we met. Thank you for believing in me and my stories.
Thank you to my beta readers and my sensitivity readers, who have requested anonymity. Speaking about stroke experiences and paralysis with you has been humbling, and any and all mistakes I’ve made in telling this story are my own.
Thank you to Sabeen Aslam for your excellent advice on Bollywood and school dance teams. I appreciated the time you made for me even though you have a full plate being an amazing person.
To my mom, Neeta Sharma, who was never a dance mom, thank God, but who showed up to every performance with safety pins, hairpins, and a backup copy of my music. Thank you for always being there for me through the dance years, and a phone call away during my food exploration. Every time I cook, I think of you. Love you, Mom.
To Smita Kurrumchand. What can you say about a best friend who is more like a sister? Thank you for sitting with me late into the night after long days at work, talking through plot until our eyes were gritty with exhaustion. Thank you for picking up the phone early in the morning to help me work through the kinks in my story. And thank you for listening to me complain about the hurt this book revealed. I would’ve never finished Radha’s novel without your support. Love you, girl.
Thank you also to Ali Magnotti-Nagel, Monica Liming-Hu, Adriana Herrera, Meg Cabot, and Dee Ernst for giving me invaluable guidance and support. To Jordan Reiser and the Strott family for all the love and support that always seems to come at the exact time I need it most.
To Sona Charaipotra, Falguni Kothari, Sonali Dev, Suleika Snyder, Preeti Chhibber, Alisha Rai, and my other desi writer friends who support me, advocate for me, and set the bar high as the most amazing, authentic, vibrant women. Thank you for helping me strive to be a better writer every day.
To RITA’s writers’ room for rolling with my outbursts while I was working on the draft and revisions for this novel. Sarah Maclean, Alexis Daria, Sierra Simone, Tracey Livesay, Andie Christopher, Adriana Herrera (again!), LaQuette and Joanna Shupe, I’m so glad I get to call you friends.
To the friends I’ve met at my day jobs who have had the unfortunate luck of listening to me talk about writing all day. Marc Diamondstein, Tracey Sumler, and Tiffany Williams, you are all gems and I’m infinitely richer with you in my life.
Last but not least, thanks to my uncle, Rohit Punj, who took me to get my first library card at the New York Public Library. It may be standard to thank the dance teacher, but I’m giving you the kudos. Thanks, Mamu. This book is as much for you as it is for me.
About the Author
NISHA SHARMA is the award-winning author of the YA rom-com My So-Called Bollywood Life and the contemporary romance drama The Singh Family Trilogy. She grew up immersed in Bollywood movies, ’80s pop culture, and romance novels, so it is no surprise that her work features all three. Her writing has been praised by Entertainment Weekly, NPR, Cosmopolitan, Teen Vogue, BuzzFeed, Hypable, and more. She lives in New Jersey with her Alaskan-born husband; her cat, Lizzie Bennett; and her dog, Nancey Drew. You can find her online at nisha-sharma.com or on Twitter and Instagram at @nishawrites.
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