There's Something About Sweetie(62)

“And why didn’t he try to convince you?” Sweetie asked, nodding. “Any ideas?”

Oliver thought about it for a second and then shrugged. “Not a one.”

“Maybe it has something to do with fear,” Sweetie suggested. “Maybe you’re both afraid.”

“Afraid?” Oliver asked. “Afraid of what, though?”

“I’m not sure. But maybe figuring that out is the starting point. The way you find your way back to each other.”

“I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen. But thank you. I’m going to think about that.”

Sweetie smiled. “Sure.”

Oliver swallowed the rest of the espresso and got to his feet. “Well, I should go. I’m gonna hit the gym, try to work off some of this caffeine rush.”

Sweetie nodded and followed suit. “Yeah, I should get going, too. Hey, Oliver. For what it’s worth, I think Elijah’s making a huge mistake. Whether he cheated or not … you deserved more than an insta-breakup.”

Oliver reached down and hugged her. “Thanks, Sweetie. Ashish is right. You’re a good person.”

She smiled shyly up at him. “Ditto.”

Oliver looked at her, his head tilted. “You’ve been good for him, you know. I mean, he’s still totally flat when it comes to basketball and he doesn’t sleep, but I can see a bit of a difference. He’s a little less wilted.”

Sweetie frowned. “I can’t imagine anything worse than not being able to enjoy running. How long has basketball been like that for him?”

“Since the breakup with Celia. Almost four months ago, I’d say. It’s tough.” Oliver’s phone beeped in his pocket, and he slid it out and glanced at the screen. “Well, I gotta go. See you soon, I hope?”

“Yeah, definitely. You should come to Band Night here a week from Thursday. I’m singing and I could really use the support.”

Oliver paused. “Okay,” he said finally. “For you.” Grinning, he held up a hand and loped off.

Still thinking of what he’d said about Ashish losing his fire for basketball, Sweetie went up to the counter to order another double espresso. A plan had begun to form in her mind.





CHAPTER 22





Ashish was almost to Samir’s house when a text popped up on his Jeep’s LCD screen.

Pinky: Yo meeting you at S’s house

Huh. Weird. The system didn’t let Ashish text while he was driving, so he continued on until he got there. And there, in Samir’s sloping drive, was parked Pinky’s lime-green electric car. She was leaned up against the side, texting furiously, her face lit up in the dark by the silver glow of the screen.

“Hey,” Ashish called, hopping out the open side of the Jeep. “What are you doing here?”

She stashed her cell and looked up at him. “I ran into your mom at the aquarium; Saturdays are my day to volunteer at the flamboyant cuttlefish exhibit, and she was there for some board meeting thingy. Anyway, she said Samir’s mom had called and she sounded all worried, so …”

They walked together to the front door. Ashish glanced at her. “Wait. Flamboyant cuttlefish?”

“Yes, it’s a thing.” Pinky sighed. “Just like the assassin bug was really a thing.”

“I mean, come on. Can you blame us? ‘Assassin bug’ sounds totally made up.”

Pinky rolled her eyes as she rang the doorbell. “Samir was the only one who believed me,” she said after a moment. “Remember?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ashish replied, looking at her. “He pulled it up on his phone and told us all to shut up.”

Samir’s mom answered the door then, looking slightly disheveled in a wrinkled sari and with frizzy hair.

“Hello, auntie,” Ashish said. “We’re here to see Samir.”

“Oh, good, good,” she said, standing to the side. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “He’ll be so happy to see you. I’ve been so worried, you know. Samir doesn’t seem to be … himself. You can go up to his room.”

They walked up the staircase together and knocked on Samir’s bedroom door.

“Come in.” His voice was muffled, almost flat.

Ashish turned the doorknob and walked in, with Pinky following close behind.

The first thing that struck him was that the room looked like a pit of despair. If you thought about the words “gloomy dungeon” in your head, you probably would conceive something very similar to what Ashish was looking at. Ashish had been in Samir’s room many, many times over the years. It was always neatly organized and vacuumed (his mom cleaned it for him every day), with a potpourri bowl on the desk. Seeing it like this was almost … shocking.

There was only one lamp on in the corner of the room. Bedclothes were scattered everywhere, and Samir’s desk was buried under piles of papers and food wrappers. It smelled musty and stale, like the windows and door hadn’t been opened in who knew how long. Ashish glanced at Pinky, who was taking in all the same details with a totally neutral face. But because he knew her so well, he could see the look in her eyes: surprise. And worry. Samir was the nerdiest dresser of them all: His hair was always slightly oiled with coconut oil and brushed to the side, like some dude from the forties. He wore pressed button-down shirts and khaki pants all the time. Dude probably didn’t even own a pair of jeans. He always smelled faintly of lavender lotion. The few times they’d been in his room, everything had been at right angles. Even his bedsheets had had creases.