There's Something About Sweetie(95)

“I don’t know. You’ve just got that look.” She paused. “And believe me, there is definitely a type of guy like that.”

Ashish pursed his lips and bobbed a slow nod. “Okay. I have, like, zero idea what to do with what you just said. But I can tell you I have big plans for me and Sweetie, and none of those involve lampshades or Minnesotan girls.”

Kayla laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s find the present table.”




Sweetie sat in front of her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror. It was time. She just needed to do it. Be brave. Remember the Sassy Sweetie Project.

Her locked doorknob jiggled, and she turned, her heart pounding.

“Sweetie?” Amma said from the other side of the door. “What are you doing hiding in your room with the door locked? Come on! Guests are here.”

“Yes, Amma,” she called. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“It doesn’t look nice to keep them waiting, mol,” Amma said, her voice all twitchy. She loved throwing parties, but she hated actually having to entertain. It made no sense to Sweetie. “They’re asking about you.”

“Just finishing up my … um, makeup,” Sweetie said, looking at her T-shirt in the mirror. “I’m almost done.”

“Okay, okay,” Amma said, sounding resigned now. “Five more minutes!”

“Shari, Amma,” Sweetie called, collapsing against the back of her chair in relief. Okay, five more minutes. She could do this.

Her phone beeped.

Anjali Chechi: Flight just landed. On our way soon! You got it, right? Are you wearing it?

Yeah, it came in the mail two days ago. Not wearing it yet. I’m not sure I can do it. Maybe I should just wear the one Amma picked out. I mean, the dress, Ashish, prom—maybe it’s all too much on the same day?

Anjali Chechi: I won’t force you, Sweetie. But just think about what you’ll regret doing: Being a BAMF or not being one?

Sweetie laughed to herself. Not being one.

Anjali Chechi: Smart girl. See you soon. xx

Sweetie rose with a renewed vigor. Ashish had already texted her about five minutes ago. He was downstairs. Poor dude … She didn’t even want to think how he was coping down there without her.

She took the outfit out of her closet and forced a brave smile. She was Sassy Sweetie. She was a BAMF.





CHAPTER 32





Okay, Sweetie’s family knew way too many people called Padma. He’d just been introduced to an ancient great-grandma, a middle-aged, slightly angry-looking woman who claimed to be the best entertainment attorney in the state, and a tiny girl with masses of curly hair, and they were all Padma. How was he supposed to remember any of this? Was he supposed to remember any of this?

Where was Sweetie?

The suspense was getting to be too much. Ashish felt like he was constantly on display, even though no one really seemed to be paying attention to him. Except for the Mafia girl gang, all of whom had come up and introduced themselves and talked to him a bit. He’d gotten the distinct feeling that they were sizing him up, looking for hints of douchebaggery, but they seemed pretty comfortable with him now. The girl with the braces, who looked to be about twelve, Izzy, had even apologized for calling him Ass-sheesh that night. (And for calling him Pa-hell, which he hadn’t known she’d called him until she told him and then blushed bright red when she realized she’d only called him that behind his back; apparently the girl had a talent for mean puns.)

He just wanted to get this show on the road. He wanted to tell Sweetie’s parents exactly who he was and why he was here and lay it all out for them.

Sighing, he wandered over to the bottom of the stairs and happened to glance up.

The world shrank. There was only her.

Sweetie stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes closed, her lips moving like she was praying or talking to herself or something. She wore this bright-yellow Indian outfit—Ashish thought it was called an Anarkali, but he wasn’t sure—which was basically like a long, ankle-length dress with fitted pants underneath. The top of the dress was a halter, and the area around her throat and chest was covered in tiny diamonds that caught the light and shimmered with the tiniest movement. Her bare arms were smooth, fists clasped at her sides. That amazing mint-scented hair was in loose curls, hanging past her shoulders like a shiny black waterfall.

Ashish stared. He shouldn’t; he knew that. She was obviously having a private moment before she came downstairs. But he couldn’t help it.

She was a goddess. She was … pure beauty. Pure love. She was everything he’d never wanted but had to have.

She was everything, period.




She was terrified, period.

Out-of-her-skin terrified, actually, if you wanted to get technical. It literally felt like her heart, her muscles, her bones, all of her internal organs, wanted to exit her body and make a run for it. Just to not be there.

Why had she decided to do all of this on the day of her party? Why?

She opened her eyes, resigned to going downstairs and torpedoing … oh, everything.

She opened her eyes and looked right into Ashish’s. And the world shrank.

He was staring at her in absolute wonder. The way you stare at a double rainbow. The way the earth stares at the sun. The way that squirrel outside had stared at the peanut-butter-covered pinecone she’d set out for it last winter. Reverentially, like he couldn’t believe his luck.