From Twinkle, With Love(3)

I looked at the menu and sighed. It was almost five dollars for the coffee, which was my lunch allowance for the week. If I bought it, I’d have to do without at school, and hungry Twinkle was hangry Twinkle. “No, that’s okay,” I said, my cheeks hot. In that instant, I was kind of glad about my invisibility powers. At least none of the silk feathered hats had heard how Twinkle Mehra couldn’t even afford an iced mocha.

In my hurry to escape, I almost smacked face-first into a muscled chest. OHMYGOD, my brain shouted as I tipped my head back and took in those light-brown eyes, that thick lacy fringe of eyelashes. IT’S HIM IT’S NEIL OHMYGO—oh, wait. My brain registered more details, like the red skull on the black T-shirt. The smile that was half shy, half awkward, not at all like Neil’s full-on, sear-your-retinas-with-its-strength-but-you-won’t-even-notice-the-pain-because-it’s-so-glorious smile.

“Oh, hey, Sahil,” I said, trying to go around him. “’Scuse me.”

“Wait. I could buy you that coffee?” he said, pivoting to see me. “Um, if you want?”

I stopped and looked at him, feeling that cringy-hot feeling I always get when people call attention to money. Specifically, how they have it and I don’t. “That’s … nice, but you don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I want to,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and then taking them out again. “Um, heat wave.”

Huh? Was that supposed to make sense? “You … what?”

“I … just meant there’s a heat wave outside. You definitely need an iced coffee.” Then he grinned suddenly, this thing that set all his teeth on display, and leaned back. It all had a very rehearsed vibe.

I opened my mouth to (a) tell him eighty degrees and a light breeze hardly qualified as a heat wave and (b) point out that he was edging dangerously close to the napkin holder. Sadly, I was too late delivering point (b).

Sahil sent it flying to the floor, and the napkins went everywhere. He stared at the mess for a minute in silence. And then we both ducked down to clean up the mess, knocking heads (of course; how else would two groundlings clean up a mess?) and groaning.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Sahil said as I rubbed my forehead.

“That’s okay.” I stuffed the remaining napkins back into the holder and then stood up to face mustachioed Stan, who was watching this unfold with unadulterated glee beaming off his annoying, dictatorial face. “Um, yeah. I’ll have that iced mocha after all.” I figured it was easier to just accept than risk another mini disaster. I smiled at Sahil. “Thanks.”

He waved me off. “Ah, no, no worries.” And then I’m pretty sure he asked me a question, which I didn’t hear because it was then that Neil Roy began to walk toward me.

No kidding.

His eyes were locked on mine and everything.

At least, that’s what I thought at first. But then he got closer and I saw he was looking at his brother, Sahil. Just Sahil.

“Yo, I’m heading over to Patrick’s,” he said. “Can you catch a ride with someone?”

“Sure,” Sahil said, turning back to me.

And then Neil Roy winked at me. Winked. At me. “Hey,” he said, all casually, running a hand through his soft (it looks soft anyway), thick black hair. “How’s it going?”

Neil Roy asked me a freaking question. And I responded by gawking at him. What should I say? Something cool and casual and maybe even a little bit funny?

The seconds ticked by. I realized I was still standing there with this idiotic, glazed smile on my face. OH MY GOD, TWINKLE, JUST SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

But by the time I’d decided to rejoinder with a perfectly acceptable, “Pretty good, and you?” his back was already to me. And those bulging calf muscles were taking him to the door.

“Uh, Twinkle?”

I blinked Sahil back into focus, trying to ignore the thudding disappointment at my own geekiness. “Yeah?”

Neil smoothly tossed a balled-up paper napkin into the trash from across the room, and then he and his friends walked outside together. His back wasn’t sweaty. And the other guys had their heads swiveled toward him, constantly watching him, listening to what he had to say. See? That was the sort of guy shiny, future Twinkle Mehra should date.

“… business card.”

Crap. I’d missed what Sahil was saying—again—because I was ogling his brother. Anyway, context. Come on. Look around. Look at his face. What might he have said? Oh, right. He was holding out a business card. I took it, frowning slightly.

Sahil Roy, Film Critic, it said. There was a phone number below it.

“You’re into films, aren’t you?” he asked, tugging at his T-shirt.

Am I into films? Ha. Ha ha ha. Only like Bill Nye is into science. “Mm-hmm,” I said. “Definitely.”

Sahil smiled his shy/awkward smile. “Cool. I am too. You should think about joining the film club sometime.” He rubbed the top of his ear. “And that’s, uh, my cell number there.” He cleared his throat and then coughed violently, choking on his own spit. I patted him on the back while he stared at me, his eyes wide.

“Do you need some water?” I was starting to get worried about the color his face was turning.

He shook his head and walked back to his table, where his friend Skid, sighing, handed him his cup of water. Aaron tossed me a smile and I nodded back.