From Twinkle, With Love(47)

“Papa,” Sahil said, rolling his eyes. “Not everyone knows what their plans are down to the location of their future college at this point in their high school careers. And some people don’t go to college right away.” Speaking to me, he added, “Sorry. Hazards of having overachieving parents. Papa got his PhD at twenty-eight and Mom was the youngest person in her department to achieve tenure.”

“No, it’s okay—” I began, but Ajit Uncle cut me off by protesting mightily.

“Now, now, Sahil, I know college isn’t the right path for everyone! But, Twinkle, I assume going to film school affords you some opportunities you wouldn’t otherwise get, no?”

“It does, I’m sure,” I said. “I mean, George Lucas is one of the most famous examples of someone who got his start at USC’s film school, which also happens to be my dream school. But …” I shrugged, wondering if it was crass to say this in their circles. But then I decided I didn’t care. This was my truth and I was owning it. “I’m not sure I can afford it, to be honest.”

“That’s a travesty!” Anna Auntie said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “The state of higher education in this country is enough to give anyone hives. The average college student—”

Sahil looked at me, biting his lip to keep from laughing, and I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my mouth.

Anna Auntie narrowed her eyes and gestured with her fork between the two of us. “What was that?”

“Busted,” Sahil said. “Nothing. I just told—excuse me, warned—Twinkle that you guys can get a little intense about higher education.”

“But,” I hurried to put in, “he also told me that you guys sponsor one UCCS student a year. Which is amazing.”

“In-state student,” Anna Auntie said. “We also get a break from the university. It’s the only way we can afford to do it. But we see it as a calling, being professors and all. It’s all about making higher education affordable and accessible to more people.”

I smiled and tucked into my second pancake. I liked Anna Auntie and Ajit Uncle. They felt like good people. And the way they looked at Sahil, it was obvious they loved him to bursting. It made me a little sad, too, as if my own family were two thousand miles, and not a twenty-minute drive, away.





Fourteen


After breakfast, Anna Auntie and Ajit Uncle melted away, making vague excuses about errands and the post office (which Ajit Uncle calls the “postmortem office,” because apparently all the postal workers look like grumpy zombies. Also, the post office on a Sunday? The Roys were really bad at making believable excuses, evidently.). When they were gone, Sahil looked at me a little awkwardly. “So, um, you wanna see my room?”

There was a beat between us as the words “see my room” floated there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were both thinking of all the different meanings behind that euphemistic phrase.

Sahil rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his gaze. “Ah, I mean, just, see my room.”

I laughed way too loudly to cover my shyness. At least we were being awkward together. “Okay, then, show me your manor, kind sir,” I said, putting on a fake-confident air.

He smiled, and I followed him down the hallway.

Once we were upstairs, I saw a bedroom with its door wide open. Above the bed, which was covered with a green and black bedspread, was a painted wooden letter N.

N.

I stopped, transfixed, my pulse quickening.

Sahil paused. “Everything okay?”

I knew I should look away, but I found myself taking in all the little details of Neil’s life I had never gotten to see before. His Michael Phelps poster. His entire wall of trophies. His lightly offensive Tomb Raider poster. “Um, yeah.” I turned before it got weird, smiling at Sahil.

“You sure?” he said, smiling back hesitantly. His eyes ran over Neil’s room, like he was trying to see what I was looking at. “You seemed spaced out there for a minute.”

I took a deep breath and laughed, even though it felt kind of awful, not telling him the truth. “Nah, I’m good. So, where’s your room?”

After a pause, he smiled and turned to show me the way.

Sahil’s room was not at all what I was expecting. I’d thought, based on his affinity for all things horror, he’d have black walls and a red bedspread. Maybe some skulls? But instead his walls were this pale blue, and his bedspread was white-and-yellow striped. He had a killer film-reel table lamp that I would’ve died for too.

“I like your room,” I said, going over to look at a colorized Frankenstein poster on the wall. “It’s very … you.”

“You think so?” he said, looking pleased. “Because Skid and Aaron always tell me it’s too girly. I just like blue and yellow together.”

I scoffed. “Too girly? What does that even mean? And why is that something to look down on, anyway?”

“No, you’re right,” Sahil said, frowning. “Why is that something to look down on?”

I clucked my tongue. “Sexism, dude.”

“So, is that why you’re doing this?” Sahil asked, coming to stand beside me. “Making movies, I mean? To fight the patriarchy?”

I smiled. He wasn’t even being sarcastic or making fun of me. He genuinely wanted to know. Maybe having a mom who also wants to dismantle the patriarchy and a dad who wears frilly aprons will do that. “Kinda. I mean, women make up only seven percent of the directors who worked on the top two hundred and fifty movies. And that’s a recent statistic. If you factor in race, that number goes way down. I remember reading about Ava DuVernay. She said one of the things she wanted to do was cater to people whom art houses and the film industry generally ignore. People who can’t afford to go to fancy schools and expensive film festivals still deserve to see their stories on-screen. So that’s what I’m hoping to do, too. Make stories about people who don’t get to see themselves on-screen.”