My So-Called Bollywood Life(14)

“There is nothing wrong with a pooja,” her mother said. She got up from the table, grabbed her dishes, and carried them to the sink. “You should be ashamed for saying that.”

“Hey, praying is totally fine. It’s the whole in-house pooja thing that drives me crazy. Daddy? No pooja. But a job?”

“You’re working.”

With a sigh she pushed her plate forward and dropped her head onto her folded arms. She mumbled into the crease of her elbow, “Where am I supposed to find a job that hires high school students? The summer season is over. Fall is, like, dead.”

“The movie theater.”

She jerked up. “Which movie theater? The one on Route 1? The one on Route 27? The one off 287? Do you mean the dine-in theater? The one in Bridgewater, or the one in Edison?”

    “If you know something, just tell her,” Winnie’s mother said over the sound of running water.

“The Rose Theater,” her father said. “You know my friend Eric, who owns it? I can ask him if he’s hiring.”

“The Rose?” She thought about the small art house that played independent movies on Nassau Street in downtown Princeton. She knew Henry worked there, at least in the summer, and some of the other film-club members had interned there. She’d never had time to work in a theater because she’d always interned elsewhere. But now? Clocking hours at the Rose would be awesome. For a steady paycheck, it was a great place to start.

She scratched at her bare wrist while she worked through her schedule in her head. The next few months would definitely suck no matter how awesome her job was going to be.

“Okay. I’ll play along and be like Shammi Kapoor in Professor. I’ll get a job under pretenses to pay off a debt.”

Her father huffed. “I don’t know how NYU is going to let you in with your movie references. There are at least ten other films that have a more comparable story line than that one. Shammi Kapoor had to play a role for a noble cause. There is nothing noble about your actions. And don’t even think about doing something like this again. Understood?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

“You overcomplicate everything,” Winnie’s mother said as she wiped down the counter. “Just accept what is.”

Winnie nodded, but she refused to accept destiny at face value anymore. She wanted to make the choices in her life, and nothing and nobody was going to tell her differently. She was sure that by her birthday in January, once she had confirmed proof that her prophecy was a lie, she’d be done with the bracelet, with Raj, and with anything that had to do with her star chart.

    “You’re going to be fine, beta.” Her father helped dry the dishes while Winnie packed the leftovers. After a beat he added, “So how many DVDs did you bury?”

Winnie burst into laughter while her mother shook her head. She’d never admit it, but she had to have the most awesome Indian parents that a girl could ask for.





5





RAM LAKHAN





You know the heroine is going to forgive the hero for leaving her (even temporarily) before it even happens. She sings an entire song about how brokenhearted she is, and when he comes back into her life, it’s like, Yay! I knew we’d be together again! Ugh.





WINNIE: We need to talk, Raj.

WINNIE: I don’t know why you’re avoiding me, but if we’re going to work together…

WINNIE: Seriously, what the hell, Raj????



When final bell rang, signaling the start of the weekend, Winnie was only stopped once in the hallway, an improvement from the rest of the week.

“How are you taking it?” Simone asked. “You know, the breakup?”

“Uh, I’m fine, actually.”

“Well, if you ever want a breakup playlist, I can hook you up. I’ll even ask some of the girls from—”

    “That’s really okay. Thanks, though. See you at the next meeting!”

She hustled toward Mr. Reece’s office, ignoring the side-eye glances. She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached his door. She knocked twice on the doorjamb and peeked through the opening.

“Hi, do you have a minute?” Winnie said when she saw him sitting behind his desk.

“Ms. Mehta, yes, have a seat. I’m almost finished.”

Winnie slipped into one of the torn leather padded chairs facing Mr. Reece. She watched as he squinted at his computer, his shoulders hunched and his fingers hovering over a keyboard. Behind him was a large Star Trek: The Next Generation poster next to one of The Big Bang Theory. In the far corner were two physics gravity models. Nothing in his office paid tribute to the film club. That was annoying, Winnie thought.

“And done,” Mr. Reece said with a click of his mouse. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. “It’s a little odd not having you in a class this year, but at least we have the film club. How are you feeling now that the first week of school is over?”

“Honestly, or should I give you the short, fake answer?”

Mr. Reece’s forehead creased. “Honesty. Always honesty.”

Winnie thought about it for a moment; then words started rushing from her mouth. “Okay, there is this one Bollywood movie called Sholay that my parents make me watch every Thanksgiving. It’s like a tradition. After our tandoori turkey, we sit down with the family and literally quote the movie as it’s playing. In the story, two con artists with really good hearts come to this small village to help an old man complete his plot for revenge.”