Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(57)

“So … what kind of questions will they ask?” I say.

“Probably stuff about how you’d solve certain problems, you know? How you’d handle debs stuff? Conflicts between students … things like that. Be confident and be assertive. Which are basically your two best qualities. So … you’ll be great.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say. Confident and assertive. I can definitely do that.

“Is that all?” Nik’s voice suggests that she thinks it isn’t. “Or … did you call to talk about something else? Something about—”

“Nope, nothing else.” I cut her off. Before she can bring Hani up. I definitely don’t want to hash out the fake dating guide and my feelings with Nik. “Thanks for answering my questions. Enjoy your party. Bye!”

“Wait, Ish—” Before she can say anything else, I tap the button to end the call. I breathe a sigh of relief as I shift back to my desk.

I don’t think Nik’s going to tell anyone.

I send the text off to Hani. From her fast reply, I know that she’s been waiting by her phone, worrying.

Are you sure?

Am I sure? Nik sounded so sincere, like she really believed what she was saying. Sure, my sister and I don’t have the best track record in the world, but maybe things have changed in the past few years. Nik is definitely far from the ambition-driven person she was in secondary school.

So, I text Hani back with the best I’ve got:

I want to believe her.





chapter thirty-three


ishu


THERE’S A KNOCK ON MY BEDROOM DOOR THE NEXT morning as I’m changing into my uniform. There are only two people it could be—Ammu or Abbu. But it’s still strange for them to knock on my bedroom door this early in the morning.

I pull on my jumper and swing the door open to Abbu’s grim face. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in a while, and his usually clean-shaven face has bits of stubble all over it. I wonder if it’s to do with the Nik situation—or if it’s something else entirely.

“Morning, Abbu.” I try not to let confusion seep into my voice, even though that’s really all I’m feeling.

His lips stretch out into something that only slightly resembles a smile—it’s more of a grimace. “They’re choosing the prefects and Head Girl in school soon.” It’s not a question. I wonder how he found out, when I haven’t told him anything.

“Yep …” I trail off, going back and forth in my head about whether to tell him about the interview or not. On the one hand, I’ve already lost enough sleep about it because I’m a nervous wreck. I don’t know if I can deal with Ammu and Abbu putting pressure on me about it right now as well.

“This time two years ago, Nikhita was preparing too.” His face softens at Nik’s name, and I try not to let it bother me. “She made me do mock interviews with her.” There’s fondness and regret mixed together in his voice. “And she was so disappointed when she didn’t get it. Didn’t even want to talk to us about it.”

“She’s very ambitious,” I offer.

“Was.” Abbu’s face darkens. “I know you’re on the right track, Ishu.” He places a hand on my shoulder and peers into my face, cracking a smile. As if this is the highest compliment he can give me. It kind of is, from Abbu.

“Thanks, Abbu,” I say. “I’m keeping my head down and staying focused.”

“You’ll tell us what happens with the Head Girl thing?” There’s hope in his voice, and I don’t want to give him more hope and then crush it. So I just nod my head.

When I become Head Girl, I tell myself. I’ll let them know then.

On the bus to school, I put in my headphones and hit shuffle on my Spotify. I want to avoid thinking about the upcoming interview, and somehow find myself on my Instagram page. It’s pretty bare—I’m hardly ever on it. But I’ve been tagged in so many pictures since I started hanging out with Hani. I scroll through the pictures of us on our first date, where we look happy, if a little uncomfortable with each other. Then there are pictures of all of us during our triple date at Captain America’s. I have such a forced smile on my lips that I have to stifle a giggle as I scroll past the photos.

I shake my head and click out of my picture tags. I definitely can’t let myself get distracted this morning, even though I’ve spent equal amounts of time thinking about Hani as I have about this interview.

I’m about to close out of my Instagram when I see a picture of my sister on my feed. I quickly scroll back up to it. The picture is of her and Rakesh, dressed up. She’s in a bright red dress that makes her brown skin glow; he’s in a suit and tie. They’re both grinning with their arms wrapped around each other like this is the best day of their lives.

The caption reads:

thank you so much for the engagement party @gemmabakesscones, couldn’t have asked for a better night or a better bunch of friends to celebrate with. Lucky to be marrying the man of my dreams!

The picture is from last night and was only uploaded this morning. The more I look at, the more I feel a lump rising in my throat, and a prickling behind my eyes. Did Ammu and Abbu know about this? Were they invited? Or have we got to a point where we don’t even bother inviting each other to big life events like this?