Chapter Two
“I Miss You”
by Clean Bandit feat. Julia Michaels
Meera
Valeria and Ron are not impressed when they walk upstairs to my room and see the words THE PLAN: DATE SUSHANT he smells like incense. “Cut off Lucy’s what, now?”
I nearly drop the marker in my haste to kick my father out of my room. “Appa, you’re supposed to knock!”
“The door was ajar!” He steps back, hands raised, then twirls his mustache with amusement as his eyes fall on the whiteboard. Shit. “If you like this boy,” he says slowly, “just tell him.”
“He’s madly in love with Lucy!” I exclaim, pushing Appa away from my bedroom. “It’s not that simple.”
Appa opens his mouth to speak, but I swing the door shut in his face and bolt it for good measure. Then I spin around. “Well, then. Where were we?”
“Look, I don’t think your Mean Girls–esque plan is going to work in this situation,” Valeria says, one hand on her head.
“You need to get in with the popular crowd before you even have a shot at ‘dethroning’ Lucy.” She makes air quotes around the word “dethrone.” “Besides, Sushant’s not a shallow guy who only cares about reputation.
He’d date you as long as he were single and had feelings for you. ”
I pull my desk chair over to the center of the room and sit down, nodding. “You have a point. How do we make Sushant have feelings for me, then?”
Ron rubs his chin with his thin fingers, pensive. “We already tried the makeover route. Didn’t work.”
In March, when Sushant eagerly told me it was his six-month-iversary with Lucy, I asked Valeria’s sister—who runs Madre Maria’s best salon—to give me a makeover from head to toe, hoping the clichéd teen romance trope would work in my favor.
I ended up with dark brown layered hair and blond highlights, my glasses swapped for contact lenses, and an intensive wardrobe change that included switching my comfortable and casual all-black attire for spaghetti-strap tops, bright colors, and heels. Kill me now.
The result? Sushant gave me a confused look the next time he saw me on the bus and said, “Why do you look so…weird?”
I remember tossing my freshly styled hair back and saying, with as much faux confidence as I could, “I’m simply leveling up my appearance. Don’t I look hot?”
He chuckled before brushing my hair out of my face, sending tingles down to my very cramped toes in those heels. “You look good as you are. It’s pretty obvious you’re uncomfortable in that getup. Aren’t you?”
Once we reached the school building, I wiped off the makeup, grabbed my handy spare sneakers from my locker, and decided that if he thought I looked good as I was, it wouldn’t be long until he’d fall for me too. He just had to realize it.
…Nearly ten months later, the boy still hasn’t come to that conclusion.
“Maybe you could assist the cheerleading team, or join one of the other clubs the popular kids are in.” Valeria chews on her lower lip. “Then you’d be able to have lunch with Lucy and Sushant.”
I fold my arms over my chest and scoff. “Forget a cartwheel. I can’t even do the tree pose from yoga without falling flat on my face. We”—I think for a moment—“have to break them up so I can slide into the empty space in Sushant’s heart—”
Ron’s phone buzzes, and he stands up. “My little brother needs help with his math homework. I’m out.” He gives me a hug, then nudges Valeria. “Want me to drop you off at home?” Ron’s the only one of us who has a car, a hand-me-down from his older brother, who’s a sophomore in college.
Valeria gives me an apologetic look and stands up too. “I’d like a ride, yeah.” She wraps her arms around me and whispers, “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
I press my face into the crook of her shoulder. “Thank you.” I don’t quite believe her, but sometimes you have to keep going even when you have zero faith. This is one of those times.
Lucy
Mom’s voice echoes off the walls when I unlock the front door and walk into the living room.
Although she does her Zoom calls from her home office, which is at the far end of the first floor, you can’t miss her loud, exaggerated, chipper life coach voice no matter which corner of the house you’re in.
“Oh my goodness, Karen, this is a completely safe space,” she’s saying to one of her clients as I walk into the kitchen to pop a frozen pizza into the oven. “You don’t have to censor yourself in front of me…or anyone, for that matter.”