ACT 2, SCENE 7

"What do you mean you're having a wedding this weekend?" Amma screeched into the phone. Her voice, normally calm and collected, was high and sharp like nails on a chalkboard. A rapid-fire string of Telugu sentences followed, punctuated with bits of English. With a grumble, Aarav yanked his headphones over his ears and clung harder to his texture, as though the harder he pressed, the more information he could absorb through his skin. 

Unfortunately, his bedroom door creaked open to reveal his mother, who thrust the phone into his hands. She lingered at his desk with her heavy brows drawn together, arms folded while she tapped her foot expectantly. Biting back a groan, Aarav turned the phone on speaker. "Hello?"

What followed next was a heavily accented "Hello" and the crackling voice, cut with static, responded with an intelligible soliloquy. Aarav squinted, pretending he couldn't understand mainly due to the poor connection. His knowledge of the language was mediocre at best. Having grown up his entire life in America, he only knew basic greetings and aside from the occasional family trip to Andhra Pradesh, made no effort to keep up with Telugu. 

Not to mention that he didn't even know who he was speaking with. Which Indian auntie even was this? Was it an actual auntie in the sense she shared blood relations with the family or another one of his mother's friends? Aarav shot a look at Amma, who fed him a steady diet of silent answers to fend off the series of invasive questions. 

There was a shuffling and overseas, the phone was passed around from auntie to auntie, uncle to uncle. Aarav lost track of who was related family and who wasn't; in the end, it never mattered. Each time, he rattled off memorized phrases, every conversation identical like a skipping record on repeat. 

Drumming his fingers against the desk, he ignored the disappointed look in Amma's eyes. His parents were quick to lament his lack of cultural understanding—as though it were his fault he'd been put through the American education system where he learned English and U.S. history. 

When the phone switched again to another new speaker, the language jolting from Telugu to accented English. "Have you received your Stanford decision yet?" 

Yet another question he couldn't answer. The words dried on Aarav's tongue and he slid the phone over to his mother. Without missing a beat, she turned off the speaker setting and pressed it to her ear. "Oh, Aarav's having trouble deciding between Stanford and Harvard. We decided to skip early action since we don't want to shut out any options." 

Then a laugh. Her eyes brightened and she continued talking in an easy, relaxed tone—nothing like the shrill voice from earlier. Amma swept out of the room—probably to track down Aadhira—and left the door wide open. 

Aarav turned back to his textbook, the tiny words glaring back at him, and tried to focus on IB chemistry. But against his own will, his hands automatically kept reaching for his phone. Fingers kept opening Westminster's grades app. He skimmed over the list of current grades and tapped on his class ranking. The number one next to his name was almost a constant familiarity. 

A cold, icy dread coiled in his stomach. Aarav had too much to lose—the valedictorian status that he'd worked for ever since middle school when he enrolled in high school math courses. His gaze flickered back to the textbook. All it took was one midterm going wrong for everything to go down the drain. If he screwed up, if he failed to ace even a single exam—

Aarav slammed the book shut and his fingers dug into the pages. Goddamn Madison Aster. He'd already lost Stanford to her. He could only imagine the smug smirk on her face at graduation when she was announced as valedictorian instead of him and the disappointment on his parents' faces. How many more screw-ups would he risk suffering until his family had lost enough face? 

Aarav could almost hear their voices in their mind, the deep scowls on their faces. Both spent their lives running on ambition, Indian immigrants who arrived in America and blazed after unattainable goals. Reputation, success, from valedictorians to CEOs—they had it all. All while everyone floundered in comparison. 

From the beginning, his life revolved around rigid schedules and neat perfection. Aarav had everything planned down to the tiniest detail in his black leather bullet journal just like his parents demanded. By eighth grade, he'd mapped out his entire high school career: take all AP and honors courses, maintain perfect grades, stay at the top of his class, demonstrate leadership and innovation in extracurriculars. All of that was crucial if he wanted any chance of getting accepted into Stanford University.

From day one, he religiously followed the script he'd written for himself. And what had happened? Everything went wrong. Aarav wound up deferred from Stanford, the play's funding was cut, and to rub salt in the wound, the phone call with his distant Indian relatives only served as a reminder of his struggling Telugu—another failure. 

To make everything worse, he hadn't had caffeine in weeks.  

When his head began to throb, Aarav padded downstairs for some aspirin in the kitchen cabinet. Amma was on the living couch, still jabbering away in words he couldn't understand, no doubt comparing him to her friend's children. He avoided her gaze and dumped a couple of tablets into his palm before swallowing them dry. 

The front door opened and his father strode in. Tall, broad-shouldered, a dark beard—he radiated power and authority. While Aadhira raced over to say hello, Aarav bowed his head and returned to the refuge of his room before he could endure another lecture. Not that he ever wanted to hear it, but today was definitely not one where he wanted a spiel on how he was supposedly ruining his life.

The second he slid back into his seat, his phone dinged with a new message. Aarav leaned over to check the screen. Jackie again. 

Can we meet at the cafe? I need some help with math. 

How typical. In a strange sort of way, she was dependable. He could rely on her constant cheerful attitude and easy smiles. 

Only if you buy me a coffee.

It was 2:34 when he entered his car and started the ignition. 2:43 when he pulled up to the Wild Thyme Cafe. 2:45 when he walked through the door. Jackie was already waiting at a round little table in the corner next to the window, hands curled around a cup of black coffee. A geometry textbook rested open to a series of triangles and equations. The scent of coffee and baked croissants lingered in the warm air. The shop was bustling with a long line of customers and people bent over laptops at tables. 

Aarav dragged out a chair and sat across from her. Jackie slid over the steaming paper cup and picked at a blueberry muffin. Her black hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail, secured with her signature red ribbon, with glistening snowflakes clinging to the strands. She was bundled up in a knit scarf and oversized sweater and when she leaned forward, he could see the tiny mole below her dark eyes. "You're here."

"Of course I came. I wanted coffee." Aarav took a sip, savoring the harsh balance of acidity and bitterness while she scrunched up her nose. 

"I will never understand why you like it."

He leaned over to examine her textbook, the numbers and equations a familiar language. Math was something he could understand, unlike Telugu. A constant he could count on to comprehend. "What do you need help on?"

Jackie pointed out every problem she didn't know how to do while Aarav sat patiently in his chair and explained every single one. It was simple, easy to get done. Plug in numbers to the Pythagorean theorem. Rearrange the variables. Solve for the angles. He could pretend everything was alright and that their play didn't hang from a precarious thread or that his Stanford acceptance was on the line. 

Gods, he still hadn't received an answer from the scholarship organizations he'd pulled an all-nighter to complete applications for. Although the drama department had raised a sizeable amount during the winter carnival, it wasn't enough. Not when going to nationals involved funding a trip to New York and hotel rooms on top of costumes and props. 

The door swung open and the little bell at the top rang to announce the arrival of new customers. Aarav turned around and walking in close together were Madison and Iris, arms looped through together. A pretty and perfect pair of friends. The white lettering spelling out Stanford glared at him from Madison's red tee. And she never wore t-shirts. 

Aarav returned his gaze to the cup. Black, unadulterated coffee. He stirred it despite not having added sugar or milk. "You were saying about angles?"

"So side-angle-side theorem means that if two sides of a triangle are congruent to two sides of another triangle, and the angle between them is the same, then the triangles are the same?"

"Yes."

Jackie's brow furrowed and her head bent over the textbook. "But the angle must be between the sides. It can't be any other angle?"

"Also yes." Aarav grabbed two pencils and arranged them to form an angle. "These to sides may be congruent, but if you change the angle in-between, that changes the third side." He widened the distance between the pencils. "The angle must be between the sides for the theorem to hold."

The creases in Jackie's face softened and she scribbled a mini diagram in her notebook. "Okay, that makes sense."

Aarav removed his glasses and wiped the lenses, which had begun to fog up again. He grabbed another spoon and stirred invisible creamer into his coffee as though it would dissolve his tangle of thoughts as well. "You know, you never mentioned Liam asking you out."

"I thought I did."

"I heard it from Aaliyah."

Blood rushed to her cheeks, tinging her face pink. "Yeah, I know he's your friend and all."

"I'm not mad." He dropped the spoon against the cup. "He didn't tell me either."

"Does it bother you?"

Aarav closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "No, but I would've expected him to tell me." He'd expected a lot of things. This was just another that didn't fit into his carefully constructed idea of how life should be. 

"So it's weird for you?" Jackie smiled a little and broke her muffin into bits before eating it. She swept the leftover crumbs onto her napkin. 

"Weird, yes, that's the word." Aarav didn't know why but an uncomfortable emotion had settled in his mind. Dread? Fear? Like a tiny thread of thought winding around his conscience, telling him something was wrong. "Are you happy?"

The three-word question was like flipping a switch. Immediately, the girl's face lit up, and her eyes glowed, gleaming an almost golden copper. The words spilled from her lips like bubbles rising to the brim of a champagne glass. "He's always nice to me! We went on a coffee date and one time, he kissed me. A real kiss, not just fake stage kisses."

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and rested her elbows on the table. "It was real. So real."

A tiny smile tugged at Aarav's lips despite his inkling of doubt. In the years he'd known Liam, the blond had never committed to a serious relationship. Everything about his life was laidback, low effort, with no consequences. 

"I'm glad," he said finally. "I'm glad you're happy."

. . . 

Jackie had finally reached the point in her romance story where she, the female lead, won over her love interest and all the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Or at least that was what it felt like. A teen fiction novel come to life. It was a sudden and unexpected occurrence. Not once in her wildest dreams had Jackie ever thought Liam would ask her out. Sure, she'd kissed him and asked him to dance, but never had she believed he liked her enough to date her. And yet that day after school, he'd stood before her and said the very words she daydreamed about hearing.

Was this all an elaborate dream her mind had concocted to cope with her endless longing for the popular blond? Or was it a miracle engendered by the luck of her favorite red ribbon? Nevertheless, Jackie knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She spent the rest of the day on cloud nine with butterflies constantly fluttering in her stomach. Smile wider than usual, she walked around with an extra bounce in her step. For once, all her fanciful hopes and dramatic imagined scenarios became true. 

She walked out of school with an extra bounce to her step, her ponytail swinging behind her. Jackie ignored her stepsister's thinly-veiled dirty glares. Nothing could ruin her perpetual good mood. A month had steadily passed. Midterms came and went, and now she'd completed her first semester at Westminster without an issue. She'd even managed to improve all her grades to above an 80--a feat she formerly believed only geniuses were capable of. Her only A was in drama, but she didn't mind. 

With Valentine's day approaching, her main goals were to survive the remaining theatre rehearsals and prepare a gift for Liam. Their first Valentine's day. Jackie could scarcely believe it. And hopefully the first of numerous more to come. She didn't want to think about breaking up with him. That was definitely bad luck, preparing for a relationship's end when it had only just begun. 

Outside in the parking lot, Liam was waiting for her in his shiny blue car, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the window. He waved at her and she skipped over to the passenger side. He reached over to open the door and she climbed in. Crossing one leg over the other, she flipped on the radio and switched through the songs until settling on a happy pop one.

"Cute," Liam commented with a smile and turned to reach for something in the backseat. With a flourish, he presented a bouquet of pink and white carnations, accented with clusters of pepper berries and winding ivy. A little squeal escaped Jackie's lips and she pressed her nose to the flowers, inhaling their sweet perfumed scent. 

"What are these for?" Her eyes raised from behind the petals and she raised the bouquet to hide her reddening cheeks. 

"Early Valentine's Day gift." Liam's smile widened and her heartbeat quickened. 

"Those exist?"

"Does it matter?"

"No." Jackie set the bouquet in her lap and lowered her hand. She tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

Liam drove past verdant green lawns and gleaming boulevards, past the polished suburbs with shiny new houses. She rested her chin in her palm and stared out the window at the bright blue expanse. After a moment, when she no longer recognized the roads, Jackie asked, "Where are we going?" 

"There's this new ice cream shop all over Instagram. I was thinking we could check it out together."

Together. Jackie allowed the word to wrap around her like a comforting blanket. She loved the way it sounded with his voice, so gentle, so sweet. "Ice cream? In winter?"

"Why not?"

What would Aarav do if she suggested such a thing? Probably snort and call it impractical while adjusting his glasses. But minutes later, cave in and agree to her. It occurred to Jackie that he might not even like ice cream. He wasn't the kind who liked sweets. He reminded her of the coffee he drank so much of—dark, bitter, yet it could be sweetened. 

In contrast, Liam was warm and approachable. All bright smiles and easy charm in contrast to Aarav's rigid demeanor and obsidian eyes. His eyes were blue—so blue, like an ocean deeper than a thousand souls. Like a golden prince from a fairytale.

They entered the ice cream parlor and she inhaled the sweet scent of fresh ice cream cones. Under a glass covering boasted a spread of colorful desserts in all sorts of flavors. To the side was a display of toppings from mini chocolate chips to strawberry pocky sticks.

"Pick whatever you want. I'm paying." 

Jackie fiddled with her fingers. "You don't need to do that."

"Hey, it's fine. I want to." 

She ducked her head and focused her attention on the menu behind the counter, staring starry-eyes at the expansive options. Should she get strawberries n' cream? Or the raspberry cheesecake? And that didn't even begin to cover the topping options. Caramel or chocolate drizzle? Chocolate chips or m&m's? 

"Have you decided yet?" asked the woman behind the counter. Jackie shook her head and returned to gaping at the pretty ice cream colors. Hands in his pockets, Liam ambled to the register and gave his order, shooting her a crooked smile. She smiled back and stared at the menu before scurrying to his side. 

"I'll take a small scoop of strawberries n' cream with maraschino cherries, drizzle of condensed milk, and sprinkles."

The woman nodded and after Liam slid his card through the register, slid over a white receipt. She set to work on scooping out the ice cream before drizzling condensed milk and arranging the toppings. It reminded Jackie of flower arrangement, how so much effort went to placing colors here and there. When her ice cream was finished, the woman set it on the top of the counter. Liam reached for it and handed it to her.

She wrapped a napkin around the cup and skipped over to an empty table. Liam followed soon after with his own cup of triple chocolate and fudge brownie. He slid into the seat across from her and set their ice creams side by side. "We should take a picture together. Commemorate how pretty she made our ice creams." 

With a bright smile, Jackie shifted closer and tilted her head at the camera. The phone clicked and Liam checked the photo. He flipped the screen to show her. "Look, we look great." 

Jackie rested her chin in her hand and reached up to toy with the ends of her hair ribbon. Her hair was a mess, strands having escaped from her ponytail with eyeliner smudged at the ends. But Liam didn't notice and tapped away at his phone. She smoothed down her hair and decided it didn't matter. As long as they were both having fun.