Page 30 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
“Shit,” he says, a grimace starting.
I clap my free hand to my mouth. “Oh,” I say, voice weak.
Pink liquid drips from his form. “Shit,” he says again, brushing at his clothes.
Thirty seconds here and already I’ve made a mortifying blunder. “I am so, so sorry,” I say, scanning for supplies and coming up empty. “Let me go find you a napkin.”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says. He tugs on his shirt to wring it out, a glimpse of brown skin exposed by the movement, and more liquid drips to the floor. “Kind of impressive how you managed to be totally unscathed, though.” He gives an olive-branch smile to show he’s not upset, and I feel my insides untighten a bit.
“Unintentional,” I say. Finally I spot a roll of paper towels on a table nearby and hurry over to grab it. “Here,” I say, handing him a wad. He’s squeezed a fair amount of seltzer out, and the artificial color is sure to stain, but this should help him dry up more. “So sorry, again. Happy to Venmo for the shirt.”
He waves away the offer. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. Then, almost under his breath: “This would happen. Cherry on top.”
It’s a throwaway comment, but I feel a pang of sympathy. “Uh-oh,” I say. “Bad night? Like, even pre-spill?” He gives a rueful nod, and I try for a joke to lighten the mood. “DJ Steve isn’t doing it for you?”
He frowns. “Steve’s my best friend from childhood, actually.”
My mouth opens and closes. “Sorry,” I say. I’ve outdone myself in this interaction, ruining his outfit and insulting his friend in one go. “I didn’t mean—”
He laughs, dimples splitting his cheeks. “I’m kidding.” He pauses. “I mean, Steveisan old friend, but I’m not here to play defense for his set.” LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It” queues up just as he speaks, proving the point. “How do you know Simon?” he asks.
“I don’t,” I say. “I know Simran.” I realize this may be an unhelpful clarification, so I add, “Um, Simran knows Steve, who I believe knows Simon?”
The boy’s eyes spark in understanding. “Ah,” he says. “So you’re the best friend.” The corner of his mouth curves up. “Steve is very scared of you.”
It’s impossible not to feel gratified by this. “Well, good,” I say. “My name’s Rani,” I add, when I realize I haven’t properly introduced myself.
“I’m Frank,” he says now. It’s an ill-fitting name for someone so conventionally attractive, and he owns up to the contradiction. “Short for Francisco, so Frank actually is my best option.”
“Like the city?”
“Like the city,” he confirms. “My parents met at the Golden Gate. They were very on-the-nose with it.”
“That’s sweet,” I say.
“Tacky,” he corrects. “Anyways, I grew up with Steve and Simon, but they’ve been bugging me all day, and I would kind of rather be anywhere else right now.”
“Relatable,” I say. Michael invited me over to watchNew Moonat his place tonight. Declining the invite for this was almost painful.
Frank leans forward as if to tell me a secret. “This is Simon’s third birthday party of the year,” he says in a hush.
My mouth drops. “What?”
Frank shrugs, helpless. “I know,” he says. “He turned nineteen in April. Already had parties at school and on spring break. The narcissist won’t stop celebrating.”
“Classic Aries behavior,” I say.
“And I made it to both of those,” he continues. “But he wouldn’t hear of me skipping tonight, acted like it was the biggest betrayal to even suggest it.” There’s a beat. “So I’m here, though I barely know anyone invited.”
“Sounds like you need a shot,” I say, surprising myself by my forwardness. I sip what’s left of my hard seltzer for something to do. It’s still bubbly and sweet on my tongue.
Frank clicks his tongue. “I’m sober tonight,” he says, a hint of regret in his voice.
“Ah,” I say, feeling an unexpected twinge of disappointment.
“I have a basketball game in the morning,” he explains. “My little sister’s,” he clarifies. “I’m their coach.”
So he’s an involved older sibling who also doesn’t want to be at this party. Pleasure sparks in my chest. I try not to show that I’m impressed. “What’s your record?” I ask.
