“So you probably get this, too. When people who don’t look like us remind us of our successes, like calling Misty and me ‘double doctors,’ even when we’re not together, it’s because they feel we should be grateful they gave us the opportunity to thrive. But they didn’tgiveus anything—we earned it ourselves. You can bet they don’t feel the need to remind white families of their accomplishments.”
I nodded. I had seen this before. “Or they think you only achieved your success because of your skin color,” I said. It was like the people who thought I’d gotten the internship with Nilusha only because we’re both brown.
Dr.Johnston seemed impressed. “Ah, perceptive girl. I can see why my kids are so charmed.” A chime sounded from across the room. “Ah! That’s the centrifuge done. Want to see what I’m working on?” He spent the next half hour showing us his specimens in the laboratory’s centrifuge machine and the data he was compiling on the computer. Then he showed us around the mini greenhouse where his experiments were kept. I liked Rowan’s dad. He was chatty like Juniper but got to the heart of the matter right away, like Rowan.
“Now,” Dr.Johnston said, pushing us out of the lab, “I need to get back to work, and you two should be out there doing what teenagers do...actually, never mind. I’m a biologist. I know what teenagers do. Don’t do that.”
“Your dad would be a great teacher,” I said as we headed back outside.
“Yeah, most people here say that. He’s really cool at work.”
“He’s not like that at home?”
Rowan shook his head as we made our way back to the large greenhouse. “No. He is. He’s a good guy, honestly. I could have it worse. He’s still not happy about my school choice, but it’s not like he’s constantly telling me I’m making a mistake or anything. At least not anymore. Dad just sees science, technology, and business as success. He thinks I’m wasting my abilities. Didn’t help that I won all those science awards in school—Icando the science, but garden design is what Iwantto do.”
“Our parents should get together for chai. My other desi friends think mine are so lax because they let me date who I want, but that’s the only thing they’re ‘lax’ about. In everything else, they’re pretty typical. I mean, I appreciate that they support me going into fashion, but they can be a bit...intense.”
“You think they’re pushing you too hard?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “There is no way I would be where I am today without them pushing me, and I am grateful. But sometimes it feels like they’reonlyokay with me doing fashion as long as I’m the best at it. Get the best internships, go to the best fashion school, work to make a name for myself even before I’m out of high school so I can open my fashion line while I’m young.”
“That sounds...stifling.”
I shrugged. “I mean, Idowantto be a designer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And it’s an incredibly competitive field, so I can’t pull it off without working my butt off. But I sometimes wonder if they’d nag less if I’d picked law or business. They seem slightly more chill with my sister and her math obsession...” I squeezed my lips together. I’d never really considered that before. Would they have preferred if I wanted to do something more conventional with my life?
But that wasn’t something I was ready to think about. I smiled at Rowan. “I can’t wait to start taking pictures of you, Plant-Boy. Are you ready?”
He beamed. “I am. You’re in charge; where do you want me?”
19
THE SECRET GARDEN
There were a few massive machines at the back of the greenhouse that weren’t running right now, so we decided to start there. The whole building had a ton of natural light (because, duh...greenhouse), and I loved the juxtaposition of the colorful flowers against the industrial-looking equipment. Rowan helped me pull some large plastic buckets of flowers to fill the empty spaces around us. With the sunbeams hitting the hanging baskets above us, these pictures were going to be spectacular. Well, mostly they were going to be spectacular because of the person who was modeling.
Rowan finally took off the sweatshirt, and I nearly passed out when I saw him in my shirt. He looked amazing. I’d told him to wear straight-leg black jeans, which I quickly rolled to above those beat-up Chucks he always wore. Nicer sneakers would probably have been better, but these shoes were more Rowan.
He preened when he noticed me checking out his outfit. “Do I meet your exacting standards?” he asked.
“You already did, but yes. You are totally doing my shirt justice.”
I posed him in a few different places and took a handful of shots. Some of him leaning against the machines, some surrounded by the flowers, some bathed in sunlight. I couldn’t help it; I even took someclose-up shots of Rowan’s face, where the shirt could barely even be seen. I had been right. He was such a dream to photograph. Except something was missing. I’d first found his face compelling when he was always grumpy. But that scowl, the frown, had been pretty much missing lately.
“Let’s try one without a smile.”
He made a more neutral expression. It wasn’t enough.
“Pretend it’s the day you first found me in your garden,” I said. “Give me that face.”
He laughed. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I still snapped some pictures.
“Frown! Show me your range, Plant-Boy.”
He tried, but it was such a comically fake scowl that I burst out laughing.
“Hey,” Cameron said, approaching us. “I’m on my break. Want me to get some pictures of both of you? Gigi makes me take pictures of her all the time. I’m good at it.”
Excellent. I passed Cameron the camera and walked over to Rowan.
