Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,7
some of my favorite YA novel to movie adaptations—Everything, Everything, To all the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and The Kissing Booth to name a few. Taking an author’s idea and bringing it to the big screen could help them reach an audience with their message that never would have been possible before.
“Did you tell them you have a teenage daughter?” I asked.
He tossed back a gulp and cringed. “They said that doesn’t mean I get teenagers.”
I looked away because I couldn’t meet his eyes and think the thoughts going through my head. My dad didn’t get me. He thought I was just another moveable cog in the machine of his business and life. Whether it was because he married young into an arranged marriage and lost his childhood or because he was a middle-aged man, I had no idea. Ever since Mom died, it was like we existed on opposite planes, never quite crossing and definitely not meeting in the middle.
It didn’t take a genius to see he was devastated, and even though we didn’t see eye to eye, I still loved him. I didn’t want to see him this distraught. “There are always more books out there, right?”
“This one is going to be huge.” His eyes gleamed with the light of possibility that kept him working long hours, even on the weekends and holidays. “Getting this deal could help Bhatta Productions reach a whole new demographic.”
I put my hand in my chin, not sure what to say. “Sorry, Dad.”
He nodded toward my food. “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
“That’s what microwaves are for, right?”
With a smile, he came to my side of the island and kissed my cheek. “I’m going to get some food and head to bed.”
“Sounds good.” As I went to the microwave to reheat my food, he walked to the fridge to see what prepared meals we had.
While the microwaved hummed, I said, “You know, Dad, you could always watch vlogs done by teenagers. Watch the movies, see what makes them tick.”
“I’ve done some, but I could do more,” he agreed. “I’m just not sure it would be enough.”
“True.” There was more to teens than what they showed in most movies or the best versions of themselves people posted on social media. We didn’t just wear fancy clothes to school and hope for boys to like us. Some of us had real goals and talents—like Ginger with her video skills or Jordan and her dream of becoming a doctor.
He set another prepped dinner on the counter. “Hey,” he said. “You know who could teach me about teenagers?” Dad looked at me like I was an untapped oil well, ready to begin spouting black liquid gold.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “The last thing you want is to be learning about teenagers from me.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“For one, I'm getting married after my high school graduation. And if you haven't noticed, the average age for someone to get married is well into their twenties, not to mention having children.”
His smile just grew wider. “No one said anything about you having children. And no one said that it had to be perfect. You are a teenager. You can show me how you think, let me get into your head.”
Was he delusional? We’d spent the last seven years barely existing in the same place, and now he wanted to ‘get into my head’? Why now? And why me? Clearly, I was the last person whose opinion mattered to him. A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth, and I realized I’d been biting my cheek too hard.
“Zara,” he said. “It will help the business.”
Always for the business. Not for me or for the sake of our relationship. I wanted to argue, but I could tell he was determined, and nothing could stop a Bhatta when they really wanted something.
“Okay,” I said. “I'll do it, but on my terms.”
He lifted his hands. “Whatever works for you. I don't want to distract from your schoolwork or your relationship with Ryde.”
“Oh, you can distract me from that relationship.” I got the food from the microwave and turned away.
“Did you guys work everything out this morning?” The hope in his voice made me get even more angry.
“If by working everything out you mean I ignored him for the rest of the day, then yes, we're doing swell.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Goodnight, Zara. Let me know tomorrow what works for you.”
I went to my room, carrying my food that was cold again, but deciding another