Mindy Lahiri's parents never let her stay out late.

No matter how much she begs and pleads, no matter how logical all of her arguments are (to her), no matter how much allowance she offers to forgo, Avu and Swati Lahiri always say the same thing:

"When you're older."

When you're older. When you're older. How old is older? Like when she's twelve thousand and six? When she's a ghost floating around on Earth like a little Indian Casper child? She is older. She's 14, for crying out loud. She's already one of like three girls in her homeroom in a B cup and on top of that, one time when she was at her friend Jenny's house, Jenny's older sister Maggie let them watch a rated R movie and she saw a guy full frontal. (She immediately went home after that, because despite the nudity, the movie was just poorly written.)

Not only is she older, she's experienced.

So it's absolutely beyond her why when she asks to get an hour extension on her curfew, they say no.

"Why?" she inquires one Saturday afternoon, standing in the office that both of her parents share.

"Yes, it's the second to last letter of the alphabet, Mindy," her father chuckles over a blueprint. She groans. "Dad, that joke isn't funny."

"Oh, it's a little funny, isn't it, honey?" he tosses over his shoulder to his wife, who's tucked in the corner reading one of her many medical journals. Her mother just smiles and flips a page, which only serves to irritate her more.

Do they think this is a game?

They're acting like this isn't one of the single most important events of her entire high school career. As if it's not monumentaaaaaaaallllll that Keith Flanagan-a sophomore, thank you very much- has invited her -a freshman- to his birthday party.

Okay. So he didn't exactly invite her. He actually invited her friend Stacy but she was totally standing next to Stacy when he gave her the invitation and she's like 92% sure he winked at her afterward but didn't say anything because he was probably like... blinded by her exquisite beauty or something. Anyway, he's turning 16, and knowing Keith Flanagan and how rich he is (his dad owns a yacht. Like, an actual yacht. Helloooo.) his birthday party will probably be bigger than the MTV Video Music Awards. This is not just huge: it's historic. She'll be damned if she's not at that party tonight in that yellow sunflower sundress she spent two months' allowance on.

She huffs, pressing on. "You guys, I'm serious. I'm 14 now. If we were in like a foreign country- if we were back in India, I'd be off and married by now! I'd be knocked up and you'd be one goat richer!"

"Oh Mindy, please don't be so dramatic," her mother responds without a glance up from her journal. "You're worth at least two goats and several very delicious mangoes."

This elicits a laugh from her father and an eye roll from her.

"Of course, please laugh at my pain," she gesticulates, "that's just great." She folds her arms in front of her and leans against the doorframe. "You guys never let me do anything fun."

"We let you do plenty of fun things," her father responds, untucking his pencil from behind his ear. "Just last week we let you go to the mall, where I know you spent at least two months' allowance on that yellow sundress."

What the...how does he...?

Ugh.

She groans again. "That's only because I went with Danny and Richie and Ms. Castellano."

"See? And you had a great time."

"And what did you do on Tuesday?" her mother says, peering up at her over the rim of her black reading glasses, "You went to that ice cream parlor with Danny, did you not?"

Oh please, she'd hardly qualify that as a fun time. The ice cream was delicious yes, but all Danny did was spend all of his money putting quarters in the jukebox playing the same song by some guy named Bill Springer or something.

Wait a minute.

Danny.

Danny was at all of those places.

She doesn't know why she didn't think of it earlier.

"What if Danny went with me? Would you guys let me go then?"

She runs her eyes over both of her parents' faces, waiting. They consider.

Her mother simply laughs, closing her journal. "You know what? If you can somehow convince Danny to go with you, we will let you go to this... Keith Flanagan's party."

She yelps. She actually yelps.

"Thank you thank you thank you, you guys are the coolest parents ever!" she screams, dropping kisses on her mother's face before running over to hug her father around the waist.

"But you have to be back by 10:30!" she hears her mother call after her. She's already out the front door on her way to Danny's house though. This will be easy squeezy.

This is absolutely not easy squeezy.

This is the exact opposite of easy squeezy.

"Danny, you have to go!"

She's standing in the middle of his kitchen in this moment, palms pressed hard onto the table where he sits doing the English homework she would be doing if she wasn't in the midst of the world's biggest crisis. (Yes, she understands that there are children out there with much more major problems than attending Keith Flanagan's 16th birthday party. Her thought still stands.)

"Mindy, I already told you. I can't," he says from the table, head buried in the essay he's writing. "You know I watch Richie on Saturday nights when Ma picks up extra shifts."

"Bring Richie with you! Kids love parties!"

He glares at her then, dropping his writing hand to the table.

"I think you have a deep misunderstanding of what it means to actually watch a child."

"Oh please, I watch Rishi all of the time."

"It doesn't count if your mom or dad is still in the house with you."

She sighs deeply, rounding the table. She drops to her knees by his side. "Danny please, I am literally begging you right now," she pleads, hands clasped together in front of her in the most dramatic of fashions, "please please please please please please go to this party with me. You can drop Richie off at my house and my parents will watch him. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

This earns her an eye roll. Rude. She's channeling her best Meg Ryan abilities right now.

"Why do you even want to go to Keith Flanagan's anyway?" he says, going back to his essay, "wasn't he rude to you that one time?"

"Ugh," she huffs, standing up and wiping off her knees, "if you're referring to that one time I tripped over his feet in the lunchroom-"

"I'm pretty sure he stuck his foot out but okay-"

"I've already gotten over that. Life is about moving forward, Danny." She plops down in the chair next to him.

"Like moving forward over his foot heading towards the ground and landing face first in your mashed potatoes?"

He's not looking at her but she can see the smirk spreading across his dumb, smug face. She balls up a piece of paper and throws it at him.

"How dare you."

He laughs, setting his homework to the side. "Look, even if I say yes, what's in it for me? I don't even like Keith Flanagan."

"That's a lie, everybody loves Keith Flanagan."

"Not me. He's such a tool. No one person should use that much product in their hair. Who does he think he is, Jeff Goldblum? No way."

"Danny," she smiles reaching out to grab his always sweaty hand, "one, ew- your hand is super gross right now- and two, please. Please, please, please, please go to this party with me. I'll have so much more fun if you're there with me. Please."

How can he ignore her sweet face?

He better not ignore her sweet face or she'll just bop him.

After a moment (a way too long moment, she thinks, but she digresses) he speaks.

"Is Stacy Watson going to be there?"

What? What does that have to do with anything?

"Probably?" she shrugs.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"I'll go."

"You'll go?!"

She doesn't hear his next response because she's too busy leaping out of her chair, rushing over to hug him.

"Danny Castellano, I don't care what anyone says, you're the coolest guy ever, despite your weird curly hair."

"Wait what? What do people say about my hair?"

One battle at a time, Lahiri.

Notes: As I stated, sometimes their ages fluctuate depending on the drabble. None of the drabbles are connected unless I intend for them to be. In this particular drabble, Mindy is 14 & Danny is 15. =)