Samir smiled a little. This was hard for her, he knew, but he was proud of her for the progress she was making. “Take care, Ma.”
“Bye, Samir.”
He hung up just before a message began blaring over the airport intercom. Phew.
Samir sat for a minute, feeling a sense of inevitability. He was really doing this. A thrill ran through him; he’d traded one failed internship for another, better opportunity. If he aced this, he’d be a shoo-in for Harvard. He tapped in a text message.
Samir: You’ll never guess where I am
Ashish: On a blimp in Nauru. In Ariana Grande’s car. Eating breakfast in bed with Elon Musk’s cats
Samir: Why can you never answer that question like a normal person
Ashish: Okay sorry where are you
Samir: Going to Pinky’s lake house
Ashish: What? She asked you?
Samir: Dude get this. She asked me to be her FAKE BF for the summer and if I do it she’s going to get me an internship with her mom aka VEENA KUMAR
Ashish: I have so many questions
Samir: I know but it’s gonna be great. Harvard ducking Law, here I come
Frowning, Samir added, Stupid autocorrect
Ashish: Okay man if you’re sure. Just don’t get on Pinky’s mom’s bad side. She’s kind of scary like her nickname in court is legit The Shark
Samir: No kidding dude I’ve read articles about her and seen pics on the Internet
Ashish: Yeah well the Internet does not prepare you for the real thing
Samir: I packed my big-boy pants just wish me luck
Ashish: Luck and send me an update soon so I know you’re still alive
Samir sent Ashish a Jaws GIF and then sat back. The Shark he could take. It was the Shark’s daughter he was more concerned about.
It wasn’t that Pinky wasn’t nice. In fact, she was kind of mysterious and intriguing in the spiky, murdery way the Black Widow was mysterious and intriguing. Anytime you were near her, you got the distinct feeling that she might get the sudden urge to use your face for target practice or rip out your eyeballs to make a necklace or something. She was unpredictable and fairly rude and he didn’t get her at all. Also, Pinky had never made a secret of the fact that she thought Samir was an overgrown man-child with fewer nuts than a squirrel on a glacier.
So basically, Samir was about to walk, willfully, into a viper’s pit.
CHAPTER 4 Pinky
Pinky hissed.
She’d brushed her teeth with so much vigor (brought on by nervous energy), she’d accidentally poked herself in the gum. Rinsing her mouth out and putting her toothbrush back in the holder, she stared at herself in the mirror, noting the slightly wild-eyed expression on her face.
She was really doing this? She was really doing this.
It was nine thirty a.m. and she was awake and ready for the day; that definitely pointed to some major shenanigans. She could hear her parents downstairs; her stomach roiled with expectation and anxiety and excitement. As of this very moment, Samir was in Dulles International Airport in Washington, DC, buying a ticket to head here, to Ellingsworth Point and Pinky’s lake house. She’d offered to buy the ticket for him, but he’d been very insistent that he wouldn’t take her money. Probably because he was so old-school and chivalrous that the thought of taking a girl’s money made him wilt. She frowned at her reflection at the thought. Whatever. It wasn’t like he was her real boyfriend. He could be as provincial as he wanted.
“What am I going to tell Mom?” Pinky wondered aloud, pushing some pomade through her hair, separating all the different colored chunks. Slipping out of her pj’s and into her tank top and shorts, she decided it didn’t matter. She’d always been good at improv; she’d just say whatever came naturally in the moment. Samir, of course, was the exact opposite. He’d probably need to read lines with her for two hours beforehand or something. But she could handle him.
Pinky strode out of her room and glanced at Dolly’s door. Closed, which meant Dolly was still asleep, which was definitely weird. She remembered Dolly telling her last night during the chaos of the fire and her mom’s accusations that she’d “fix it.” What the hell did that mean? Pinky planned on figuring out exactly what was going on.
She headed downstairs to get some breakfast and caught sight of her dad and Dolly’s dad watching some game on TV in the den. She didn’t say hello on her way to the kitchen. She wanted to talk to her mom first, before she talked to any other adult. She had to tell her about Samir.
As Pinky neared the kitchen, she heard Meera Mausi saying something in soft, urgent tones. Urgent usually meant it had something to do with her. Pinky lingered outside the doorway, out of their line of sight, listening.
“Are you sure?” Pinky’s mom said, her voice drenched in disbelief. “It sounds to me like Dolly’s taking the fall for Pinky.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Meera Mausi said. “Dolly made a very bad decision. She was clear about that.”
“So she confessed of her own volition? Without you asking her to?”
“Yes. I think it was too painful for Dolly to see Pinky getting in trouble for something Dolly did. She’ll apologize to everybody once she wakes up. I’m so sorry, Veena. I’m not sure what got into her, but needless to say, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
Wait. Were they talking about the fire? Had Dolly burned down the barn?? Holy crap. But why? Pinky leaned in closer, her pulse racing.
“She’s such a good kid.” What? What? Her cousin had freaking set fire to the entire property and her mom was calling her a “good kid”? And let’s not forget she’d pretty much burned Pinky at the stake (pun intended) for the same crime. Pinky glared at the wall, as if her mom might feel the heat of her disapproval through the drywall and wood.
“Don’t give Pinky the short end of the stick,” Meera Mausi said. “I don’t know why you’re so hard on her. Especially after your own pa—”
“That’s precisely why I’m hard on her,” her mom said, her voice sharp. “Don’t you see? She’s going to make the same mistakes.”
Mistakes? What mistakes? Pinky tried to beam mind-control waves at her mom. Speak about your mistakes. Be clear and transparent.
Meera Mausi sighed. “Should we make kheer for dessert today?”
Noooo! They were just going to move on? Pinky waited a moment or two, but nope, they were definitely moving on.
Pinky backed up a few steps and then walked casually into the kitchen, whistling. Both Meera Mausi and her mom were sitting at a table. Meera Mausi wore leggings and an athletic tank, but her mom wore neatly pressed khaki pants and a pearl-buttoned cardigan. Khaki pants. Pearl buttons. On vacation.
“Good morning, Meera Mausi,” Pinky said, going to the cabinet to get a bowl for her cereal. Then, tossing her mom a withering glance: “Mother.”
Her mom sighed. “Pinky, there’s something we need to talk to you about.” Pinky turned around and leaned against the counter, watching the glances her aunt and mom were exchanging. How could two people who looked so alike—same long black hair, same big brown eyes, nearly the exact same skin tone—be so different?
Her mom nodded slightly, and then Meera Mausi said, “Pinky beta, I’m so sorry, but Dolly was the one who accidentally set the barn on fire. She feels terrible that you were the one who was accused”—here Pinky darted a sharp glance at her mother, but her mom was looking at Meera Mausi—“and she’ll tell you all about it when she wakes up. We were up very late talking about everything, but Dolly was insistent that she got to apologize to you.”