They were starting to freak Samir out a bit. He caught Pinky’s eye; she raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Accept your fate.”
Mr. Yeung, still maintaining very uncomfortable eye contact with all of them, shook the Boggle dice in their covered tray; the sound was like an army of galloping robot horses on a tin roof, but Samir didn’t dare so much as grimace. When he was done, Ms. Kumar flipped the timer. All was thankfully quiet except for the scratch of pencil on paper.
Samir looked around at everyone, his eyes coming to rest on Pinky. Her head was bowed, so all he could see was the riot of color on her scalp—lime green, electric purple, burn-your-retinas magenta. She was writing furiously, her eyebrows furrowed, intense concentration on her face.
Considering her, Samir couldn’t help but smile a little. Impractical and hotheaded as she was, he had to hand it to her: She approached everything she did with a tsunami of passion that he didn’t think he’d ever felt, let alone for a game of Boggle. Chuckling to himself (quietly, so she wouldn’t hear and throw her pencil point-first at him), he peered at the letters. A slightly evil plan began taking root in his mind as he studied the Boggle board, and he smiled to himself as he began to write.
Three minutes later, Mr. Yeung yelled, “Time!!!” into the silence and Samir jumped so hard, his pencil tore a hole in his paper.
Pinky snorted, but she gave him an innocent look when he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Okay!” Mr. Yeung said, grinning a little wildly. “Who wants to go first, baby? Samir, would you like to, as our guest?”
“Oh.” He swallowed, feeling suddenly and ludicrously nervous. “Um, sure.” Setting his pencil down on the coffee table, he wiped his hands on his shorts and began to read. “Loud, proud, born, stubborn, torn, snort, snorted, snorts.” His eyes unwittingly stole to Pinky’s. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed.
“Hmm. Interesting words,” she said, tapping her pencil at the corner of her mouth, at the same time that Mr. Yeung said, “Great start, Samir! Great start.”
Pinky held his eyes across the space between them, a small smile twitching at her mouth. Samir could feel the challenge accepted message she was beaming telepathically at him. It was kind of weird, but he was looking forward to her response, childish and immature as he knew it would be. Maybe, in a small way, Pinky Kumar was beginning to grow on him. Kind of like mold grows on bread.
Once everyone read their words out, Ms. Kumar was deemed the winner of the first round (she actually made the word “syzygy,” though no one knew what it was. Mr. Yeung had looked it up and then beamed proudly at his wife when he read the definition out loud). After that they went again, and while Mr. Yeung was doing his spiel about setting their pencils down, Pinky mouthed something to him that he could’ve sworn was “I’m gonna get you.” Samir shrugged, making sure to keep his eyes extra wide and innocent. Dolly looked between them, laughing.
When time was called again, Pinky said, “I wanna go first!”
Everyone—except Samir—looked at her in surprise. He crossed his arms and mouthed, “Bring it.”
She smirked and began to read. “Goody, two, shoes, show, off, go, get, lost.”
Dolly laughed and shook her head. “Oh boy.”
“Uh-uh,” Mr. Yeung said, wagging his pencil. “There was no L on the board.”
“Oh, wasn’t there?” Pinky asked innocently, looking at Samir. “My bad.”
Samir muffled a laugh. “This definitely calls for that ten-point deduction, Mr. Yeung. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Much as I hate to do that to my own daughter, I have to agree,” Mr. Yeung said, noting something on the scoreboard.
Samir smiled broadly at Pinky. “Rules are rules.”
Pinky sat back and cocked her head at Samir. “Totally worth it,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her There Is No Planet B T-shirt.
Break was called right then and Dolly stood up and shook her head. “Pinky, I thought you were anti–animal cruelty,” she said, mock seriously.
Pinky chortled. “Just called Samir Starbucks, because he was roasted.”
Laughing, Dolly sauntered out after her parents. In fact, everyone except Pinky and Samir left the room to refill their drinks or use the bathroom (or in Mr. Yeung’s case, to memorize the dictionary). Samir scooted closer to Pinky on the couch. “Nice one. And nice list, too. Too bad you had to go and ruin it with ‘lost.’ There’s no way you’re coming back from that ten-point deduction.”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Pinky said, sipping her Coke.
“Impulsive,” Samir said, shaking his head. “Let’s see if I can make that word next round.”
Pinky rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and maybe I can make the word—” She began to snore, as if she’d abruptly fallen asleep from boredom, her thick hair falling over her shoulder.
“Oh, sorry, are you snorting again? You might want to get that checked by a geneticist. Pretty sure they’ll find you’re only part human.”
Pinky opened her eyes and crossed her arms. “At least I’m not a forty-year-old trapped inside a seventeen-year-old body.”
“As I recall,” Samir said, leaning toward her so their faces were just a few inches apart, “you’re very fond of this body. You can’t keep your hands off it, in fact.”
Something in Pinky’s face changed. He could’ve sworn her eyes drifted down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, her face a mask of confusion and discomfort at said confusion. As if she was used to always being in control, and around him… she wasn’t always.
“Ho-kay, who’s ready to go again, baby?” Mr. Yeung called, clapping his hands as he walked in from the kitchen, and Samir flew back, as if he’d been electrocuted.
Pinky cleared her throat and sipped at her Coke again. “Me,” she said in a squeaky voice he’d never heard before. “Definitely me.”
Pinky
They played a few more rounds, with Pinky’s dad getting more and more feverish with every turn. “Time!” he yelled after the seventh round. “Pinky, you go first.”
“Okay.” She glanced up at Samir and then back down again, trying to hide her smile. He was paying attention. Good. “Steady, tad, tedious.” She set her pencil down and batted her eyelashes.
“Three words, but that ‘tedious’ was a good play!” her dad said. “Good strategy, Pinky!”
Samir cleared his throat and crossed his legs in that dude way, with his ankle on his knee. There was a sparkle in his eye that made her want to laugh. “Right, right. Good, um, strategy. May I go next?”
“Sure!” her dad said, thrilled that someone was still awake enough to volunteer. Her family at this point was pretty much just sagging off the furniture, waiting for it all to be over. Even Dolly, although Pinky thought that had something to do with the fact that she’d been typing more words into her phone than writing them down. (Probably Cash again. Ugh.)
“I just have one, actually,” Samir said, looking right at her. “Mutinous.”
Pinky snorted Coke out of her nose. Laughing, Dolly passed her a napkin. “Mutinous?” Pinky said, when she could finally talk. In spite of herself, she was secretly pleased. Mutinous. She liked the sound of that.