Samir shook both their hands. “We really appreciate it.”
As they walked back to the car, Pinky pumped her fist. “One down, only nineteen more to go.”
Samir knew she wasn’t being sarcastic. She was genuinely happy about the slow-as-molasses progress they were making. For the first time, Samir realized Pinky Kumar might just be an optimist who spent her time masquerading as a cynic. And somehow, that made him like her even more.
CHAPTER 17 Pinky
By the end of the day, they’d handed out flyers to all the houses on the block and gotten twenty-three of those homeowners to sign the petition as well.
She paced the length of Samir’s room, bubbling with energy. She’d just gotten off the phone with Gloria, who had been genuinely impressed with their progress. “Okay, so that was a good start, but I really think we should aim to do two blocks a day for the rest of the week and next week, you know? Think of how many people we could reach. And think of what a show that would be, right, if, like, sixty people showed up to the town hall meeting and everyone was in an uproar about it. The local paper would do a story.…” She felt so energized, she was sure she could hop on the ceiling if she really wanted to. “Right?”
Samir laughed. He was leaning against the window, his arms crossed, watching her fondly. Now he walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her heart beat furiously; she still wasn’t used to this, to them.
They were a them. The thought made her laugh a little.
Samir bent down and placed the softest kiss on her lips, and her knees legit went weak. “Have I told you before how beautiful you are when you’re impassioned?”
She gazed into his eyes, her breath coming short and fast. “Yeah, only like thirteen times a day,” she said, but the breathless quality of her voice took the sarcastic edge off her words.
Samir bent down again, so they were just a millimeter apart. “Good. That’s very good.” And then his mouth was on hers again and they were kissing, wrapped up in each other like nothing else existed.
When they finally came up for air, Pinky smiled at him. “So? Was that listed in your planner too or did I catch you by surprise?”
His smile slipped off his face around the same time that his arms slipped off her waist. “Yeah, you’ve made jokes like that before, and it was about as funny then as it is now.”
Ouch. Pinky frowned. “It was just a joke. Why’re you being so sensitive about it?”
Samir looked up at her. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Maybe it’s just not as funny as you think. I told you, being this organized was sort of a survival skill for me.”
“But it’s not anymore,” Pinky said, trying to remain calm, though she was feeling pinpricks of irritation at his tone. Why was he being so defensive when he’d confronted her quirks and foibles with no tact at all? “Don’t you think the fact that you’re so sensitive about it might indicate that you’re using it as a crutch? It’s not healthy!”
“Oh, so you want to talk about things that aren’t healthy?” Samir said, his eyes flashing. “Fine. Let’s talk about the fact that you constantly complain about how your mom treats your poorly and yet you jump at the chance to do everything you can to piss her off. Have you told her about the town hall meeting yet?”
Pinky threw up her hands. “Don’t change the subject just because you don’t want to talk about your stuff! You have a problem! Ever since you were little and your mom almost died and the only thing you could control was what you were going to fill your days with!”
Samir’s cheeks went pink; his voice rose. “You don’t get it, Pinky. You don’t know what it means when a parent almost dies and that parent happens to be the only person you have in the world. Okay? So please, forgive me if I don’t want to take your advice on this.”
They stared at each other for a full minute, and then all at once, Pinky felt the fight go out of her. She had a tendency to coopt other people’s fights as her own, she knew that, but this—this wasn’t her fight. Not even a little bit. Samir didn’t want her help, and that meant she needed to back down.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I think I should go to bed. Good night.”
“Thanks for the apology. Good night,” Samir said, rubbing his jaw, not meeting her eye.
Pinky turned and walked out of the room, her heart cold and heavy. Maybe some things were just too difficult to reconcile. Maybe some people were just too different to fully understand each other after all.
* * *
“Last one.” Pinky hammered the stake into the ground with her rubber mallet a few days later. It was Saturday, the day of the Ellingsworth Lantern Festival. “We’re all set up.”
“Excellent!” her dad said from the other side of the tent. It was supposed to fit six people, but it had been just her and her parents in there for the last few years. They liked the extra room but didn’t mind giving a bit of it up for Samir. “Now let’s get that campfire going.”
“On it,” Samir said, carrying the firewood to the little ring of stones a few yards away. Pinky’s mom was tying DQ’s leash to a tree.
All around them, other summer people were laughing and talking while they set up their own tents, getting ready for the lantern releasing in an hour or so, at sunset. The lanterns had been delivered that morning by a store in town and were sitting in a little wooden shed farther up the bank. A few families were already lining up to get their lanterns out.
“Don’t forget the fire starters,” Pinky said, grabbing them from her dad’s bag and walking to Samir to hand them over. He smiled at her, and she smiled hesitantly back.
Although they hadn’t talked any more about their spat, he’d withdrawn just a little into himself. Pinky hated seeing it—he’d blossomed this summer; he’d thrown himself into everything with an enthusiasm she’d never seen before. But she didn’t know what to do about it, so she pushed the thought from her mind.
“Hey,” she said, watching Samir start the fire. “I thought we could go grab our lanterns. My parents and I usually decorate ours a bit, make them a little more special. I brought markers and stuff. You want to?”
Samir shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let me just finish up here.”
As he did his thing, Pinky’s mom walked by. She studied her mom, marveling at the fact that she used to be someone completely different seventeen years ago. Someone Pinky might even have been friends with, if she’d been alive back then. “You know, your possum’s getting rather large,” her mom said, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should think about taking her to that rescue organization a little bit sooner than we’d talked about.”
“She’s fine,” Pinky countered immediately. “She’s not that big.” She didn’t know why she felt so defensive about it, except… it wasn’t DQ’s fault how big she was. She hadn’t asked to be her size. And she hadn’t asked to be abandoned by her mom and nearly die of heatstroke. Maybe Pinky felt a sense of camaraderie with her.
Sighing, Pinky’s mom began to walk away. “It was just a suggestion.”