Pinky laughed and walked down the table hand in hand with Samir, both of them browsing the collection of photographs and paintings and trips for sale. “Ugh.” Pinky pointed to a card. “Look. It’s from Di Ria. A chance to bid on one of those awful condos.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching and then slid the card under a nearby painting. “There. That’s better.”
“You can’t do that!” Samir hissed, looking mortified.
Pinky laughed. “Relax.”
Samir made a show of mopping his brow. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”
“Would that be such a tragedy?” Pinky asked, laughing and leading him away.
* * *
There was dancing. Of course there was dancing.
Samir turned to her, one hand outstretched, as the music began to thump. “Do me the honor?”
“Great idea!” Pinky’s dad said, and he and her mom sailed off to the dance floor.
“Come on.” Samir smiled. “If your parents can do this…”
“Oh, all right,” Pinky grumbled, though she was secretly pleased to see at least a small twinkle of Samir’s formerly playful personality. “If we must.”
An enormous chandelier hung above the dance floor, casting pinpricks of colorful light on their skin and clothes. As they dipped and twirled in the sea of other rich people, Pinky couldn’t help but feel just a little bit like a movie star, on the arm of a very handsome co-celebrity.
She smiled up at Samir. “I’m really happy you decided to come out here, you know,” she said softly, near his ear. “I’m glad you decided to be my fake boyfriend this summer.”
He laughed. “Yeah, me too.” There was something about his eyes, though, the way they were looking through her just a bit. He was distracted.
“Do you really mean that?” Pinky asked, feeling her heart thump in her chest.
Samir studied her expression for a long moment as their feet moved in synchrony. His hands tightened just slightly around her waist. “Yes. I am.” A pause. “But…”
Pinky’s heart thumped harder. “But what?”
Her parents spun by them, dancing like they were that old guy and that old woman who used to dance together all the time—Fred or Ted or something and Ginger.
Samir continued. “I mean, this has been nice, but Atherton’s my real life, you know?”
“Sure, but you can take parts of this summer with you,” Pinky pointed out. “You’re going to get an internship with my mom. And I’m your girlfriend.”
He paused, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “… Yeah.”
Pinky frowned, her heart pounding. “Well, don’t sound enthusiastic.” She waited, but Samir didn’t rush to reassure her. Something sick wriggled in the pit of her stomach. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”
But before Samir could respond, someone tapped Pinky’s shoulder. She turned to see Chrissy Paige, one of her lake house neighbors, regarding her with a mask of disapproval. “Young lady,” Chrissy, who was in her midseventies, said. She wore a stiff gold brocade jacket that encased her like a shiny box. “Are you the one who’s part of all this brouhaha?”
The last notes of the song came to an end, and Pinky took her arms off Samir’s shoulders reluctantly. She really wanted to finish their conversation. “Um, I’m not sure. It depends on what you mean by ‘brouhaha.’ ” Pinky flashed an ostentatious smile that showed all her teeth. “But most likely, yeah.”
Chrissy Paige didn’t look too impressed by Pinky’s confidence. “I see. And you think it’s responsible, do you, to humor the locals the way you have, and not just humor them, but join them in their madness?”
As far as Pinky knew, Chrissy wasn’t British. But she still spoke as if she were, maybe because she thought it made her sound fancier.
“Excuse me, but what’s going on here?”
Crap. It was her mom, who’d come sweeping up to them in that mauve gown that frankly should’ve come with a giant crown. Pinky smiled. “Nothing,” she said automatically, never one to involve her parents in things that they didn’t strictly need to know about.
“Your daughter, I’m afraid,” Chrissy Paige said, ignoring Pinky entirely now that there was a real live adult in the mix, “has turned into something of an insurrectionary. Have you heard about the town hall meeting she attended?”
Her mom frowned and looked at Pinky. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be involved in all that.”
Chrissy Paige’s face spread into a victorious grin. “Ah. So you didn’t know.”
Samir cleared his throat. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
Her mom looked at him and then around the hall, seeming to realize they were still in the middle of the dance floor and couples were all coming together for a sickeningly sweet rendition of “Heaven” by Bryan Adams. “Yes, let’s.”
They walked back to their table, where Pinky’s dad was sitting, sipping at his mai tai. He beamed around at them all. “Everything okay?” But his expression fell as he took in the murderous expression on Pinky’s mom’s face, along with Pinky’s defensive chin jutting out. Samir, as always, looked cool and collected, and Chrissy Paige still looked victorious.
Everyone took a seat, Pinky’s mom sandwiched between Pinky and Chrissy and Samir on Pinky’s other side.
Pinky’s dad frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Good question,” her mom said, turning to Chrissy.
Chrissy was only too happy to oblige. “Your daughter has managed to pair up with a few local residents who are in quite a frenzy over the old butterfly habitat being replaced by luxury condos. Condos that will provide more people better living options, might I add.” She looked pointedly at Pinky as she said the last bit.
Pinky leaned forward. “But the condos can go in a different location. You can have both—the good stuff for the town and keep the habitat intact.”
Chrissy Paige huffed a laugh. “Oh, really? And has the mayor been receptive to this idea?”
“Well, not exactly,” Pinky said, “but—”
“Hold on.” Pinky’s mom held up a hand. “What, exactly, was discussed at the town hall meeting? As I understand it, the habitat razing’s a done deal.”
“It’s supposed to be,” Chrissy said archly. “But the town hall meeting was where a few local residents and your daughter organized some kind of protest for tomorrow, on the day they’re supposed to break ground. Now, let me tell you, Diana Ria is a very dear friend, and I will not have her disrespected this way.”
Pinky’s mom turned to Pinky slowly, her eyes glinting in a dangerous way. “Priyanka,” she said carefully, her voice perfectly modulated. “Is this true? You’ve agreed to take part in a protest tomorrow?”
Pinky thrust out her chin. “Yeah. And a lot of people—most of whom aren’t represented in the country-club bracket, by the way—are really excited about it. They feel purposeful. They feel like they can finally take control of what’s happening to their town and—”