They stared at each other, Pinky panting a little, feeling a curious mix of shame and guilt swirling under her skin. She pushed it away, deep inside her. She had no reason to feel ashamed. Samir had used her; he’d been cruel too. Now he was still and subdued, the exact opposite of her. After a long moment, Pinky said, in a calmer voice, “I have a protest to get ready for. So if you’ll excuse me…”
Samir nodded. “Yes. Okay.” He turned to go, but with one hand on the doorknob, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Thanks for being honest with me. Can I…? Can I still come and help?”
Pinky held his gaze. “I’m going by myself. I can’t stop you if you show up. But don’t expect me to drop everything and listen to you. I’m going to be working, Samir. In that hardheaded, bullish way I have. So leave me alone. Okay?”
He studied her face for a long moment. Maybe he was looking for some give, some hint that she didn’t mean what she was saying. He must not have seen any, because he nodded once and pulled the door open. “Got it,” he said, his voice quiet.
Much as it hurt her heart, much as the tears threatened to come again, Pinky strode to the door and closed it, firmly, after him.
Samir
She’d been gone an hour. Samir paced his room, back and forth, back and forth, pushing his hands through his hair. She wouldn’t even talk to him. She wouldn’t accept his apology. She’d barely looked at him. He’d screwed this up so badly. Samir didn’t think he’d ever, ever screwed anything up so horribly in his life.
And all the things she’d said about him… She’d called him a boring coward. She’d said he was flat and colorless, tedious and gutless. He’d felt little pieces of his heart break off as she spoke, until it was just a splintered, ragged thing in his chest. And after he left, he’d felt a blaze of fury at her words, even though he’d asked her, goaded her, into saying them.
But now… as he paced, he forced himself to face up to a tiny, incessant question in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. It glimmered there like a piece of metal catching the light.
Was she right?
Samir stared out the window at the lake, his hands pressed to the tabletop under the window. A large water bird, probably a heron, lifted off the water in a graceful arc. Was the entire reason he’d been so controlling, so rigid, simply because he was deathly afraid? Terrified to take a risk? This entire time, he’d thought his life was safe and protected; he’d thought it just made good sense to live the way he did. But maybe, maybe he’d just been too scared to face the truth the entire time.
Pinky had called him gutless, and maybe… maybe that wasn’t so far off. Maybe he had been living his life like a coward, like someone too afraid to fully engage with it. But could he really base his entire life, all of his decisions—big and small—on the desire to avoid something that might never even happen? What if nothing bad ever happened in his life, but nothing great ever did either? What would he think when he looked back and realized he’d never truly lived?
Pinky, on the other hand, lived for herself. She knew what it was she needed to do in this world, she knew her purpose, and she charged into the fire willingly, over and over, if it meant she could help someone else. It didn’t matter if she was afraid or sad or hurt, or if some giant douche had made a list about her that he had no right making. All that mattered was that she lived bravely, that she lived passionately, that she lived.
Samir felt a fizzing, tingling feeling on his limbs as he realized he had purpose now too. He knew exactly what he needed to do.
He walked out of his room and down the hall toward Pinky’s parents’ closed door. It was just past seven. He knew they’d had a late night last night, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Taking a deep breath, mustering all his courage, he raised his hand and knocked hard on their door.
Pinky’s mom answered the door, dressed in her pajamas and a robe. Weird to see the Shark in pajamas covered with roses. Okay, focus. She frowned at him. “Samir? Is everything okay? Where’s Pinky?”
“Pinky’s at the protest,” he said, and her face hardened. “And we need to talk. May I come in?”
CHAPTER 20 Pinky
She was the only one there, but that was okay. The official meeting time was eight o’clock, and she still had about twenty minutes to go. Pinky parked her bike and took the backpack off her shoulders. She’d packed all the basics that you need for a protest: granola bars, bottles of water, sunscreen, markers and poster board, even bathroom wipes in case anyone needed some. She had no idea how long they’d be here, or what was going to happen, but that was okay. It was okay because Pinky knew they could do this; they could stop the developer together.
From the little carrier she’d rigged onto the back of her bike, she pulled out DQ and placed her on the grass. DQ went into a sniffing frenzy immediately, scattering butterflies in her wake. Her mom was right; she was getting really big. Soon it’d be time to say goodbye. The thought brought a wave of gloom with it, and Pinky blinked rapidly. Saying goodbye was becoming a thing in her life, and she didn’t like it.
To distract herself, she looked around at the habitat, in the slowly dawning morning, her chest full of feelings. She remembered feeling loved here, feeling like she belonged. With her parents and Dolly’s family when she was little, and with Samir, so recently. This was where they’d confessed their feelings for each other. This was where she’d finally admitted how she felt, when she’d finally been brave enough to take that step, to let go of her fears.
Remembering all the things she’d said to him earlier that morning, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. It had been cruel. It had been unkind. And the truth was, while she felt there was a kernel of truth in everything she’d said, she’d lashed out at him like a wild animal in pain. She’d felt the agonizing pinch of knowing that she’d loved him that much and she hadn’t been loved in return, and so she’d flung her words in his face, wanting them to sting like acid. She’d felt—and even now was feeling—all the old and familiar insecurities, like wild coyotes slobbering and grinning, circling her in a pack. She wasn’t good enough, and he’d seen that. All those things her mom hated about her—her temper, her passion—Samir hated them too. Pinky had never thought she needed to change, but for the first time she wondered if she really had been wrong about that the whole time. Was she just… too much… as a person?
But in the next moment, she straightened her shoulders and smoothed out her hair. She wasn’t about to start doubting herself for some boy. If she was too much, it was Samir’s fault that he couldn’t handle her. She’d apologize to him for being needlessly cruel, to clear her own conscience. But she wasn’t going to apologize for being who she was.
Pinky turned in a slow circle, listening to the birds tweeting sweetly. A butterfly brushed against her cheek, as if it were saying hello. Being unable to handle her may be Samir’s fault, she realized, but there was something else she had to acknowledge: By being her authentic self, by choosing to not censor her personality, Pinky was also resigning herself to a life alone. Maybe someone like her was just meant to go through life in solitude, with no one except herself in her corner. Samir, she realized, had joined her long list of boyfriends past. She was wrong to have thought he might be different.