10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,103

to forget: that they both walked in very different worlds.

* * *

Once they got to the country club and showed the woman at the desk their invite, they were ushered into a grand hall with a domed ceiling and hardwood floors. The entire space was buzzing with conversation and muted laughter. On one side of the hall, an auction table had been laid out. On the other end was a giant bar. Stiff-backed waiters were walking around, offering people drinks and appetizers off silver trays.

Pinky leaned into Samir as they followed her parents to the auction area. “Think my mom will go ballistic if I take off my shoes?”

He snorted. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

“My shoes are killing me.” She looked down at them. They were beautiful, but her feet were already screaming at her.

“We could always sneak off and hide out on the rooftop,” Samir suggested, and they looked at each other, smiling at the memory of their shared secret, when things seemed a lot simpler.

“Here’s that dental cleaning from Cash’s dad,” her mother said, swishing over to the table in her long mauve gown like a regal queen.

“Something I get for free through my insurance,” her dad said, quirking his eyebrow at Pinky and Samir.

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.’ ”