10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,17

Pinky

Pinky hissed.

She’d brushed her teeth with so much vigor (brought on by nervous energy), she’d accidentally poked herself in the gum. Rinsing her mouth out and putting her toothbrush back in the holder, she stared at herself in the mirror, noting the slightly wild-eyed expression on her face.

She was really doing this? She was really doing this.

It was nine thirty a.m. and she was awake and ready for the day; that definitely pointed to some major shenanigans. She could hear her parents downstairs; her stomach roiled with expectation and anxiety and excitement. As of this very moment, Samir was in Dulles International Airport in Washington, DC, buying a ticket to head here, to Ellingsworth Point and Pinky’s lake house. She’d offered to buy the ticket for him, but he’d been very insistent that he wouldn’t take her money. Probably because he was so old-school and chivalrous that the thought of taking a girl’s money made him wilt. She frowned at her reflection at the thought. Whatever. It wasn’t like he was her real boyfriend. He could be as provincial as he wanted.

“What am I going to tell Mom?” Pinky wondered aloud, pushing some pomade through her hair, separating all the different colored chunks. Slipping out of her pj’s and into her tank top and shorts, she decided it didn’t matter. She’d always been good at improv; she’d just say whatever came naturally in the moment. Samir, of course, was the exact opposite. He’d probably need to read lines with her for two hours beforehand or something. But she could handle him.

Pinky strode out of her room and glanced at Dolly’s door. Closed, which meant Dolly was still asleep, which was definitely weird. She remembered Dolly telling her last night during the chaos of the fire and her mom’s accusations that she’d “fix it.” What the hell did that mean? Pinky planned on figuring out exactly what was going on.

She headed downstairs to get some breakfast and caught sight of her dad and Dolly’s dad watching some game on TV in the den. She didn’t say hello on her way to the kitchen. She wanted to talk to her mom first, before she talked to any other adult. She had to tell her about Samir.

As Pinky neared the kitchen, she heard Meera Mausi saying something in soft, urgent tones. Urgent usually meant it had something to do with her. Pinky lingered outside the doorway, out of their line of sight, listening.

“Are you sure?” Pinky’s mom said, her voice drenched in disbelief. “It sounds to me like Dolly’s taking the fall for Pinky.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Meera Mausi said. “Dolly made a very bad decision. She was clear about that.”

“So she confessed of her own volition? Without you asking her to?”

“Yes. I think it was too painful for Dolly to see Pinky getting in trouble for something Dolly did. She’ll apologize to everybody once she wakes up. I’m so sorry, Veena. I’m not sure what got into her, but needless to say, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

Wait. Were they talking about the fire? Had Dolly burned down the barn?? Holy crap. But why? Pinky leaned in closer, her pulse racing.

“She’s such a good kid.” What? What? Her cousin had freaking set fire to the entire property and her mom was calling her a “good kid”? And let’s not forget she’d pretty much burned Pinky at the stake (pun intended) for the same crime. Pinky glared at the wall, as if her mom might feel the heat of her disapproval through the drywall and wood.

“Don’t give Pinky the short end of the stick,” Meera Mausi said. “I don’t know why you’re so hard on her. Especially after your own pa—”

“That’s precisely why I’m hard on her,” her mom said, her voice sharp. “Don’t you see? She’s going to make the same mistakes.”

Mistakes? What mistakes? Pinky tried to beam mind-control waves at her mom. Speak about your mistakes. Be clear and transparent.

Meera Mausi sighed. “Should we make kheer for dessert today?”

Noooo! They were just going to move on? Pinky waited a moment or two, but nope, they were definitely moving on.

Pinky backed up a few steps and then walked casually into the kitchen, whistling. Both Meera Mausi and her mom were sitting at a table. Meera Mausi wore leggings and an athletic tank, but her mom wore neatly pressed khaki pants and a pearl-buttoned cardigan. Khaki pants. Pearl buttons. On vacation.

“Good morning, Meera Mausi,” Pinky said, going to the cabinet to