10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,27

Samir on the other side of them was a strategic decision, so her parents were sandwiched between Samir and her. You know, to cut down on romantic tête-à-têtes. Pinky felt her mouth twitch. The idea of Samir sneaking into her room or vice versa made her want to laugh hysterically. “Okay, Mom,” she managed to say with a straight face.

“So you guys haven’t said yet,” Dolly said, beaming at them. She’d eaten three mini quiches; she was clearly also a Samir fan. “Where did you meet?”

“At Ashish’s place,” both Samir and Pinky said together, apparently each remembering word for word what they’d agreed to out in the gazebo. They glanced at each other, Pinky feeling a little nervous. Did that sound too rehearsed? No, come on, don’t overreact. She just needed to add some little detail that’d make it feel seamless and believable. “At his Memorial Day weekend party in May,” she added, right as Samir said, “A couple years ago when I stopped by to drop off a book. Pinky just happened to be there.” They stared at each other, frozen.

“What?” Dolly said, smiling, but clearly a little confused.

Pinky heard herself giving off this really shrill, slightly frenzied noise meant to be a laugh. How could they already be messing up? How?? “Well,” she said, taking Samir’s hand and squeezing, maybe technically harder than she needed to. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. “Um, I guess we actually met when Samir was dropping off a book a couple years ago. But um, we agreed to start dating at the Memorial Day party this past May.”

“Oh!” Dolly grinned. “That’s so cute! So who asked who out?”

“I did,” Pinky said, just as Samir said, “I asked her.”

They froze again. The parents glanced at each other. Oh. My. God. Samir was ruining it. Maybe they should’ve spent a little more time practicing.

“We—we kind of asked each other out at the same time.” Samir laughed. His palm was sweating in hers. “It was a really cute coincidence, you know, we…” He trailed off and took a sip of his water.

Pinky grinned idiotically at everyone, as if this were perfectly normal behavior.

“Well, you can certainly cook, Samir,” her dad said, patting his stomach. Pinky wanted to launch herself across the table and hug him for changing the subject like that. “Where’d you learn?”

“Oh, my mom taught me,” Samir said. “It’s one of our hobbies, cooking together.”

Pinky narrowed her eyes as the grown-ups (and Dolly) around her made oohing and aahing noises. They hadn’t caught the slight sadness tinting Samir’s words. She wondered if his mom had taught him around the time she’d been diagnosed with cancer.

Her dad tipped his chair back. “Maybe you can teach Pinky a little,” he continued, oblivious. “She burns water. At this rate, we’re worried she’s going to starve when she moves away to college next year!” He guffawed, his cheeks pink with glee.

“I know how to cook stuff!” Pinky said, offended. “I toast Pop-Tarts all the time!”

Samir stared at her, his mouth open.

“What?” Pinky asked, not able to keep the annoyed edge out of her voice. She ripped her hand out of his.

“Pop-Tarts?” Samir said incredulously. He folded his napkin neatly into a square and put it on the table. “That’s not cooking. But come on. You know how to make… scrambled eggs, for instance, right?”

Dolly snorted and Pinky glared at her. Her cousin raised her hands, laughing. “Sorry. Just the idea of you in the kitchen, trying to scramble eggs…” She dissolved into laughter again.

“Okay!” Pinky said, flicking water from her glass at Dolly. “Time for us to go get you settled in. Come on, Samir.”

Samir smiled at everyone. “Thanks again for welcoming me into your home on such short notice,” he said, also scraping his chair back. “I really appreciate it.”

Oh God. He was so wholesome, they should put a little heart-healthy sticker on him.

“Leave the door to your rooms open when you’re in there!” her dad said, wagging a finger at them.

Pinky felt her cheeks get warm. “Oh God, Dad,” she muttered, tugging on Samir’s shirtsleeve and practically pulling him toward the stairs.

CHAPTER 6 Pinky

“So my room is this way,” Pinky said, walking down the carpeted second-floor hallway, past the gallery wall of family pictures. The photo frames had been replaced just last year; they were now all made from sustainable, recycled Styrofoam waste. Her mom had been about to buy a set at Target, but Pinky had managed to convince her to invest in