10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,87
mom?”
CHAPTER 15 Pinky
That could not be her mom. No way. Nuh-uh. Just… no.
The woman in the picture was young, probably no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Her hair was an exuberant mix of colors—neon green and silver and blond and teal. She wore a tank top with a crisscrossed back, a lot like the one Pinky had in her closet, in fact, and a denim miniskirt that came up to midthigh.
The signs around her said things like, WOMEN’S RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS and I’M A FEMINIST. WHAT’S YOUR SUPERPOWER? Pinky’s cardigan-wearing, corporate-lawyer mom had been a protester at Harvard? How had this never come to light? How had Pinky never heard this story?
“That’s wild.” Samir scooted over so he could look at the picture again. “Your mom. The Shark.”
“Yeah…” Pinky shook her head, studying the passionate, intense expression on her mom’s face. She looked like she held the whole world in her fist. She never looked like that anymore.
“You know what’s funny?” Samir said, and Pinky glanced up at him.
“What?”
He smiled a little and tapped the picture with a finger. “You get that exact same look on your face when you’re fired up about something.”
Pinky looked down at the picture. “No, I don’t.”
“Yep. Identical. I guess I see now where you get it.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” Pinky shook her head. “This… My mom isn’t… She hates protests. And rebels. And people who challenge authority in any way. She thinks swapping out a pastel-blue cardigan for a pastel-yellow one is out there.”
“Well… does she have a twin?” Samir asked. It was obvious even to him, Pinky guessed, that this wasn’t Meera Mausi.
“No. It… I guess it has to be her.” Pinky sat back, all the way on her butt, and set the picture on her lap. “Wow. I feel weird.”
Samir frowned at her in concern. “Is it the heat? Do you want to go downstairs?”
“No, I don’t… I think I’m just thrown. Like, I don’t get it. How is this possible?”
Samir watched her for a moment, his face softening. Then he went and sat beside her, also on his butt. “Have you guys ever talked about her Harvard days?”
“Yeah, but the only things I’ve heard are how she knew she wanted to go to Harvard from when she was, like, twelve and how I need to get my act together so I don’t end up at some scam university.” Pinky met his eye. “And she really doesn’t like it when I tell her all universities are scam universities.”
Samir chuckled. “Yeah, I can see how she might not.”
“But why would she hide this from me?” Pinky asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. This means we’re… I mean, we’re not two completely different species like I thought.”
Samir shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you could ask her.”
Pinky raised an eyebrow. “Really? You think I could just take this to her and ask her?”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s obviously kept this from me for a reason. She doesn’t want me to know.” She looked back down at the picture. Why was her mom hiding this? Didn’t she want to bond with Pinky? Didn’t she want to find common ground? A hard lump of hurt lodged in her throat.
“Hey.” Samir’s voice was soft. When she looked up at him, he put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “She probably has a good reason for not telling you. Don’t make it worse in your head.”
“I’m not,” Pinky protested, although that’s exactly what she’d been doing. After a pause, she smiled a little, conceding.
“Yeah. I thought so.” He smiled back.
There was a beat of silence, then two. Samir took his arm away, and she instantly felt its loss. She studied him. “What are you doing here, Samir?”
He looked back at her, confused. “Here, at Ellingsworth?”
“No.” Pinky shook her head. “Here, in the attic, with me. Talking with me about my mom.”
“Well, we were looking for butterfly habitat pictures.” He fiddled with the corner of the photo album.
“Samir.” Pinky waited until he looked back at her.
He looked at her frankly then, his brown eyes clear. “I like you,” he said simply. “Still.”
Pinky’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry. So he was just going to say it like that, then. Just out in the open, no guile, no game. “Oh.” She swallowed, hearing her throat click in the silence.
“I know you don’t want to go out with me. I know you don’t feel the same way.” He held her gaze. She wanted to protest; that second statement was utterly, completely wrong.