10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,98

DQ’s leash to a tree.

All around them, other summer people were laughing and talking while they set up their own tents, getting ready for the lantern releasing in an hour or so, at sunset. The lanterns had been delivered that morning by a store in town and were sitting in a little wooden shed farther up the bank. A few families were already lining up to get their lanterns out.

“Don’t forget the fire starters,” Pinky said, grabbing them from her dad’s bag and walking to Samir to hand them over. He smiled at her, and she smiled hesitantly back.

Although they hadn’t talked any more about their spat, he’d withdrawn just a little into himself. Pinky hated seeing it—he’d blossomed this summer; he’d thrown himself into everything with an enthusiasm she’d never seen before. But she didn’t know what to do about it, so she pushed the thought from her mind.

“Hey,” she said, watching Samir start the fire. “I thought we could go grab our lanterns. My parents and I usually decorate ours a bit, make them a little more special. I brought markers and stuff. You want to?”

Samir shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let me just finish up here.”

As he did his thing, Pinky’s mom walked by. She studied her mom, marveling at the fact that she used to be someone completely different seventeen years ago. Someone Pinky might even have been friends with, if she’d been alive back then. “You know, your possum’s getting rather large,” her mom said, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should think about taking her to that rescue organization a little bit sooner than we’d talked about.”

“She’s fine,” Pinky countered immediately. “She’s not that big.” She didn’t know why she felt so defensive about it, except… it wasn’t DQ’s fault how big she was. She hadn’t asked to be her size. And she hadn’t asked to be abandoned by her mom and nearly die of heatstroke. Maybe Pinky felt a sense of camaraderie with her.

Sighing, Pinky’s mom began to walk away. “It was just a suggestion.”

“All right.” Samir stood, brushing off his hands. Behind him, the little fire crackled, growing bigger with every second. “Ready?”

They stood in line, waiting for their turn to grab their lanterns, in near silence, making occasional small talk. Pinky wanted to say more, to talk about the planner-size elephant in the room, but every time she glanced at Samir and saw his preoccupied gaze, the set of his jaw, she swallowed her words. It wasn’t worth it to fight. She needed to know when to let things go.

When it was their turn, they walked to the little shed that smelled like heat and wood and mildew and pulled out four lanterns. Feeling their papery texture, the slight heft of them resting in her palm, Pinky was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong, she almost keeled over.

Blinking, she shook her head as she and Samir walked back down to their campsite. “It’s crazy how little moments weave together and become this, like, heavy tapestry of life, isn’t it?”

Samir gave her an amused look. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I mean, really, it’s just mundane moments. Setting up the tent. Grabbing lanterns from a shed. Putting on sunscreen. But in the larger framework of life, it’s all so vital to who we are.” She glanced at Samir, at the way he was effortlessly carrying two large lanterns in one hand. “Hey. What do you want your legacy to be when you’re gone?”

“My legacy?” Samir said, raising an eyebrow. A breeze off the lake ruffled his hair. “I’m not sure I’m important enough to leave a legacy.”

“We all leave legacies,” Pinky said as a group of ten-year-olds ran past, screeching. “I mean, maybe Oprah’s legacy is one the world will remember, but less famous people leave legacies their immediate family members and friends, if they have any left alive, remember. Our legacies are just the way we’ve lived our lives, what we leave behind when we go.”

“Hmm.” They were at the tent now, and Samir set his two lanterns inside. Pinky followed him in and did the same. The tent was large enough that they could both stand up straight inside it. “My legacy would be… being the youngest graduate of Harvard Law. Or the youngest partner in a really good law firm.”

Pinky felt a beat of disappointment at his answer. He was so much more than those goals. She opened her mouth to say so, then closed it again. “Or maybe your legacy could be