Love at First Fight Page 3

  “Okay…” Dimple kept riffling through the pages, but there was nothing else. She looked up at Rishi, whose eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them, even wider than the time she’d surprised him with a trip to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. “I don’t get it. I gave it a second look.”

  “This is like those spy magazines Ashish used to read when he was little,” Rishi said, almost choking on his own spit in his excitement to get it out. “I bet there’s a message written on there in invisible ink!”

  “Hmm.” Dimple opened it back to the page with the handwritten message. “Could be. How do you reveal invisible ink?”

  “Put it over a heat source,” Rishi replied immediately. He looked around the dim room. “Which would be fine, except these candles are LED. Damn. Maybe it’s not invisible ink like I thought.”

  Keeping a finger in the book so as not to lose her place, Dimple did a slow circuit around the ship’s deck, peering at all four of the candles as she went. “Not so fast. Come look at this one.” She pointed to the candle farthest away from where the coil of rope had been.

  Rishi bounded over to her, his face agog. Dimple hid a smile; this was one of the sides of Rishi she loved the most. He was like a little kid inside, all innocent and fresh-eyed in a way she could never hope to be. “Oh my God!” he said, so loudly that the others looked over at him for a minute before going back to their own puzzles. “That one’s different!”

  “Mm-hmm. I think it’s incandescent, disguised to look like an LED.” Dimple leaned over the side of the ship to take a closer look. Yep, definitely incandescent. She opened the book and held the page with the handwritten message over the bulb as Rishi watched, breathless. Slowly, slowly, a message began to appear. “Yes!” Dimple said, feeling a swell of exaltation. Yes, she was competitive even when it came to stupid escape rooms.

  “ ‘Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same,’ ” Rishi read slowly. “ ‘Dear Armand, do you know the author who penned those beautiful words? They make my heart flutter in my chest.’ ”

  “That’s simple. Emily Brontë,” Dimple said, straightening.

  Rishi grinned at her. “See? You’re a genius!”

  “No, it’s not that.” Dimple felt her cheeks heat and looked away, adjusting her glasses just to have something to do with her free hand. “I, um, sort of have a special relationship to that quote.”

  Rishi was looking at her with interest now, the clue forgotten. “Really? What kind of special relationship?”

  “It’s really vivid in my mind.” Dimple realized she wasn’t able to meet his eye for longer than a second at a time. It was ridiculous; they were engaged. Surely she shouldn’t feel so shy around him still. But Rishi… Rishi made her feel brand-new all the time. “It was right before our ‘non-date.’ We were in that lecture hall at SFSU, and the quote just popped into my mind. I think it was the first time I could, you know, see myself falling for you even if I couldn’t admit it to myself yet.”

  Before she knew what was happening, Rishi had taken her into his arms. His lips near her ear, he whispered, “I agree, Dimple Shah. Our souls really are made of the same stuff.”

  Dimple laid her head on his firm chest and breathed him in, smiling a little. In these moments—and there were so many of them with Rishi—she really knew everything was going to be okay. Every single one of her anxieties melted away when he held her. Finally, coming to her senses, she pushed him gently away. “Hey. No PDA. We’re in an escape room.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You’re right. Back to the clue.”

  Dimple nibbled her lip. “Yeah, speaking of… was that it? The paper didn’t say anything else?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Rishi replied. “Why?”

  “Well, we solved it, but… now what?” She looked around as if the answer might materialize behind them. “What do we do with it, exactly?”

  Rishi’s face cleared. “Oh. I hadn’t really thought of that. I’m… not sure.”

  They stood there, looking down at the blank book, wondering how to proceed.

  Twenty-seven minutes remained.

  Pinky & Samir

  Pinky and Samir puttered, just poking around their area of the room, not really saying much except to argue about ridiculous things (for example, do otters really hold hands while asleep, or is that a myth?) for about ten minutes while the other teams seemed to race ahead. If Pinky had to guess, Samir was just as annoyed/uncomfortable at having to be on a team with her as she was with him.

  Samir rattled the padlock on the treasure chest. “Wow. It’s deceptively heavy. I thought it was going to be one of those cheesy Halloween things.” He frowned at it. “Looks weird, though.”

  “So, I guess we begin by trying to unlock it?” Pinky tapped her foot, then put her hair up in a bun using the hair tie on her wrist before undoing it again.

  Her level of discomfort at this whole situation was making her sweat. It wasn’t like Samir was a creep or anything. Actually, it was the opposite. He was so chivalrous and gentlemanly, she wanted to vomit. Or run away. Pinky wasn’t sure what to do with a chivalrous boy. Her boyfriends were always rough around the edges, like twenty-year-old cars that backfired and made strange grating noises when you shifted gears. Whereas Samir was more like a reliable, solid, shiny Volvo.

  Not that he was her boyfriend. Or that she was even thinking of him as a potential boyfriend. God, could you imagine what a disaster that would be? Ha.

  Samir chose that moment to look up at her, oblivious to her internal turmoil. He frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing. Why? What do you mean, ‘What?’ ” Pinky heard the defensive lilt in her voice.

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m staring… over you.” She looked desperately at the blank wall beyond him. “At the patterns in that wall. Pretty sure I saw a face—a creepy one.”

  Samir raised one thick eyebrow. “Okay…” He stood and brushed down his dark jeans. “I don’t see a way to unlock the chest. So maybe we should be looking for clues.”

  “Right. Clues.” Pinky studied the setup around the chest. It sat on a small platform, on which were piled several layers of velveteen fabric in various jewel tones. All around the platform were LED candles, flickering moodily and throwing shadows everywhere. Behind the chest, against the wall, was a set of three bookshelves, which contained a few dusty volumes of books, small potted fake plants, more LED candles, and random trinkets of decor like her mom had at home, although these were all nautical-themed. “There’s not a whole lot to go on.” Pinky walked toward the bookshelves and studied a ship in a bottle. Her dad had gone through a phase where he’d made, like, thirty of these in a month, given half of them away to friends and relatives (the other half Pinky’s mom had banished to his study), and then never made one again. “These shelves all have red stickers on them, though. Amy said not to touch anything with a red sticker on it.”

  “But maybe that just means the shelves themselves are not to be messed with,” Samir countered, walking over to stand beside her. They were about the same height, but he was broader and put out a lot of heat. The only reason Pinky noticed, of course, was that the room was cold. “Maybe the doodads are all up for grabs.”

  Pinky snorted a laugh.

  Samir looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

  “Doodads? Who says that? Besides maybe middle-aged dads.”

  He gestured to the trinkets. “What would you call them? Thingamabobs?”

  Pinky snorted another, louder laugh. “Thingamabobs!”

  Samir was grinning now, as if her laughter was contagious. “Thingamajiggers? Laronmcsquarons? Poofermcbeebers?”

  Pinky was laughing so hard, tears were actually leaking out of her eyes. “Now you’re just making crap up.”

  Samir was looking at her, still smiling an enormous smile. “You have a nice laugh.”

  Abruptly, they both got serious. Samir’s face was fro
zen, as if he was having trouble believing the words that had just come out of his mouth.

  “What did you say?” Pinky asked. It was an unspoken code between them; they were never nice to each other. And she didn’t like compliments anyway. Especially not from chivalrous, shiny Volvo boys who had no place in her life.

  Samir looked at her for a long moment, as if he were weighing something in his mind. And then he shrugged, his broad shoulders moving under his sweater. “I said you have a nice laugh.”

  “Why?” Pinky said immediately, her face getting warm. With annoyance, obviously. “Why would you say that?”

  Samir smiled a little, as if he was amused at something. “Because it’s true?”

  Why wasn’t he getting intimidated? Usually Pinky had no problems intimidating boys who overstepped. She turned back to look at the ship in a bottle. “Well, you shouldn’t. I don’t like compliments.”

  Samir made a disbelieving sound in his throat. “Who doesn’t like compliments?”

  Pinky jerked her head to look at him, her irritation surging for reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Me. I just told you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Whoa. Just asking a question.”

  “Or you’re trying to tell me what I do and don’t like. Stop mansplaining my feelings to me.”

  He looked genuinely confused. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Whatever, Sam. I know you’re a control freak, but keep your unsolicited opinions to yourself.”

  His eyes flashed. “Don’t call me a control freak.”

  Pinky crossed her arms slowly. “Or what?”

  Samir scoffed. “What are you, twelve? Why can’t you have a conversation like a normal person?”

  The comment shot out of Pinky’s mouth before she could stop it. “Oh, you’re calling me abnormal? That’s hilarious, considering how messed up—” And then she did stop, feeling her cheeks heat. She hadn’t meant to say that.

  A muscle in Samir’s jaw ticked; he was getting annoyed with her now. In spite of her shame, Pinky felt relief wash through her. Good. Annoyance she could deal with. Annoyance was safe; it was easy. “How messed up I am? Is that what you were about to say? Really nice, Pinky.”

  She stood there, her mouth working, wanting to apologize, but completely out of words, now that words would be super useful. What could she possibly say, though? I’m sorry, you just really throw me for a loop for some reason, and it makes me defensive and abrasive and horrible? Or I’m sorry I said that; I often suffer from put-your-foot-in-your-mouth-itis around cute, nice boys, and I promise I actually wasn’t even talking about the time Ash and I helped you out with the stuff with your mom? All of that just sounded fake, and she knew he wouldn’t buy it.

  Samir gave a curt nod, apparently interpreting her silence as indifference. “Right. You know what? Why don’t I do us both a favor?”

  Pinky frowned. “What do you—”

  “Hey, guys.” Samir turned to the rest of the group. “Do you mind if I bail?”

  There was an outpouring of disagreement and outrage.

  “You can’t do that!” Dimple said. “We all started this stupid game, and we all have to finish it together!”

  “Are you okay, man?” Ashish added.

  “I’m fine. I just—I’ll tell them I have a headache or something so they don’t ding the rest of you, okay? I just don’t really feel like doing this.” Samir didn’t meet her eye, but suddenly everyone else was looking at Pinky.

  She felt that defensiveness again; why was this just her fault? He couldn’t get along with her, either. “Whatever.” She cupped her hands around her elbows. “I think we should just let him go.”

  Ashish and Sweetie looked at each other but didn’t say anything.

  “Great.” His face a neutral mask, Samir walked toward the security camera in the corner of the room, ready to ask them to let him out.

  “Wait!” Dimple called before he could say a word. When he looked at her questioningly, she added, “Just… give me a minute.” Then, to Pinky’s surprise, Dimple turned to her. “Hey, can I talk to you really quick?”

  Pinky blinked. She and Dimple barely knew each other; why would she want to talk? “Me?”

  “Yeah, maybe over behind the ship?” Dimple nodded toward the ridiculous pirate ship in the center of the room.

  Shrugging, Pinky walked over. “Sure.”

  Dimple met her behind the ship by an LED candle. Her face, in the flickering light, was serious. “Hey, um, look, I know we don’t, like, hang out or anything. But I get the feeling you and I actually have a lot in common.”

  Pinky hesitated before saying, “Okay…” She thought they did too, but she didn’t understand what that had to do with anything.

  Dimple fiddled with her glasses, as if whatever she wanted to say next was causing her some discomfort. “I’m not supergood with the whole feelings deal, and we’re short on time, so I’ll keep this simple: I know why you’re having such a severe reaction to Samir.”

  Pinky looked into Dimple’s sharp, dark eyes, which she suspected rarely missed a thing. “What do you mean?” she said in what she hoped was a baffled voice.

  Dimple cocked her head. “I’d bet a million dollars I don’t have that there are certain emotions inside you for that boy, and that said emotions are making you feel some kind of way.” When Pinky opened her mouth to protest, Dimple held up a hand. “I’m not trying to argue with you. But look, I’ve been there.” She darted a glance at Rishi, who was huddled in the other corner of the room, talking to Ashish, Sweetie, and Samir. Smiling, Dimple continued. “For strong women like us, having feelings, especially for guys who are totally, completely different from us, can be really disconcerting. But I’m here to tell you that closing yourself off, putting that concrete wall up, and being mean just to distance yourself from him is not the way to go. It’s just going to make you unhappy because that’s not who you are, it’s going to hurt his feelings, and things are going to get really messy.” She pointed toward the security camera that would get Samir out of the room. “Case in point.”

  Knowing Dimple spoke from experience put a different spin on the whole thing. Pinky felt her defenses lowering just a bit. “It’s really hard. I… He just gets under my skin.”

  Dimple chuckled. “Yeah. I remember when that was Rishi and me.” She paused. “Samir seems like a good guy, though. Just get through this part with him, and then you don’t have to ever hang out with him again if you don’t want to, right?”

  Pinky thought about it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Treating Samir badly—even accidentally—hadn’t made her feel good about herself. If he left the escape room because of her, Pinky knew her conscience would eat her alive. She glanced at Samir and sighed. “I’ll apologize. This was all basically my fault.”

  “Good.” Dimple smiled a little. “Also, can I give you another piece of advice you’re probably going to be irritated with me for giving?”

  Pinky raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”

  “Don’t close yourself off to guys with whom you think you have nothing in common. Sometimes those make the greatest love stories.” She looked at Rishi again, and this time he caught her eye and winked. Patting Pinky on the shoulder, Dimple began to walk toward him.

  Pinky nodded to herself, wiped her slightly damp palms on her jeans, and walked toward Samir. The others moved away a bit, to give them room. “Hey.”

  He looked at her, his brown eyes guarded. “Hey.”

  Pinky looked down at her feet, gathering her thoughts, and then back up at him. “I’m, ah, really sorry. About what I said earlier, about you being messed up. I actually wasn’t trying to say anything deeper about you or what happened last spring or anything. I don’t know what got into me, but it was uncalled for, and I’m… I’m sorry. Please stay and finish the escape room. I’d like it if we could keep working together.” She held out a hand. Although Rishi, Dimple, Ashish, and Sweetie weren’t pointedly looking at them, she coul
d feel the intermittent weight of their gazes land on her and Samir anyway.

  After a pause, Samir took her hand briefly. Her heart leaped and thudded and pounded at the physical contact, but Pinky forced herself not to pull away before he did. “Okay,” he said, finally, without smiling. “I don’t want to disrupt the group anyway. And thanks for the apology.”

  Pinky nodded. “Sure.” They turned to face the others, and Pinky shrugged. “Okay, guys. We’re gonna get back to solving the puzzle.”

  Ashish clapped. “Good. We have fourteen minutes left.” And the others melted away to their own areas.

  A little awkwardly, Samir and Pinky went back to looking at the stuff on the shelves. There was a pot shaped like one of those old-timey creepy gray statues without eyeballs, one of a sailor or the captain of a ship. There was fake grass growing out of the top of the captain’s head like hair. But something about the grass looked weird, as if it had just been placed lightly on top. Pinky reached out to grab the pot at the same time as Samir; his big hand closed around hers.

  She jerked her hand back as if he’d pinched her, and he gave her a weird look. God, she seriously needed to calm down before he decided to leave again. “You look at it,” she said, her mouth like dry sand.

  He gave her a long look but didn’t say anything. Then he reached for the pot again and pulled on the fake grass “hair.” It came off easily. He looked at her, his eyes bright. “Hey, there’s something in here.” Setting the pot back on a shelf, Samir reached in with two fingers and pulled out a long strip of paper, on which was a handwritten clue. He handed it to her, polite as always. “Would you like to read it?”

  Pinky took it without looking at him. “Um, yeah. Sure.” She cleared her throat. “ ‘Armand, there are few oceanic voyages as romantic as the one these two take. Though one of them is a ghost while the other remains mortal, thus keeping them apart forever, I know yours and mine won’t suffer the same fate. We shall use our door to the future more wisely. Love forever, Guinevere.’ ”