I hold out a mug to her. She pauses for a second, then leans over and snatches the other one from me. Damn, she really must think I might’ve poisoned her or something, because she doesn’t take a bite until I do.
I gulp the bit of cake down, the Parle-G taste melting on my tongue, and veer straight to the point. “So you know Amrit Acharya, right?”
Priti sneers. “Of course I know Amrit. You’ve been making eyes at him all summer and won’t shut up about how much he reminds you of Ishaan Khatter.”
I have half a mind to snap at her, but I’m here to ask (correction: beg) her for a favor, and snapping wouldn’t be the best note to start on. I swallow the irritation and speak again. “He’s in Goa for his cousin’s wedding right now. And he just sent me a text saying he wants to... kiss me.”
Priti fixes me with a stare, a momentary flash of dubiety passing over her face, gone as quickly as it comes. I’m filled with so much embarrassment, my face turns hot. Her voice is low, a monotone, when she speaks. “And... why should I care?”
“Because I want to go to Goa. To kiss him. Back.” I take another bite of my cake and speak through the mouthful. “And I was hoping you’d come along with me. Nani won’t let me go off on my own, and I haven’t exactly told my parents I’m going, because obviously they wouldn’t give me the permission to kiss a guy, let alone travel across cities to kiss said guy. But because you have your college fests as an excuse to stay out, I thought it might help in tamping down any suspicions.”
Priti doesn’t respond but continues taking bites of cake out of the mug, staring at me with that same dark gaze, barely even blinking. I take that as my cue to continue speaking.
“Anyway, um”—I fumble for my phone and open my Notes app for her, where Srishti and I wrote down the travel options and fares—“I was thinking we could take a train together, as it’s the cheapest, safest option right now, and we’d be back before Tuesday.The travel fare will be on me, of course.”
I don’t want to have to pay for Priti, but I need to spread all my cards on the table before her and give her zero reasons to reject my proposal. The only potential spoke in the wheel is her swollen ego, but there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s a fundamental problem with her. Unless I become a doctor and revolutionize research in the field of medicine so genetic correction becomes possible, there’s no waythatcan be rectified.
But to my absolute shock and stupefaction, Priti finally breaks the scary stare, sets aside her empty mug, and says, “Fine.”
“Hold up.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I think my ears might be buzzing. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m bored anyway. And Goa’s a nice getaway.”
Okay, I’m definitely hallucinating. Because there’s no way Priti Gaikwad, my cousin-turned-enemy-who-hates-my-guts, just agreed to accompany me on a road trip that has nothing to do with her. Priti doesn’t do things like that. Maybe the self-imposed isolation is finally getting to her.
“But we don’t have to go by train,” she adds. “We can ask Rudra. He can take us in his car.”
“Rudra?” I ask, baffled. “As in Rudra Desai?”
“How many Rudras do you know?” Priti says, scowling.
I gulp. “Just the one.”
Priti shrugs. “That will cut the cost entirely. And we won’t have to rush back and forth in a day. The shaadi isn’t until Monday, so we can stop at Pune???? ??*for the night and still reach Goa tomorrow. You can meet Acharya the day after.”
“Wait, how do you know the shaadi is on—”
“I’ll get changed.” Priti cuts me off abruptly, getting to her feet.“Then we can go to Rudra’s house and ask him if he’s in.”
I’m thrown by how fast things are moving. This is not how I expected this to turn out.Priti, so easy to convince? What the hell is happening?
“Can’t we just borrow his car?”
Priti guffaws. “His car is hisbaby. He won’t let his parents drive it, let alone me.”
“Why don’t you just ask him on the phone? Isn’t he, like, your best friend?”
“If you want to make sure you crack a deal with the Desais, you’ve got to go to their doorstep. They’re Gujjus, remember?”
Most Gujaratis are excellent entrepreneurs and businesspeople—every Indian knows that. The best in the business, pun intended.
Still, having to go all the way to Rudra’s house doesn’t make much sense to me. I watch Priti in amazement anyway as she goes over to her cupboard, pulls it open, and starts rummaging through her almost all-black wardrobe.
“What are you still doing here?” Priti turns to me when she’s picked an outfit: a meshed, see-through top, a tank, jean shorts, and fishnet stockings. All black. She’s going to bake in the heat.
“I—uh, yeah, I’ll let you change.” I get to my feet, grabbing Priti’s empty mug from her bedside table. It’s scraped clean, as expected. My Parle-G mug cake really does work wonders.
“Go talk to Nani about our plans,” Priti says. “Tell her there’s a camping trip V. G. Vaze is organizing that I’m taking you along for. If she hesitates, call me. I’ll get ready.”
