“I believe you, okay?” she said. “But I can’t ditch my camp kids at River Bend and help you search. Just… keep looking.”
“Will you give me and Yogi a ride back?” I begged. “I have a spare set at home I can try to find. If Dad realizes I lost the keys he’s never going to believe I’m responsible enough to plan anything.”
“I’ll come get you, I promise,” Shayla said. “Got to go.”
I stuck my cell phone into my pocket and started over, slow-walking from the hill where the poodle had jumped Yogi, all the way to the lawn, eyes scanning the ground, searching for any glint of metal.
Straight into a sweaty chest. One that I would have seen if my eyes had not been glued to the ground.
I sprang back. “Excuse me!”
Way to go, Mini. Looking dorky twice in an hour to the same guy was a record even for me.
“You’ve lost something,” mystery guy said. The deep voice sounded matter-of-fact, and yes, the accent was definitely British. “These, maybe?”
He was holding up my car keys.
Yes! I was not in trouble. I didn’t need to call AAA. Or tow the thing back to the house and pay for a new set of keys. Dad didn’t even have to know! I could kiss this guy. Well, he was pretty kiss-worthy anyway.
“My keys!” I said. “Thank you! I didn’t think I’d ever find them.”
“Hey, no worries,” he said, dropping them into my grateful hands. “We’ve met before. Your dog chased my cat, right?”
I nodded. “For the record, that was totally out of character. Yogi’s a really good dog normally.”
“I can see that.” He held out his hand. “I’m Vir, and you?”
Okaaay. Who shakes hands when they introduce themselves? No one I know under the age of twenty. And Vir—that was Indian, wasn’t it?
“I’m Mini,” I said.
“What kind of dog is Yogi?” I could tell by the way he said dog that he knew perfectly well that Yogi was a mutt.
“He’s a rescue,” I said. “A sato, from Puerto Rico.”
“What are they?” he asked. “A designer breed?”
“Sato means ‘street dog,’” I said. “There are too many strays in San Juan so they fly them here. The dogs have a better chance of getting adopted.”
“Makes sense,” he said. I realized that he’d fallen into step next to me and seemed to be headed the same way as me, back to the parking lot. “You know what he looks like?”
“What?” I asked.
“A coyote,” he said. “No—a dingo!”
“He’s white,” I said. “Dingoes are usually brown, aren’t they?”
“He looks like a dingo that’s been dipped in bleach,” Vir said.
I laughed. “But his ears are brown,” I said.
“He looks like a dingo that’s been dipped in bleach and pulled out by his ears,” he said.
“Okay—stop! That’s just…” I spotted the amusement in his eyes. “You secretly think Yogi’s awesome, don’t you?”
“Who wouldn’t?” he asked. “He reminds me of street dogs in India too, by the way.”
“Are you Indian?” I asked.
He nodded. “And you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s Mini Kapoor.”
He still didn’t crack a smile, but his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “You own a Mini Cooper,” he said, pointing to the logo on my key chain, “and your name is Mini Kapoor?”
Didn’t miss a thing, did he?
“Guilty as charged!” I said. “But if your dad’s into British cars and you like Mini Coopers, you may as well own one, right? It would be silly not to.”
He tilted his head, as if conceding a point. “You sure he didn’t name you after the car?”
“My name is PADmini,” I said. “Mini is just short for it.”
“Nice name,” he said. “And the car fits you, Padmini Kapoor.”
“Thanks,” I said. I could tell by the way he pronounced my name—he did it better than I could—that he had spent way more time in India than I had.
“Did you drive a long way to get here?” he asked.
“I live over the town line,” I said. “In Westbury. And you?”
“There.” He waved over his shoulder to the graceful old house on whose manicured lawn Yogi had nearly done his business.
“There?” I asked. “Wow, that’s some house. I love the architecture! It’s a Georgian Revival, isn’t it? What is it—hundred and fifty, two hundred years old?”
He shrugged. “We only live there because my mom works at the college.”
I stared at him with dawning realization. “Is your mom the dean?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You’re Gulshan Chabra’s son?” I asked. “She’s amazing. The first Asian American woman to be dean of Fellsway. The youngest woman to be provost at Harvard. I thought she was unmarried.”
“She is,” he said. No silent smile this time.
Awkward. But by now we had reached the parking lot.
“Oh, no!” I spotted a splat of bird poop on the windshield. Couldn’t have that blocking my view! I unzipped a tiny pocket in my capris and extracted a Clorox wet wipe sachet I kept for emergencies.
“Could you please hold Yogi?” I handed Vir the leash and wiped off the icky stuff carefully. Done! I dropped the wipe in the garbage bin by the car.
Vir had been watching the proceedings with interest, Yogi’s leash firmly in hand.
“If you have a pocket in those pants,” he inquired, “why don’t you put your keys in it?”
Because the towelette fitted flat and didn’t look like I’d grown a lump, that’s why.
“The keys don’t fit,” I explained.
“Really?” He leaned over to stare at the pocket, which, unfortunately, was located on my butt. “That material looks pretty stretchy.”
I snapped straight, turning that part of my anatomy away. “I could stuff it in, but it would look like I’ve grown a lump or something,” I said. “Look, it doesn’t matter.”
“Does your dad have other British cars?” he said, changing the subject smoothly. The silent laugh was back in his voice.
“A 1991 Lotus Esprit,” I said.
“Sweet,” Vir said. “Bond car, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Most people don’t know that, actually!”
“But it was legendary!” he said. “It turned into a submarine and took out a helicopter with a surface-to-air missile while submerged.”
“I can see you know
