When Dimple Met Rishi

by Sandhya Menon

  And now she’d lost Insomnia Con. There was no doubt about it—if they hadn’t been going out, she would’ve spent almost all of her free time working on her prototype. Tweaking it. Making it better. And maybe one of those tweaks would’ve sent her over the edge. Maybe she would’ve been so good that they couldn’t have ignored her, not even for Hari.

  She picked up the phone and keyed in, No, have a headache. Napping instead.

  ! But Jenny Lindt will be in at noon. You could talk to her.

  Jenny Lindt would be at the Spurlock building speaking with Hari et al. about their stupid winning idea. Dimple had no desire to meet her now, rank with defeat. Seeing the Aberzombies gloat would likely send her sailing off the edge, and she didn’t want murder on her conscience.

  Nah, think I’ll skip. Talk to you later.

  She hadn’t spoken to Rishi face-to-face since the results yesterday. He’d been good about giving her space, but she knew he was probably starting to wonder. Guilt clutched at her as she thought of his open, honest brown eyes. His sweet, goofy smile. His hands on her waist.

  The truth was, maybe they’d come to the end of their path together. Maybe it was time to say good-bye.

  Rishi watched Celia inhale another doughnut. Ashish reached across her and pulled a cruller onto his plate. How could they eat like that? Rishi’s own stomach felt like khishmish—a dry, desiccated, shriveled raisin.

  They were at the cafeteria, as were pretty much all of the Insomnia Con participants, eating brunch before Hari, Evan, and Isabelle’s meeting with Jenny Lindt. Afterward, other people who wanted to speak with her could have a few minutes too. Rishi had been looking forward to it for Dimple, but now he wasn’t so sure. He patted a USB stick in his pocket, wondering if what he had planned was a good idea after all.

  “Are you sure she’s just depressed about losing?” he asked for the eighteenth time.

  Celia wiped pink icing off the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and Ashish’s eyebrows knit together sympathetically. This was something he could get used to—a brother who actually felt something for him other than dismissive exasperation. Celia put a hand on his. “I really think so,” she said. “She’s barely said a word to me, and I live with her. She’s taking it hard, but she’ll bounce back. You know how she is. This isn’t going to hold her back.”

  From the far end of the cafeteria, they heard a whoop and then guffaws of laughter as Hari got on the cafeteria table, stripped off his shirt, and twirled it around. Evan clapped and cheered him on. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen.

  “Idiots,” Celia muttered. “I can’t believe they won.”

  “Me either.” Ashish reached out and squeezed her hand. After a moment, he turned to Rishi. “Bhaiyya, I feel like Dimple and I are pretty similar in some ways. So just give her some time. I think she probably needs to lick her wounds for a bit before she gets back up.”

  Rishi nodded and took a sip of his tea. He could do that. And, in the meantime, he’d move forward with his plan.

  CHAPTER 54

  There was an almighty bang as the door opened. Dimple groaned under the covers. A moment later, she felt the bed shift as someone sat down.

  “Dimple?” Celia’s voice behind her was soft but firm. “It’s time for you to get up now. We’re all worried.”

  She opened her eyes a touch. It was gloomy in the room, either dusk or dawn. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice just a croak.

  “Seven p.m. How long have you been napping? You missed lunch.”

  Dimple turned over. Celia looked down at her, her hazel eyes worried. Her hair was held back by a cloth headband with sequins sewn in. “Couple of hours.”

  Celia smoothed a curl off Dimple’s forehead, her face full of compassion. Dimple swallowed so she wouldn’t tear up. Taking a deep breath, Celia sat up straighter. “All right. It’s time to get up and get dressed. We’re going out.”

  Dimple frowned. The thought of getting out of her warm, quiet room and into the buzzing, chaotic world sounded about as appealing as going salwar shopping with Mamma. “Why? Where?”

  Celia cocked her head. “Why? Because you’ve become incapable of responding to my questions in more than little nubs of sentences. And where? To the Last Hoorah party.”

  Dimple groaned and burrowed back into the covers. “No.”

  There was silence for a moment, and she thought Celia was mad. But then her friend spoke in a quieter voice. “Is this about having lost Insomnia Con? Or something else?”

  Dimple’s heart began to thud. “Like what?” she said after a pause, her eyes wide under the covers in the dark.

  “I’ve noticed you haven’t been speaking to Rishi. Or about him. He’s noticed too, you know.” She said it without judgment, but Dimple’s chest constricted with that familiar guilt.

  “Has he . . . what has he said?”

  “He just wants to know what’s going on. He’s such a good guy, Dimple. He really cares about you. No, scratch that. He really loves you.”

  Dimple took the covers off her face and looked at Celia. “I know he does.” And it was true; she did. The thing was just . . . she’d met him too early in her life. That was the cruelest of things. It wasn’t that Rishi was wrong for her. It was that he was too right.

  Celia looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “If you’re going to break his heart, do it now. Don’t stretch it out. It’s not fair to him.”

  Dimple sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.” Although that wasn’t quite true. She was pretty sure. She just didn’t have the courage and energy to admit it to herself yet.

  Celia stood. “Well, I do,” she said. “You’re coming to the party with us.” She shrugged when Dimple made a face. “You may as well face him. Maybe it’ll help you make up your mind, move on from this weird limbo you’re in.”

  Rishi hung up the phone and paced the floor, his heart jittering in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “Oh my gods.”

  Ashish looked up from where he was reading one of Rishi’s old issues of Platinum Panic. “What?”

  “Do you know who that was?” Rishi felt like his face was going to split in two, he was grinning so hard.

  Ashish put the comic down and sat up slowly. “No . . . who?”

  Dimple walked into the main lobby of the Spurlock building with Celia. It had been decorated for the Last Hoorah with balloons and confetti, and a local restaurant was even catering a big buffet. People were already lining up for the free food, piling their plates high. No one seemed especially sad to have lost, except maybe José Alvarez. He sat with his partner, Tim Wheaton, both of their shoulders hunched, their faces slack and lifeless. Dimple felt a twinge of sympathy. If the pain weren’t so raw, she’d go over there to commiserate.

  She scanned the room, her stomach lurching. Where was Rishi? He’d texted her to meet up with him here, which actually worked out well. It would be like a Band-Aid, she thought. Just rip it off.

  “Where is he?” she asked Celia, tapping her sweaty hand against her thigh. She hadn’t explicitly told Celia what she was going to do, but she thought maybe her friend had guessed. How could she not? Dimple shut down every time Celia said Rishi’s name. It was easier that way, less painful.

  Then she saw them, Ashish and Rishi, pushing through the clusters of students. There was a barely suppressed, excited energy about them as they walked, both of them bounding on the balls of their feet. Ashish’s eyes were on Celia, though they kept darting to Dimple. Rishi looked straight at her.

  Her stomach lurched again. Dimple felt another major prickle of misgivings. Was she really going to do this? When just looking at him made her feel like this? This rush of love and companionship and friendship and happiness? Was she just going to extinguish it all because of timing?

  But she knew the answer. Yes, she would. Yes, because this was not the plan. Yes, because the last thing she wanted was to break it off five years down the road, when the two of them would be in so mu
ch deeper, it’d be like cutting off a limb. It would be painful now, but nothing compared to what it could be like. So the answer was yes.

  Ashish pulled Celia close and kissed her, and Rishi stood in front of Dimple. Somehow, he instinctively knew not to pull her into his arms. Had he guessed? She took a deep breath, and said, “I have to talk to you” at the same time that he said, “Come with me.”

  They both paused, and then Dimple said, “Where?”

  Rishi’s eyes were shining as he reached out and took her hand. “You’ll see, my friend,” he said as he began to tug her toward the hallway that contained their lecture hall.

  Rishi could barely keep himself from sprinting through the crowd of Insomnia Con students to the hallway and the lecture hall. He knew now why people said love gave you wings. All he could think was how Dimple was going to feel in a few minutes.

  She was so beautiful and so brave. Just coming here, to the Last Hoorah party, was an act of courage. He knew how much this had meant to her, how crushed she was, though she was trying not to show it. It was there, in the lines around her mouth, in the furrow in her brow. Even her usually buoyant curls looked a little wilted.

  He put his hand on the handle of the door to the lecture hall and turned around to glance at her. She looked thoroughly confused. His heart lifted and he grinned. Ha! Ha ha ha. This was going to be epic. “Ready?”

  Dimple nodded, and Rishi pushed the door open.

  Dimple walked in, wondering what the heck Rishi Patel was up to now. If this was some kind of pity party he’d arranged for her, she really wasn’t in the mood. And anyway, she really wanted to just get it over with, tell him what she’d decided, and go home. But the way he’d basically just run here . . . she’d let her curiosity get the best of her.

  She walked into the quiet, empty lecture hall and looked around. “What? Why are we—”

  And then Dimple saw her, up at the head of the room. Sitting there in the front row, like a student, turned around and smiling slightly.

  Jenny Lindt.

  Dimple’s mouth legit hung open. Her knees felt weak, like they might buckle at any moment.

  Jenny Lindt raised a hand. “Hi, Dimple.”

  Dimple nearly fell over. She would’ve, if Rishi hadn’t grabbed her elbow and very firmly steered her forward.

  “Go,” he said softly in her ear. “You deserve it.” And then he slipped out, leaving her with her idol.

  Dimple walked forward on wooden legs. It was her. It was really her, with her teal mermaid hair in an angled bob, her quirky retro clothes (right then she was wearing a blue polka-dotted circle skirt, a shirt with a Peter Pan collar, and jeweled cat’s-eye glasses), and her incisive gaze. Her brown eyes looked like they could cut right through you. “Hi,” she said again when Dimple was within talking distance. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair next to hers, and Dimple sat, aware that her every muscle seemed to be vibrating.

  “This is . . .” Her voice came out a husky whisper, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Um, I don’t even know why . . . or how . . .” Dimple made a vague circling gesture with her hands, like that would make what she was trying to say clearer. Gods, why had she saved her inarticulate seal act for now, when she was face-to-face with Jenny freaking Lindt? Idiot.

  But Jenny’s smile just got wider, like she was used to this reaction. She probably was, come to think of it. “Your friend.” She gestured at the door to the back of the hall. “Boyfriend? Anyway, he came to see me when I was here earlier, meeting with the winners of Insomnia Con.”

  The words were like an ice water bath. The winners of Insomnia Con. That should’ve been her. Then what Jenny Lindt had just said came seeping in. “Wait. Rishi came to see you?”

  “Yeah, waited in line about an hour so he could catch me after everyone else had melted away.” Jenny raised her eyebrows. “That’s some serious dedication.”

  “But . . . why? What did he say?”

  Jenny reached into her pocket and held up a little USB stick. “He showed me all the work you put into the talent show. There was even a part where you were talking about how important your app was to you, and why you wanted me to see it. He attached your wireframe prototype, too.” She shook her head. “It’s a solid idea. You’re very good.”

  Dimple’s breath caught in her throat. She’d waited years, years, to hear that. All those times she’d considered giving up but hadn’t because maybe one day Jenny Lindt might tell her she had what it took—that day was here. Dimple blinked, hard, and tried to ignore the goose bumps that ravaged her arms and legs. “I, um, wow. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Jenny laughed, a throaty, sophisticated sound. “Well, you should. You’re the real thing. Not like those idiots I met with before. Drunk Zombies.” She snorted. “What a joke.”

  Dimple felt a gleeful grin spread across her face. “But they won Insomnia Con.”

  Jenny’s chair let out a plaintive squeak as she leaned back, steepling her fingers in front of her, serious now. “Yeah,” she said, looking right at Dimple. “And I’m going to have a talk with the organizers about conflicts of interest. If your parents donated the new computer science wing?” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t even be allowed to participate.” She fixed Dimple with a serious look. “I wish I could say stuff like that’s a one-off, but it’s not. You’re going to see a lot of it. People getting ahead unfairly because of the category into which they were born: male or white or straight or rich. I’m in a few of those categories myself, which is why I make it a point to reach out and help those who aren’t, those who might not necessarily be seen if I didn’t make the effort. We need to shake this field up, you know? We need more people with different points of view and experiences and thought processes so we can keep innovating and moving ahead.” Jenny Lindt smiled a little. “Which is why I want to talk to you about partnering together to get your app market ready. What do you say?”

  Dimple was fairly sure she was going to burst into tears. She counted to three, took a breath, and said, “Yes, please.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Rishi paced outside, feeling like someone waiting on life changing news from the doctor. Dimple had looked so utterly discombobulated, he hoped he’d done the right thing by surprising her. He’d figured with how depressed she was, she might argue against meeting with Jenny Lindt—that she wasn’t ready, or didn’t feel up to it. He’d wanted her to just do it, to see how impressed Jenny had been by her. The woman had called Rishi personally to say she’d been totally bowled over by both the video and the code.

  Rishi felt a glow of pride at the memory. He’d spent almost the entirety of last night glued to his computer, editing the videos Ashish had taken of them practicing, and then splicing them together to create a five-minute montage to share with Jenny Lindt. The idea had come to him after Dimple had gone to her room. If only Jenny could see how much time and effort she’s put into this, how good she really is, he’d thought. And then Rishi had realized he could make that happen for her. Ashish had helped him for the first hour or so, and then he’d gone to bed. But before he had, he’d looked at Rishi and said, “Man, bhaiyya. You’ve got it bad, huh?”

  Rishi took a deep, shuddering breath. Yes, he did.

  He’d paced to the opposite end of the long hallway when the door to the lecture hall opened with a great bang. He spun around and found Dimple striding toward him, practically running, her hair streaming behind her. He walked forward to meet her, and she slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  He held her tight, feeling her heart pound against his chest, hearing her breathing rapidly, furiously. He was beginning to worry that the meeting had gone really, really badly when she pulled back, her eyes wet, a small smile playing at her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  All the breath exited his lungs in a great whoosh. He grinned. “So it went well?”

  Dimple stepped back, out of his arms, and folded her arms against herself, unsmiling now. R
ishi frowned a little. Something was off. She should be cheering, running madly around, but she wasn’t. His smile faded.

  “Let’s talk outside,” she said, gesturing to the side door behind him, beyond which lay the darkness of night.

  • • •

  They stepped outside just as a silver Porsche went flying by, honking its horn. Dimple raised a hand, and he saw genuine joy in her eyes, and pride. So the meeting had gone well. Rishi held his questions as they walked a few yards to a small patio area swathed in mist and sat on one of the damp benches. Light from the interior of the building lit the ground and table in fat yellow stripes. He looked at Dimple, across from him, and waited.

  She pulled her hoodie sleeves over the tips of her fingers, still not meeting his eye. Something began to squirm in the pit of his stomach. The Pocky sticks he’d inhaled earlier in his room threatened to make a comeback. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He reached for her hand across the table, and she jerked back. His heart froze, encased in a block of ice.

  Dimple looked up at him then. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That was . . . an incredible gift. Making the video, contacting her, all of it.”

  Rishi nodded, though everything seemed to be happening from a great distance, like he was viewing his own life through a telescope. “You deserve it.”

  “She wants to partner with me to finish and market the app, so . . .” She smiled and bit her lip, as if to contain it.

  He grinned. “That’s great. I knew it. How could she have any other reaction?”

  “I have a confession,” Dimple said in a rush.

  Rishi’s heart thundered. “What sort of confession?”

  “I . . .” She pulled the hood of her hoodie up, as if to ward off the fog. “I did something similar for you. Or, I tried to.”

  He frowned, not understanding.