When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 56
• • •
Another three weeks passed way, way quicker than Dimple would’ve liked. She would’ve wanted another thousand, give or take, to tinker with the wireframe prototype. Still, she knew it was more polished than she’d hoped it would be at this point, thanks to the talent show money. The designers had taken Rishi’s sketches to the next level and made the whole thing come alive.
And now . . . now it was time to let it go. The judges would be in to look at all the prototypes. There was nothing more to do. They were supposed to just go by the lecture hall later for the big announcement.
“Two more hours,” Dimple said, leaning back in her chair. They were at You Gelato Be Kidding!, a sketchy little shop that had somehow become their favorite place to get dessert in the intensity of the last three weeks. Dimple had a giant bowl of cherry gelato she had had exactly two bites of so far.
“You really must be feeling sick.” Rishi raised an eyebrow. He was tucking into his second bowl of gelato like he hadn’t eaten in four days.
Celia giggled. They both looked at her, and she looked up from her phone and blushed when she saw they were watching her.
“Ashish?” Dimple asked, waggling her eyebrows.
“He just said the funniest thing about peanut butter gelato. . . .” Celia trailed off when she saw the looks on their faces. “Never mind.” She put her phone down and sighed. “I’m so ready for this all to be over. Three more days.”
“So they really don’t care that you’ve dropped out?” Rishi asked, licking his spoon.
“No.” Celia shrugged. “I guess there really isn’t anything they can do about it if I want to waste my money like that. I’m glad they’re letting me stay in the dorms till after the Last Hoorah party.”
The Last Hoorah party was their chance to celebrate and let off some steam after the intensity of the last six weeks. After that it was good-bye, San Francisco. Dimple wondered if Rishi was dreading it as much as she was. They were pretty much avoiding talking about it.
“Too bad they let Evan join Hari and Isabelle’s team though,” Celia continued. “I was sort of hoping they’d make him drop too. Instead, they’re combining their ideas or something. Whatever. Like they can do that in three weeks.”
“Well, I hope it sucks,” Dimple said, more loudly than she’d intended. A few people around the small store looked up at her.
Celia smiled gratefully at her. “Me too.”
Rishi sat up suddenly. He looked pale and sweaty. “Um . . .”
“Are you okay?” Dimple asked, frowning, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. He pushed the chair back and ran to the bathroom.
Dimple jumped up and followed him. When he came out, he looked like he’d been run over by a trolley. “Are you okay?” she asked, rushing up to him.
He clutched his stomach and groaned. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh no. I wonder if the gelato was bad.”
Celia raced up to them. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Might be food poisoning,” Dimple said, her arm around Rishi’s waist. “I’m going to take him back to the dorm.”
“Okay. I’m going to tell the fourteen-year-old behind the counter she might want to throw out her banana chocolate swirl,” Celia said, gesturing at the kid in glitter lip gloss texting behind the counter. “I’ll come up and check on you guys later. Just text me if you need anything in the meantime.”
Rishi was pretty sure he was going to die. His skin was cold and clammy, his stomach kept heaving even though there was nothing left in there to come up, and he was pretty sure he could see the veil of the afterlife lifting. “I’m . . . so . . . sick . . . ,” he whispered.
Dimple rolled her eyes. Actually rolled her eyes. The girl had no sympathy. “You ate too much,” she said, mopping his forehead with a wet paper towel she’d gotten from the dorm bathroom. “Should’ve stopped at one bowl, like normal people.”
“Food . . . poisoning . . . ,” Rishi managed, though just saying the words made him feel like he was going to throw up again.
“I’m not convinced.” Dimple straightened his pillow. “I mean, all I know is you ate like six servings of the stuff. And Celia and I didn’t feel sick.”
“You guys barely ate anything,” Rishi countered. “It wasn’t enough to get sick on.”
“Exactly.” Dimple grinned, victorious. “It’s your own fault.”
Rishi groaned. “Meanie,” he whimpered.
“You’re such a baby.” But Dimple caressed his cheek with a fingertip, smiling. “What can I do for you, oh ye of voracious appetites?”
Rishi looked at her, an eyebrow raised, smiling in what he hoped was a dashingly lascivious manner.
She swatted his chest lightly. “Not that.”
“You said I have a voracious appetite,” he said, laughing, and then groaned again when his stomach spasmed.
“Okay, no more laughing,” Dimple said. “I mean, I love you and all, but if you barf in here, I am not cleaning it up.”
She was smiling, but Rishi could tell by the way her hands were fidgeting with the wet paper towel that she was worked up. “How’re you doing?” he asked, lying on his side to see her face more easily.
Dimple sighed and hung her head. “Ugh, not well. I’m so not good at waiting for things.”
Rishi wheezed a laugh, careful not to upset his sore stomach. “No way. You strike me as such an easygoing person.”
Dimple glared at him. “I am easygoing,” she snapped in the least easygoing way possible, and then they both laughed. “Okay, so I guess you’re right. But this time things feel even more . . . fraught than usual. It’s just so important to me, you know? Jenny Lindt. Changing people’s lives. All of it.”
Rishi sat up, ignoring the lurching of stomach acid and the slow roll of the wave of nausea washing over him, and grabbed her wrists. “You are going to do it. Change lives. Jenny Lindt would be lucky to meet you, Dimple. You’re amazing.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, and he wished he could make her see it—the way he saw her, the dazzling beauty that was her glittering soul.
Dimple stood. “Okay. I’m going to get some more paper towels and another bottle of water from the good vending machine at the end of the hall.” She pointed at him mock sternly. “No throwing up while I’m gone.”
Rishi lay back, groaning. “Scout’s honor.”
CHAPTER 52
Dimple was attempting to balance two water bottles and a pile of dripping paper towels when Celia ran up to her and took a few things. “Thanks! I really should’ve planned that better.”
“Ah well,” Celia said. “How is he?” They began to walk back down the hallway toward Rishi’s room.
“Better, I think. These paper towels seem to help with his nausea.”
“Ministering to his fevered brow, how romantic,” Celia said, laughing.
“Shut up,” Dimple replied. “It’s just so he wouldn’t puke on me.”
“Yeah, right. I expect you to be making soup from scratch next, with organic vegetables you grew in your garden out in the country.” Celia flashed a mischievous grin at Dimple. “If you don’t watch out, he’s going to turn you totally domestic.”
Domestic.
The word echoed in Dimple’s head. Was Celia right? She was turning domestic, wasn’t she? She was becoming everything she’d said she didn’t want to be. She had a boyfriend—a pretty serious one— going into freshman year. Everything the voice had said that night in Rios? It was all true, wasn’t it?
And gods, he was so traditional. So trustworthy and practical and stable. He was a savings account. Dimple was eighteen. She didn’t need a savings account. She needed adventure and spontaneity and travel. She needed to make a few bad decisions and have a few boys break her heart. Wasn’t that what she was after? Living life on her terms? So how had she gotten mired in the same pit of domesticity as her parents?
Dimple pushed open Rishi’s door feeling hot and cold, the paper towels like wet lead in her hands. When she looked at Rishi, her heart didn’t bloom like it usually did. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what she felt, what she was supposed to feel. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Another three weeks passed way, way quicker than Dimple would’ve liked. She would’ve wanted another thousand, give or take, to tinker with the wireframe prototype. Still, she knew it was more polished than she’d hoped it would be at this point, thanks to the talent show money. The designers had taken Rishi’s sketches to the next level and made the whole thing come alive.
And now . . . now it was time to let it go. The judges would be in to look at all the prototypes. There was nothing more to do. They were supposed to just go by the lecture hall later for the big announcement.
“Two more hours,” Dimple said, leaning back in her chair. They were at You Gelato Be Kidding!, a sketchy little shop that had somehow become their favorite place to get dessert in the intensity of the last three weeks. Dimple had a giant bowl of cherry gelato she had had exactly two bites of so far.
“You really must be feeling sick.” Rishi raised an eyebrow. He was tucking into his second bowl of gelato like he hadn’t eaten in four days.
Celia giggled. They both looked at her, and she looked up from her phone and blushed when she saw they were watching her.
“Ashish?” Dimple asked, waggling her eyebrows.
“He just said the funniest thing about peanut butter gelato. . . .” Celia trailed off when she saw the looks on their faces. “Never mind.” She put her phone down and sighed. “I’m so ready for this all to be over. Three more days.”
“So they really don’t care that you’ve dropped out?” Rishi asked, licking his spoon.
“No.” Celia shrugged. “I guess there really isn’t anything they can do about it if I want to waste my money like that. I’m glad they’re letting me stay in the dorms till after the Last Hoorah party.”
The Last Hoorah party was their chance to celebrate and let off some steam after the intensity of the last six weeks. After that it was good-bye, San Francisco. Dimple wondered if Rishi was dreading it as much as she was. They were pretty much avoiding talking about it.
“Too bad they let Evan join Hari and Isabelle’s team though,” Celia continued. “I was sort of hoping they’d make him drop too. Instead, they’re combining their ideas or something. Whatever. Like they can do that in three weeks.”
“Well, I hope it sucks,” Dimple said, more loudly than she’d intended. A few people around the small store looked up at her.
Celia smiled gratefully at her. “Me too.”
Rishi sat up suddenly. He looked pale and sweaty. “Um . . .”
“Are you okay?” Dimple asked, frowning, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. He pushed the chair back and ran to the bathroom.
Dimple jumped up and followed him. When he came out, he looked like he’d been run over by a trolley. “Are you okay?” she asked, rushing up to him.
He clutched his stomach and groaned. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh no. I wonder if the gelato was bad.”
Celia raced up to them. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Might be food poisoning,” Dimple said, her arm around Rishi’s waist. “I’m going to take him back to the dorm.”
“Okay. I’m going to tell the fourteen-year-old behind the counter she might want to throw out her banana chocolate swirl,” Celia said, gesturing at the kid in glitter lip gloss texting behind the counter. “I’ll come up and check on you guys later. Just text me if you need anything in the meantime.”
Rishi was pretty sure he was going to die. His skin was cold and clammy, his stomach kept heaving even though there was nothing left in there to come up, and he was pretty sure he could see the veil of the afterlife lifting. “I’m . . . so . . . sick . . . ,” he whispered.
Dimple rolled her eyes. Actually rolled her eyes. The girl had no sympathy. “You ate too much,” she said, mopping his forehead with a wet paper towel she’d gotten from the dorm bathroom. “Should’ve stopped at one bowl, like normal people.”
“Food . . . poisoning . . . ,” Rishi managed, though just saying the words made him feel like he was going to throw up again.
“I’m not convinced.” Dimple straightened his pillow. “I mean, all I know is you ate like six servings of the stuff. And Celia and I didn’t feel sick.”
“You guys barely ate anything,” Rishi countered. “It wasn’t enough to get sick on.”
“Exactly.” Dimple grinned, victorious. “It’s your own fault.”
Rishi groaned. “Meanie,” he whimpered.
“You’re such a baby.” But Dimple caressed his cheek with a fingertip, smiling. “What can I do for you, oh ye of voracious appetites?”
Rishi looked at her, an eyebrow raised, smiling in what he hoped was a dashingly lascivious manner.
She swatted his chest lightly. “Not that.”
“You said I have a voracious appetite,” he said, laughing, and then groaned again when his stomach spasmed.
“Okay, no more laughing,” Dimple said. “I mean, I love you and all, but if you barf in here, I am not cleaning it up.”
She was smiling, but Rishi could tell by the way her hands were fidgeting with the wet paper towel that she was worked up. “How’re you doing?” he asked, lying on his side to see her face more easily.
Dimple sighed and hung her head. “Ugh, not well. I’m so not good at waiting for things.”
Rishi wheezed a laugh, careful not to upset his sore stomach. “No way. You strike me as such an easygoing person.”
Dimple glared at him. “I am easygoing,” she snapped in the least easygoing way possible, and then they both laughed. “Okay, so I guess you’re right. But this time things feel even more . . . fraught than usual. It’s just so important to me, you know? Jenny Lindt. Changing people’s lives. All of it.”
Rishi sat up, ignoring the lurching of stomach acid and the slow roll of the wave of nausea washing over him, and grabbed her wrists. “You are going to do it. Change lives. Jenny Lindt would be lucky to meet you, Dimple. You’re amazing.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, and he wished he could make her see it—the way he saw her, the dazzling beauty that was her glittering soul.
Dimple stood. “Okay. I’m going to get some more paper towels and another bottle of water from the good vending machine at the end of the hall.” She pointed at him mock sternly. “No throwing up while I’m gone.”
Rishi lay back, groaning. “Scout’s honor.”
CHAPTER 52
Dimple was attempting to balance two water bottles and a pile of dripping paper towels when Celia ran up to her and took a few things. “Thanks! I really should’ve planned that better.”
“Ah well,” Celia said. “How is he?” They began to walk back down the hallway toward Rishi’s room.
“Better, I think. These paper towels seem to help with his nausea.”
“Ministering to his fevered brow, how romantic,” Celia said, laughing.
“Shut up,” Dimple replied. “It’s just so he wouldn’t puke on me.”
“Yeah, right. I expect you to be making soup from scratch next, with organic vegetables you grew in your garden out in the country.” Celia flashed a mischievous grin at Dimple. “If you don’t watch out, he’s going to turn you totally domestic.”
Domestic.
The word echoed in Dimple’s head. Was Celia right? She was turning domestic, wasn’t she? She was becoming everything she’d said she didn’t want to be. She had a boyfriend—a pretty serious one— going into freshman year. Everything the voice had said that night in Rios? It was all true, wasn’t it?
And gods, he was so traditional. So trustworthy and practical and stable. He was a savings account. Dimple was eighteen. She didn’t need a savings account. She needed adventure and spontaneity and travel. She needed to make a few bad decisions and have a few boys break her heart. Wasn’t that what she was after? Living life on her terms? So how had she gotten mired in the same pit of domesticity as her parents?
Dimple pushed open Rishi’s door feeling hot and cold, the paper towels like wet lead in her hands. When she looked at Rishi, her heart didn’t bloom like it usually did. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what she felt, what she was supposed to feel. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
