When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 60
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. Rishi 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.
Dimple scratched at the paint on the wood table with a fingernail, sending green flecks flying. “I sent your sketches to Leo Tilden.”
Rishi stared at her, not fully able to grasp her meaning. “Sent him my sketches?” He shook his head, like that would make this congeal a bit more. “How? When?”
“The day Ashish came. You stepped out of your room to talk to him, and I took pictures of your sketch pad. And then I e-mailed him.” She met his eye, looking equal parts defensive and nervous, disappointed and defiant. “He . . . he hasn’t e-mailed you yet, I’m guessing. But he will. I know he will.”
Rishi shook his head, trying to dislodge his feelings. Anger at her. Disappointment at the silence from Leo Tilden. Embarrassment. Betrayal. He set his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “Why . . . how could you do that?” he said softly, afraid that if he raised his voice, he’d never stop shouting. “After I told you. After I explained why I couldn’t do this.”
“Because!” Dimple said, and her voice did echo around them before getting swallowed by the unforgiving fog. “Because you’re being . . .”
Rishi looked up sharply. “Being what?”
“Cowardly,” she finished, her chin thrust out. “You’re being cowardly. You have a real gift , Rishi. You can’t let your parents or anyone else dictate what you do with it.”
Rishi swallowed, willing his heart to stop pounding, his blood to stop boiling. “Cowardly. Right.” He jumped up and began to pace, running a shaking hand through his hair. He didn’t know if he was more hurt or more angry. “And I guess talking to you about obligations and duties would do no good. Just as it did no good the first few times.” He stopped pacing and glared at her. “Speaking of cowardly . . . you sneaked into my bag and pulled out my sketch pad. You e-mailed Leo without my permission! How’s that for cowardly?”
“I was doing you a favor!” she said, her hands forming fists on the table.
“A favor!” he thundered, throwing his hands up. “Do you know how condescending you sound right now? So you were just doing the cowardly idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him a favor, right?”
“That’s not what I said!” Dimple glared at him, eyes sparking behind her glasses. “How is what you did for me with Jenny Lindt any different?”
“Because you’ve been telling me for six weeks now how much she means to you and how much you want to meet her! Because you came out to Insomnia Con specifically to have her see your work! That’s the difference—you wanted this and I didn’t! I specifically told you I didn’t!”
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. Rishi 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.
Dimple scratched at the paint on the wood table with a fingernail, sending green flecks flying. “I sent your sketches to Leo Tilden.”
Rishi stared at her, not fully able to grasp her meaning. “Sent him my sketches?” He shook his head, like that would make this congeal a bit more. “How? When?”
“The day Ashish came. You stepped out of your room to talk to him, and I took pictures of your sketch pad. And then I e-mailed him.” She met his eye, looking equal parts defensive and nervous, disappointed and defiant. “He . . . he hasn’t e-mailed you yet, I’m guessing. But he will. I know he will.”
Rishi shook his head, trying to dislodge his feelings. Anger at her. Disappointment at the silence from Leo Tilden. Embarrassment. Betrayal. He set his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “Why . . . how could you do that?” he said softly, afraid that if he raised his voice, he’d never stop shouting. “After I told you. After I explained why I couldn’t do this.”
“Because!” Dimple said, and her voice did echo around them before getting swallowed by the unforgiving fog. “Because you’re being . . .”
Rishi looked up sharply. “Being what?”
“Cowardly,” she finished, her chin thrust out. “You’re being cowardly. You have a real gift , Rishi. You can’t let your parents or anyone else dictate what you do with it.”
Rishi swallowed, willing his heart to stop pounding, his blood to stop boiling. “Cowardly. Right.” He jumped up and began to pace, running a shaking hand through his hair. He didn’t know if he was more hurt or more angry. “And I guess talking to you about obligations and duties would do no good. Just as it did no good the first few times.” He stopped pacing and glared at her. “Speaking of cowardly . . . you sneaked into my bag and pulled out my sketch pad. You e-mailed Leo without my permission! How’s that for cowardly?”
“I was doing you a favor!” she said, her hands forming fists on the table.
“A favor!” he thundered, throwing his hands up. “Do you know how condescending you sound right now? So you were just doing the cowardly idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him a favor, right?”
“That’s not what I said!” Dimple glared at him, eyes sparking behind her glasses. “How is what you did for me with Jenny Lindt any different?”
“Because you’ve been telling me for six weeks now how much she means to you and how much you want to meet her! Because you came out to Insomnia Con specifically to have her see your work! That’s the difference—you wanted this and I didn’t! I specifically told you I didn’t!”
