When Dimple Met Rishi Page 6

  Dimple opened her mouth to respond, but Max spoke from the front of the room, interrupting her. “I trust you are all getting to know your partners. But I want us to take this to the next level. This being our first day together, I thought we could all use a jump start on breaking the ice. I want you all to reach under your chairs.”

  Abuzz with curiosity, they did. Rishi looked at the contraption in his hand for a few seconds before realizing what it was.

  “A Polaroid camera,” Dimple said at the same time. “Wow. I think my parents have one of those in our attic.”

  “What are we supposed to do with these?” Rishi asked, looking around the room. An obnoxious group of well-manicured people—a white girl and boy, and an Indian boy—were already trying to take pictures of one another. One of the boys, the white one, seemed to be paired with Celia, he saw.

  “Okay, boys and girls,” Max said again from the front of the room. “For those of you who may not know, you hold in your hands a forgotten treasure. This is the Polaroid camera, and as an amateur photographer, I find it to be one of the most honest artistic mediums for the capture of everyday moments. I want you to go forth and capture a few such moments today. To that end, I’ve come up with a few items for your photo scavenger hunt.” He began to pass out sheets of paper with enumerated lists on them. “You’ll see I’ve given each team a sheet with five items on it. I want you to capture all five items and bring your photos back to class in two hours. It is my hope that you will all get to know your partners much better this way than if we were all just sitting in this horrendous recycled air, firing questions at each other. The only rule is: No collaboration with any other teams. The teams who successfully complete this exercise will be awarded ten extra points toward their final score in Insomnia Con.” A buzz went around the room. Max made a shooing motion with his hands and spoke louder. “Off you go. Good luck! I’ll be outside napping in my hammock. Just wake me when you’re back.”

  Rishi looked at Dimple as they both got up. She looked about as pleased as he felt; her lips were pursed tight, her eyes fixed longingly on Celia’s retreating back. As he followed her out, he said, “If you want, I could bow out now.”

  She slowed down so they could walk outside together, and nibbled on her bottom lip. “No,” she said finally, looking up at him. “Let’s do this thing together.”

  Rishi frowned, not sure what was up with the total change of mood. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” Dimple took a deep breath and looked at him. “It’s really cool of you to volunteer to bow out. Not a lot of people would do that.” And then she smiled a smile so dazzling, Rishi tripped over his own feet.

  “Are you okay?” Dimple reached out to grab his arm, but Rishi steadied himself against the wall and blushed a bright and furious red.

  “Yeah, fine,” he said, not meeting her eye. “Shoelaces,” he added vaguely, looping the Polaroid camera’s strap around his neck.

  They walked along in relative silence, their classmates melting off onto various paths and striding over grass to go to the places where their pictures beckoned. It was cool enough, in spite of the sun, that Dimple had to pull her hoodie tighter around her.

  She glanced sideways at Rishi through her curls, feeling like a jerk. She’d really unleashed a bunch of crap on him, and he’d been so . . . adult about it. So empathetic. Dimple really wished she could do this ice breaker thing with someone else, someone she’d be working with for the rest of this project, but asking him to leave right away would just be cruel. It was like saying she couldn’t stand to be around him for the length of a stupid project. And given how decent he’d been, there was no need for that. So she’d deal. It wasn’t like he was bad company, from the little she’d seen of him, anyway.

  “Okay.” Dimple glanced down at the list as they meandered toward a patch of green field where a few students were tossing around a football. “Our list is: Funny, water, yellow, blur, and Buddha.” She looked up. “Where do you want to start?”

  Rishi grinned. “Definitely with Buddha. Come on, check this out.” He quickened his pace, the Polaroid camera bouncing against his chest, and Dimple hurried to keep up.

  “Want to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Oh, you’ll see, my friend,” he said happily.

  Dimple shook her head. “All right,” she said slowly. “Hey. What’s that on your T-shirt?” His jacket was unbuttoned, and the graphic on his T-shirt was only just visible. It looked like a comic drawing of a young Indian boy in an embroidered kurta, holding something—a sword?—above his head.

  Rishi colored a little, but she couldn’t tell if that was from the pace they were keeping or her question. “Just a comic book character.”

  Dimple rolled her eyes. “You’re pretty cryptic today, aren’t you? Obviously, I know it’s a comic book character. I meant, which one?”

  Rishi glanced at her sideways. “You know comics?”

  “Eh, just the major ones. Wonder Woman is sort of my girl crush.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, she’s cool.” Glancing down at his shirt, he opened his jacket a bit more. Dimple could see now that the boy held a golden gada, or mace, in one hand, not a sword. “This is Aditya,” Rishi said, a smile cupping his words. “He’s a young Indian superhero who draws his power from the sun. I based him vaguely on Hanuman—hence the gada. I was a huge Hanuman fanboy growing up; my mom used to make me watch those Ramayana series with her on the Hindi channel when I was little. Aditya’s one of my earliest creations from about three years ago. I was so proud of him, I had him put on a T-shirt.” He snorted.

  “Wait, wait, wait, you drew him? Like, from scratch?” Dimple ogled the drawing, the rich detail of the boy’s brocade kurta and pants, the intricate metal work on the gada. “That’s amazing. And you were what, fifteen?”

  Rishi nodded. He barely met her eyes when he spoke, but there was a blooming happiness in his voice that belied how pleased he was at her compliments. “Yeah, making my own comics was the big thing back then. I had a little studio space set up in my room and everything.”

  “What do you mean, ‘back then’? You don’t do it anymore?”

  He shrugged as they came to a light and then began to cross the street. The air was getting mistier, heavier. Rishi’s words got muffled. “I don’t know. I guess when I have the time, which isn’t very often these days.”

  Dimple pulled her hoodie up. “But . . . why? I mean, you obviously love it, and you’re good at it.” She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She lived and breathed coding; she couldn’t imagine giving it up for anything.

  He laughed a little, but there was something guarded about it, like there were things he was keeping hidden away in a mental lockbox. “It’s not the most practical pursuit. Art is a nice side hobby, for when you have the time. But it’s not something you pursue for itself.” A pause and then, “Stupid fog.”

  “Karl,” Dimple confirmed, distractedly. “Apparently San Franciscans name their weather patterns.” They rounded the corner, and Rishi began to slow down. “But anyway, I just don’t believe that,” Dimple said. “So what if your art’s not practical? If you love it, you should do it. What’s the point of anything otherwise?”

  She nearly ran into him when he stopped. Surprised, she looked up at the peeling green façade of an ancient-looking store tucked among many other abandoned seeming shops. WANDA’S WORLD TREASURES, the hand-painted sign out front said. “What is this place?”

  “This is where we’ll find Buddha,” Rishi said, grinning as he pulled open the door for her.

  CHAPTER 11

  The smell of sandalwood and cloves enveloped them like a soft, unfurling curtain. The wind chimes on the door sang gently, and Rishi found himself nervous. He wanted Dimple to like this place, he realized.

  To be honest, they could’ve found a statue of Buddha in virtually any store around campus. This was San Francisco, after all. But he’d specifically dragged her over here to see this, to delight in it. Rishi want
ed to give her a reason to smile. But he wasn’t sure if this was Dimple’s thing at all. What if she found all of this old, used stuff totally gross?

  Rishi gestured around at the dimly lit, cluttered interior. Everywhere they looked, piles of things teetered—books with leather and gold covers, gold and silver trays, bead necklaces hanging out of chipped teacups, old, creaking furniture of all kinds. Overhead, strings of globe lights were looped around tall mirrors, bedposts, and the odd nonfunctional chandelier. “I stumbled on this place yesterday, after we’d had lunch. I don’t know, I guess I thought it was kind of cool—”

  “I love it,” Dimple breathed, the lenses of her glasses reflecting the lights as she swiveled her head to look at every corner. She walked to a painted horse head and stroked its opalescent mane. “Amazing.”

  “Welcome,” a middle-aged lady with short hair said from behind a teal desk in the corner. “I’m Wanda. These are all things I’ve found on my travels around the world. Some are from flea markets; others were gifts. Take a look around and let me know if you have any questions!”

  “Will do!” Dimple called. Then she looped a gaudy set of necklaces laden with gold discs the size of her palm around her neck and put a hand on her hip. “What do you think? Definitely me, right?”

  Rishi held up a finger. He grabbed a silver rhinestone-studded headband with a peacock feather sticking out of it and set it on Dimple’s head. “There you go. Now that’s simply fetching.”

  She pretended to strut around, and, on impulse, he raised the Polaroid and took a picture.

  “Hey!” she said when the flash popped. “What was that for?” She reached out and punched him in the ribs, seemingly as an afterthought.

  “Ow!” Rishi said, rubbing his side. “What the heck?”

  “Sorry,” Dimple mumbled, and it sounded only half true. “But seriously, why’d you take my picture?”

  “I think we may have just crossed funny off the list,” he said, referring to item number one on their scavenger hunt list. He flapped the photograph a few times, and then held it out for her to see. She looked like a turkey wearing jewelry.

  At first Rishi thought Dimple might rip up the photograph. A look of abject horror passed over her face. But then her eyes crinkled and she snorted. “Okay. Point taken.” Pulling the necklaces and headband off, she looked around the store, hands on hips. “So where’s Buddha?”

  “Aha. This way.” Rishi beckoned, winding his way around a few room dividers and coffee tables. When they emerged into the far corner of the store, he gestured with a flourish. “Ta-daaaa!”

  He watched her face closely as she took in the nearly eight-foot-tall, gold-plated statue in the corner. Dimple’s eyes widened, and then she turned to him, grinning. Oof. It was like getting punched in the diaphragm when she turned the wattage to full on that thing. Rishi tried to smile normally in response. “Isn’t it cool?”

  In response Dimple laughed and ran over to it. “Cool? This is fan-freaking-tastic! My mom would flip out. She loves Buddha statues, especially laughing Buddhas. She has, like, this whole collection in the puja room at our house.” She ran one hand over the statue’s arm. “It’s really beautiful, in a way, right?”

  Rishi raised an eyebrow and pulled the camera up to take a picture. “If by ‘beautiful’ you mean ‘tacky’ . . .”

  Dimple chuckled. “It’s my turn to take a picture.” She reached out and grabbed the camera he was holding in his hands, apparently forgetting that the strap was around his neck. When she yanked on it, she pulled him closer, his head automatically inclining toward hers.

  Rishi froze, his eyes gazing down right into hers. They weren’t more than three inches apart. Strange things were happening in the pit of his stomach. Fun things.

  • • •

  His eyes reminded her of old apothecary bottles, deep brown, when the sunlight hit them and turned them almost amber. Dimple loved vintage things. She followed a bunch of vintage photography accounts on Instagram, and old apothecary bottles were a favorite subject. So it was a kind of magic, being here in this antiques store with a boy whose eyes were just the right shade of honey.

  For about two seconds.

  Dimple pulled away, coughing, and let go of the camera so it bounced back down against his firm chest. “Er, sorry. I thought, um, that—I didn’t know the strap was still around your neck.” She was having a hard time meeting his eye. And was that a tiny coating of sweat on her upper lip? Yuck. Dimple pretended to be pulling at an errant curl and swiped a hand across it.

  Rishi must not be feeling the tumult of weirdness that she was. His voice was perfectly calm as he replied. “No problem. Here.” He pulled the strap gracefully from around his neck and held out the camera to her. There was a flicker of something in his eye when he looked at her, but it was gone so quickly, Dimple wondered if she’d imagined it. “It is your turn, you’re right.”

  The laughing jokiness of the past few minutes was completely gone as Dimple pointed the camera at the statue and took a picture. “Thanks.” She handed the camera back to Rishi as she flapped the picture, and, wordlessly, he looped the camera back around his neck. “So,” she said, slipping the photograph into the envelope that the list had come with. “Where to next? We’ve done Buddha and funny. That leaves water, yellow, and blur.”

  • • •

  Water was easy. They were both thirsty, so they decided to be totally unimaginative and head to the café across the street for bottles of water. But they’d drunk them in the courtyard outside at a fog-wrapped wrought-iron table, the camera on the tabletop between them. That’s when Rishi had decided to begin stealth-spraying her with drops of water.

  Dimple had totally thought it was the fog, somehow melting onto her. Tipping her head back, she’d looked up at the swirling mist. “Weird. I could’ve sworn I felt water drops. Does this fog just randomly turn to rain?”

  “Huh. I don’t think that’s possible.” Rishi’s face had been totally impassive, his hand circled casually around the water bottle. “But maybe a bird drooled on you.”

  Dimple laughed. “A bird drooled on me? What are you smoking?” But when she took another sip of her water, she felt more drops. And when she looked up, she saw a flock of birds flying by.

  “Told ya,” Rishi said, still totally serious. “It’s a thing not many people know about. But birds are one of my hobbies. Some species, like Avius borealis above, drool to release scent. It helps the other birds follow them better through foggy areas.”

  “The only scent around here is BS.” But Dimple’s voice lacked conviction, even to her own ears. Everything he was saying sounded totally stupid, but he was so serious. . . .

  Rishi lifted an earnest hand. “Swear to God.” But there was a glint in his eye that gave him away.

  “Interesting.” Dimple bit her lip to keep from smiling and then very deliberately looked down to pull out the scavenger hunt list. And when she felt the next drops of water begin to splash against her skin, she grabbed the camera and took a picture of Rishi.

  She caught him red-handed, laughing surreptitiously as he flicked water at her. The picture was really cool, the drops of water catching the sun and twinkling like little diamonds. They were headed right at her, frozen in space, with a blurry Rishi grinning right behind.

  Dimple held out the evidence, one eyebrow raised. “So. Bird drool, huh?”

  They stared at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.

  “I had you going for a minute, admit it,” Rishi said, once he’d caught his breath.

  Dimple stuck her tongue out at him. “Never.” She wouldn’t admit it to him, of course, but Rishi Patel was sort of a fun guy. She might even miss him when he left tomorrow.

  • • •

  Yellow and blur turned out to be the easiest when Rishi snapped a picture of a yellow cable car going by while they walked. “Boom. We’re all finished. And we still have”—he consulted his watch, a Gucci; she remembered reading once that when they
were that expensive, they were timepieces, not watches—“seventeen minutes to go.” He handed her the picture, and she slid it into their envelope as they began to walk back toward the Spurlock building, now about three quarters of a mile away.

  “Awesome.” Dimple glanced sidelong at him. The oblique late afternoon rays turned the ends of his hair a chocolate brown. “So what do your parents do?”

  “My parents?” Clearly confused at the question, he said, “My dad’s a corporate executive, and my mom’s a housewife. Why?”

  Dimple wondered if the Patels’ wealth had been a reason her parents had chosen Rishi for her, and then was immediately ashamed. Mamma and Papa were many things, but they weren’t mercenary. “Just curious. Do you think our parents will remain friends, even after you leave tomorrow?” Dimple kept her tone light, but the question felt like jagged rock in her mouth. She tried to imagine goofing off with another partner like she had today with Rishi and supposed it was possible. She could possibly be matched up with someone whose sense of humor she’d also instantly get, whom she found just as easy to be around. It was definitely in the realm of possibility. And yet.

  “Oh, I think so,” Rishi said. “I get the feeling that when you’re bound by decades, a couple of foolish kids aren’t enough to dissolve that.”

  She heard the smile in what he was saying, but there was a hint of regret, too, tinting all his words blue. Was she being foolish? Rishi had already agreed that they weren’t going to be an item. Papa had already said he didn’t expect anything of her except that she win Insomnia Con. So why did she want Rishi to go away? What would that accomplish, really? Who said that if she got reassigned to a partner, they’d be anyone better or more invested in her idea than he was?

  “So what are—”

  “I think you should stay.”

  They’d both spoken at once, and Dimple turned to face Rishi. He frowned a bit, a wary hope shining in his eyes. “What?”