When Dimple Met Rishi(35)
“What the heck happened at dinner?” Celia said, and it was more a wail than an angry accusation. “I thought you guys would hit it off!”
Dimple sighed and climbed under the covers, turning on her left so she could face Celia. “That’s what I hoped too. But I think your friends and I are just too different.” She shrugged, like, c’est la vie. Celia didn’t have to know how much Dimple had been hoping for some kind of olive branch, even though Dimple wasn’t the one who’d done anything wrong.
“And Rishi was kind of rude,” Celia went on, fiddling with her phone. “What was his deal?”
Dimple thought of how Rishi had stuck up for her, over and over again. How he hadn’t been the least bit cowed by the rude remarks or digs of the night. She felt anger flash through her; she always did find it easier to stick up for people other than herself. “Sorry, Celia, but you missed about forty minutes of conversation while you and your grandma were bonding. Your friends deserved everything they got, and more. I mean, I know you think they’re cool and they get you and whatever, but let’s not try to force something that’s never going to happen.”
Celia raised her eyebrows, like, wowza. “Fine.” She picked up her phone, and there was a prickly silence in the room.
Dimple pulled the covers around her shoulders. “But I still want to be your friend. I think we should still stick together and be each other’s moral support. But maybe it’s okay if we’re not friends with each other’s friends.”
Celia continued to surf for a moment. Then she set her phone down again and looked over at Dimple. There was a smile in her eyes. “I like that idea.”
The weekend came at a breathtaking pace. Dimple and Rishi had spent every day in between fine-tuning Dimple’s initial wireframe prototype, making sure they were ready to begin working on the backend of things.
Rishi loved the way she seemed lit from the inside when she talked about her plan for the app, how much she wanted her Papa’s approval. Whether she liked to admit it or not, her parents were important to her, and Rishi respected that.
He combed his hair in the mirror, pulling his fingers through the floppy part Ashley Sternberger in eighth grade had once called “adorable.” She’d batted her baby blues at him while she said it too, so Rishi knew it wasn’t the kind of adorable you think your baby brother is.
His gaze fell on the Little Comic Con flyer on the dresser, and he felt a strange warmth come to his cheeks when he remembered Dimple asking if she could come with him. She’d asked about his comics so many times now, and each time he’d deflected. The truth was, he’d love to show her.
He’d seen the fire in her eyes when she talked about developing that app; he knew she’d understand exactly what Pappa and Ma didn’t. She’d get how it made him feel, how the characters became an extension of himself, how he could lose himself for hours as he sat there, hunched over a sheet sketching in panels, watching the characters slowly begin to blink and breathe and laugh and live.
Rishi walked to his bag, and digging behind the paperbacks he’d brought with him, he reached to the thing he’d packed at the last minute, without really letting himself think about it—his sketch pad. He felt that sense of love and attachment and warm familiarity envelop him as he pulled it out.
The cardboard cover was falling apart, and the pages were bent and soft from age, especially the ones in the front. It was like a flip book of his talent—at the front were the sketches he’d done about three years ago, still a bit blocky and dull from their creator’s lack of experience. As the months progressed, they’d morphed into something warm and alive, liquid and vibrant. He’d gotten pretty good at keeping his characters consistent, at developing their unique characteristics and his own style. He smiled at the iterations of Aditya as the months went on. Silly and inconsequential as all of this was, drawing had always been a tempering balm. Art was a way to quiet his brain and lose himself in a place where he didn’t even really exist.
Rishi slipped the sketch pad back into his bag and then slung the bag over his shoulder. Maybe going to Little Comic Con later tonight wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. He could figure out what people who went into this looking for careers as comic book artists actually did. His bet was that most of them ended up teaching in programs like this or working in advertising, neither of which appealed to him on any level.
He wasn’t going to lie, though, he thought, as he grabbed his dorm key and let the door shut behind him—the idea of Dimple Shah accompanying him to the Con made it all that much more alluring. He had one more stop to make, and then he’d pick her up at her dorm room.
The thought of seeing her again made his stomach flip in a very impractical way.
“What are you wearing?” Celia said from in front of the dresser/vanity where she’d just finished slathering foundation all over her face and neck with a sponge.
Dimple looked up from her computer and shrugged. “Jeans?”
Celia groaned and clutched at her hair before meticulously smoothing it back down. Popping on a black headband with a big glittery bow on it, she said, “This is Little Comic Con. I’m guessing people dress up in costumes? Go all out?” It was Friday night, and apparently the Aberzombies had invited her to some party.
Dimple chewed on her lip. She hadn’t even really thought of that. “You think so?”