When Dimple Met Rishi(78)

“I won’t be,” Celia said, her voice muffled as she pulled some article of clothing over her head. “I’m a big girl; I can handle it.” She shut the closet door and leaned against it, dressed in skinny jeans and a dolman sleeved indigo blue top that showed her belly button. “Which brings me to another thing—I decided I’m going to do the dance thing. With Isabelle and the rest of them.”

She looked at Dimple from under her eyelashes, like she was waiting for an outburst. Which Dimple was determined not to give her. “Right,” she said carefully. “With the . . . with the dancing in bikinis and stuff?”

Celia rolled her eyes and walked to the dresser, where she opened up various pots of makeup and began putting them on. “Yeah. It’s really not a big deal, okay?”

Dimple chewed the inside of her lip, wondering if she should just let it go. Probably. But that had never stopped her before. “It seemed like a big deal when he first told you about it that day in class. Remember? You left the lecture hall crying.”

“Yeah, but I was just overreacting. Look, you have a conflict of interest in this thing.”

Dimple stared at the back of her head, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Celia looked at her in the mirror as she pressed on her eyelashes using what must be a curler, but looked more like a medieval torture device. “You obviously want me to get together with Ashish.”

“I don’t! I mean, that’s not why I . . . I admit I think Ashish and you make a better couple than you and Evan.” She tried to say his name without gagging and mostly succeeded. “But that’s not why I’m saying this. You genuinely seemed upset—which you had every right to be. This isn’t you, Celia. I know you want to fit in with the cool kids like you couldn’t in high school and everything—”

Celia turned to her, her face remote and blank. “You’ve known me a month, Dimple.”

Dimple felt something cold close around her heart. She stood up slowly. “No, you’re right. I know if I was going to make a mistake, I’d want my friend looking out for me, but maybe that’s just me. And anyway, it’s not like you can be friends with someone you’ve lived with for less than a month, so okay. I get your point.”

Celia’s face flashed hurt for a second, but she just turned back to her makeup in silence. Dimple walked out without saying bye.




At dinner Rishi glanced at Ashish, who made a who knows? face and went back to eating his chicken and dumplings. (Their entire family was supposed to be vegetarian for religious reasons, but Ashish—of course—ate meat whenever their parents weren’t around.) Rishi tried to catch Dimple’s eye, but she kept shoveling in French fry after French fry like she was punishing them with her teeth. For a small second his gaze focused on her mouth, and he remembered . . . things. But then, cheeks flushing, he pushed the thought away. Now was definitely not the time, Patel.

“Everything okay?” he ventured, waiting for an outburst.

Dimple had been waiting for them in the lobby, and when he’d reached for her, she’d patted his back perfunctorily, with way more force than necessary, and then proceeded to fume the entire way to the dining hall.

“Yeah,” she said, gnashing her teeth as she chewed on a fry. “Fine. Just great. Fabulous.” She sipped from her glass of Coke and glared at the ice cubes when they rattled. Then, looking at Ashish, she said, “You need to forget about Celia. It’s never going to happen.”

Rishi watched his little brother’s face fall and then settle into its usual nonchalant mask, and he felt a tug of sympathy. He turned to Dimple. “Why? What happened?”

She stabbed a fry into the little plastic ketchup pot on her plate. “She’s an idiot.” Dimple looked back up at Ashish, and her eyes softened. “Sorry, man, but she’s just too into Evan for anything to happen between you guys. For no reason I can fathom. I mean, you’re clearly the better choice, but try telling her that.” She set her fry down and sat back in her chair, sighing. “Love just makes idiots of people.”

Rishi grinned. “Yeah, but that’s not always a bad thing.”

Dimple smiled reluctantly, and his heart soared on gilded wings. He had the power to do that. To make her smile even when she was upset. She felt the same about him as he felt about her. The thought still made him giddy. Then, remembering his little brother’s pain, Rishi put a hand on Ashish’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

Ashish shrugged and took a sip of water. Then he pushed his chair back. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you back at your room later.”

As they watched him walk away, Dimple said softly, “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Rishi said, watching his brother’s retreating form. “He’ll be fine. Ashish always lands on his feet.”





CHAPTER 48




Saturday night came hurtling with the speed of a thousand maglev trains. Dimple did not feel remotely ready.

It was dark backstage, darker than she’d anticipated. Dimple hadn’t been in a backstage area since elementary school. It was too big, too serious, too heavy. Everyone was speaking in hushed voices, racing back and forth from the dressing room, even though the audience hadn’t even begun to gather yet. Max flitted around, talking to people encouragingly, one hand on the shoulders of those especially nervous.