When Dimple Met Rishi(87)

It was quieter in the hallway. Dimple sank onto a bench a dozen feet away, by the water fountain. “It’s over,” she made herself say. She forced herself to really hear the words. “You tried, but you didn’t win. It’s over.” But some small part of her insisted on asking why she hadn’t won. Why did she find herself here now, after all the passion, all the hard work, she’d put in? Was it Rishi? Had he somehow diffused her energy, the energy that was meant to go into this project? Had she had so much passion, so much energy, for him that she’d sidelined the main thing in her life, the one thing she wanted more than anything else? Had she done exactly what she’d been afraid she was going to do and let herself get distracted by a boy? Her chest was tight with remorse; her mouth was full of a chalky, bitter regret. Domestic, she heard Celia say. Domestic.

Dimple heard the lecture hall doors open and footsteps come toward her. She felt Rishi before she saw him. He sat next to her. “That’s total crap,” he said, his voice low but furious. “They only won because of who Hari’s parents are.”

“You don’t know that,” Dimple said, staring straight ahead. She would not cry. She would not cry. She tried to put a lid on her simmering resentment. Sure, it was easy for Rishi to blame Hari. But what about him? What about the fact that, right at the beginning, she’d told him that she didn’t want him there? Why didn’t he even question what part he might’ve played in it, what part their relationship might’ve played?

“Drunk Zombies? I mean, come on.” He pushed an agitated hand through his hair.

Dimple bit her lip and forced herself to say the next part. “Their app’s going in front of Jenny Lindt. Maybe she’ll love it.”

“Unless Jenny Lindt is secretly a frat boy, I seriously doubt it. They’re going to flop. This thing isn’t going to go any further.” Rishi turned to look at Dimple, his hand at her elbow. “Hey, look at me.”

She did.

“This doesn’t take away from how amazing your idea is. We have to continue to try to get it out there. Okay? We aren’t going to stop here.”

Dimple wanted to believe him. She wanted to accept what he was offering her—hope. But she knew she couldn’t. She blinked and looked away. “Yeah, maybe. I think . . .” Dimple stood. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Okay.” Rishi stood and began to walk to the exit. “Let’s binge-watch something on Netflix. And we’re totally skipping that stupid Last Hoorah party tomorrow too, by the way.” He stopped and looked back at her when he realized she wasn’t walking with him.

“I just . . . I want to be by myself,” Dimple said, not quite able to look him in the eye. “Please.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed just for the briefest moment across his face but was replaced by understanding and concern. “Sure. Text me later?”

She nodded and walked quickly to the door, her eyes filling fast.

Nothing was going right. The world was falling to pieces.





CHAPTER 53




Dimple sat in her room, staring at the wall. It was too much effort to even look outside. Twenty-four hours after she’d heard the news—she’d lost to the Aberzombies—everything was still a mess.

What the heck had she been thinking, wasting Mamma and Papa’s money, coming out here on basically a whim and a wish to meet Jenny Lindt? She felt utterly stupid, like a dumb kid who thinks she actually has a chance at turning her home into a gingerbread house (something Dimple actually used to aspire to do when she was little; she’d thought it was simply a matter of growing up and gaining the skills).

She gripped her cell phone in her hand; Mamma and Papa had already called three times just today to find out the results. In the third voice mail, Papa had simply said, “It’s okay, beti. Just phone us.” So obviously they’d guessed. The understanding and kindness in Papa’s voice was too much. Dimple didn’t know if she could talk to him stoically, without bursting into tears. The worst part was that she was letting Papa down. He would’ve really benefited from this.

Her phone rang again. Home, the display said, which meant it was Papa and Mamma’s landline.

Dimple took a hitching breath and answered. “Hello?” Ugh. Her voice sounded all watery even to her own ears.

“Dimple?” It was Papa, sounding concerned and fatherly and soft and all the things that made her want to cry even more. Her throat hurt with the effort of holding it in. “Kaisi ho, beti?”

“My idea didn’t win,” she sort of whispered, just wanting to get it out of the way. A tear dribbled down her cheek and she brushed it away with a fist.

“Oh, beta . . . these things happen, hmm?”

She shook her head, more tears falling, her face screwed up with the effort of trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said finally, her voice breaking.

“Sorry? Kis liye? For what?”

“I let you down. I asked Mamma and you for the money, and then I totally just blew it. I don’t even know what I did wrong, so I can’t fix it. They didn’t give us any feedback, and this was all such a bad idea, all of it. . . .” Dimple dissolved into sobs, her glasses fogging over, snot leaking from her nose.

“Dimple,” Papa said, his voice quiet and firm. “This was not a bad idea. It was a great idea. You went there and you did what you are passionate about. Don’t be sorry. Be proud, like I am.”