When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 10

Rishi looked up—and blinked. Was this some weird conjuring of his imagination? But no, up ahead was a giant banner on which someone had drawn the manga characters Madoka and Sayaka from the anime Madoka Magica as students with SFSU T-shirts and satchels. SFSU ART DEPARTMENT , it said underneath. At a table in front of the banner, students with hipster glasses and uncombed hair hung out, talking about whether Ferd Johnson was really the genius behind the 1920s comic strip Moon Mullins . Rishi blinked again. As if by some weird art law of attraction, he found his legs carrying him forward.
The male student, reedy and tall with a healthy smattering of acne across both cheeks, looked up and smiled. “Hey, man. Interested in a degree in art or graphic design?”
No, Rishi thought. Absolutely not. “Maybe,” he found himself saying instead. “I’m into comic book art.”
“Cool, me too.” The reedy guy grinned in a now we can be pals way. “Hey, you should come to Little Comic Con. SFSU art students put it on, and it’s open to the public. Some of our professors will be there too, and we’re going to have a few big names.” He thrust a flyer at Rishi. “My name’s Kevin Keo. Just look for me at the manga booth.”
Rishi raised his eyebrows. “Cool.” He looked down at the flyer. Little Comic Con was a week away. “I’ll try to be there.”
“Great. I think you’d really enjoy it. That’s what convinced me to apply to SFSU ’s art program.” Kevin smiled.
“Thanks.” He glanced at his watch. “Crap. I gotta go.” Rishi hurried toward the Spurlock building. Argh. He was going to be late.
Dimple was having a crisis. The good kind, if such a thing even existed.
All around her, people sat, waiting expectantly for the man at the front of the lecture hall to begin talking. Some of them looked cocky—like that group over there, with the two boys who looked like they’d stepped out of a hipster clothing catalog, and the blond girl who wore a perpetual sneer as if she were too good for all of this. One of the guys, the Indian one, caught her eye and made a creepy-gross gesture with his tongue, then burst out laughing when she looked away, heart thumping. Others, like the group of boys in the very back, all about her height or shorter and some with their baby fat still intact, looked terrified.
Dimple glanced over at Celia and wondered how she and Celia appeared to others. She felt electrified, ready. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said for the sixth time since they’d sat down. The instructor at the front, with a full beard and dressed in a colorful vest, was fiddling around with the mic on his podium. There must be about fifty people in here, easy.
“Yes.” Celia smiled, a little indulgently, Dimple thought. She definitely wasn’t as fired up about all of this as Dimple was.
Dimple had the feeling almost everything came easily to Celia. Her parents were extremely rich, so they’d paid for this without a second thought. It was just another way, like the sailing class Celia had taken already, to fill up the time until college began. “And I spy hot-teeez,” Celia added in a singsong, looking right at the group of hipster, model-beautiful people, ogling all of them, boys and girl. This time they didn’t notice Dimple looking.
“Welcome to Insomnia Con!” the bearded man boomed from the front of the class, beaming congenially around at all of them. The hall went instantly silent. “My name is Max Framer, and I’m your instructor for Insomnia Con. Please call me Max, not Mr. Framer. It helps us old folks feel young.” A few people laughed. “I’m delighted to see another year of shiny new faces, and I’m so psyched to see what you guys come up with this year. Now, before we go on to what I know all of you really want to know”—he paused, grinning—“i.e., Insomnia Con’s grand prize, I want to go over some basic info and ground rules first. That’ll ensure you guys actually listen to the words coming out of my mouth.”
There were groans and titters all around. Dimple was sure she’d go nuts if he didn’t spill the beans soon.
“So, first, welcome to San Francisco to those who aren’t from our wonderful city. A couple of things of note: This may be summer, but the temperature can drop to the sixties or lower at night. You’ll also become well acquainted with Karl.” A few people like Celia chuckled, but Dimple just frowned, confused.
“What?” she whispered to Celia. “Who’s Karl?”
Celia whispered back, “Fog. It’s the fog that comes off the water.”
Dimple began to nod and then shook her head. “No, that’s still confusing. You guys named a natural weather phenomenon?”
Celia grinned. “Welcome to San Francisco.”
At the front of the room Max was still speaking. “So, next: I’m going to pair you guys up. I don’t want you to pair with people you’re rooming with, but if you indicated a preference on your application, I’ve taken that into account.” Dimple hadn’t met Celia until after she’d already put in an application (well before Papa and Mamma had actually said yes—she had to save her spot, just in case), so they hadn’t requested each other. She wondered whom she’d be paired with. Hopefully not that frosty blond girl who looked like she ate little kids for dessert, though Celia probably wouldn’t mind, judging from the way she was still darting glances over at that group.
“Secondly,” Max continued, “once you find out who your partner is, I want you to begin sitting together so you can start working on your concept right away. Some of you may already have a notion of what you want to do; others won’t. That’s okay. All we’ll focus on for the next two to three days is fleshing out your fledgling ideas. And then we’ll get into the fun part—actual development.”
There was a noticeable frisson through the room. Everyone was chomping at the bit to get started. Dimple was sure most, like her, knew exactly what they wanted to do.
“Okay,” Max said. “Now, for the part you’re all waiting for. The grand prize for this year’s Insomnia Con.” He paused, and the entire lecture hall held its breath. “Jenny Lindt will consider partnering with the winning team to make their app market ready and fund the advertising. Your app could go out into the world with the power of Meeting Space, Inc., behind it. Let that sink in.”
The latter part of Max’s words were swallowed by the pandemonium that erupted. Dimple turned to Celia, her eyes wide. She was in shock; she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Well, it’s settled then,” Celia said casually. “You’re just going to have to kick some major butt.”
Dimple shook her head. Her mouth was so dry her lips stuck to her teeth. Her head swam until she could barely see. Was this real? “I can’t even— Oh. My. God. They’ve—they’ve never done anything like this before.” This was everything. She had to win.
“All right.” Max raised his voice, and everyone calmed down a bit, though there was a new energy in the room, buzzing, thrilling, churning through each of them. “I’m going to begin calling out the partnerships. When I say both your names, come to the front row and have a seat.”
The door opened right into the silence. Dimple turned.
Of course. It was Rishi.
CHAPTER 9
It was clear he’d missed something vital. Everyone’s eyes were bright, their cheeks flushed. Fifty pairs of eyes took in his presence, but forty-nine pairs of them didn’t really seem to register him before they swiveled away.
He saw Dimple instantly. Hers were the only pair of eyes that were attempting to incinerate him. He thrust his chin out and stepped forward. He had just as much right to be here as she did.
“Oh, hey, hold on before you take a seat,” the dude with the exuberant red beard at the front of the class said. “I’m just about to call out partners, so you may as well take a seat with yours. What’s your name?”
“Rishi Patel.”
“P . . . Patel . . . ah, there you are. You’re with Dimple Shah.” The instructor looked up, into the sea of faces. “Dimple Shah?”
Rishi didn’t dare look at her. Crap. He’d totally forgotten he’d requested her on his application. It had seemed a good idea at the time, and he’d fully expected her to do it too. He’d thought it’d give them more time together, see how they worked in a partnership.