When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 19

Rishi glanced at her, and Dimple stiffened. There was something in his eyes . . . she could tell whatever he was going to come up with she wasn’t going to like. Before she could open her mouth to stop him, he was off, like some unstoppable rocket. “So, tell me, Hari, which part of India are your parents from?”
Hari looked up slowly to glare at Rishi, but Dimple saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He was uncomfortable. “My parents are from San Mateo.”
Rishi nodded, unperturbed. “Right . . . so what about your grandparents?”
Hari raised both glossy eyebrows that looked like they’d been waxed and powdered. “I can print out a family tree chart for you later, if you’d like.”
Evan began his mindless guffawing, but Rishi cut him off, speaking loudly and clearly. “Let me tell you something—I’ll never forget last summer, when I visited my family’s ancestral home in Gujarat.”
Everyone was staring at him. But if Rishi felt the heat of their gazes, he didn’t show it. “It was amazing,” he said, beaming at them all as if he were totally clueless that they’d find this anything but amazing. “All of those decades—over a century!—of history. When you stood on the courtyard in the rain, you felt like the gods were singing in the heavens.”
Celia looked confused, like she sensed a strange undercurrent but didn’t know what it was or how it had come to be. Hari snorted, but he didn’t say anything. He looked a little embarrassed now—all the Aberzombies did, actually, Dimple noticed—like they didn’t know what to do with someone who was so obviously at home with his uncoolness. Someone who had the audacity to feel like he was the cool one when he so obviously wasn’t.
Dimple cleared her throat. “That’s really awesome.” She forced herself to speak up, firmly and clearly. Smiling at Rishi, she said, “I bet that’s a more meaningful vacation than going to Bermuda and sleeping with a bartender whose name you can’t remember.” She darted a glance at Hari and almost laughed out loud at his expression. He looked like he was choking on a fish bone.
The waiter came by with their orders then, and everyone’s attention turned to food.
CHAPTER 16
“So, just based on first day impressions, who do you guys think is going to win Insomnia Con?” Celia asked between bites of her $42 mac and cheese. Dimple couldn’t help calculating the value of each bite. There goes $2. And another $2. She didn’t even properly chew up that $2.
“Like it’s even a question,” Hari said. “It’s either going to be Evan’s team or mine.”
Dimple tried not to roll her eyes at that. Didn’t a partnership mean it wasn’t just either of their teams? “I think José Alvarez and Tim Wheaton have a good chance,” she said, slurping up a bit of her tomato basil soup. For $25, it tasted like tomato paste diluted in water. “They had spreadsheets of what they were going to do on what days of the week and everything. José had already even written a script for some stuff he wanted the computer to do at night, while they slept.” She’d never admit it, but Dimple felt a pang of jealousy at that kind of dedicated foreplanning. Why hadn’t she thought of it?
“Yeah, they’ve probably been planning for this since freshman year of high school,” Rishi laughed. “My money’s on Marcus Whitman and Simon Terrence. After Dimple and me, of course.”
“They’re solid,” Dimple agreed. “But they lack that single-minded dedication that José and Tim have. They, like, breathe this stuff.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Celia said. “I even heard they paid off their roommates so they could move in together to work on this stuff twenty-four/seven.” Deals like those were pretty common within Insomnia Con, and the organizers usually just looked the other way, probably because it was too hard to control.
“I wouldn’t mind moving in with Dimple,” Rishi said, laughing, and everyone whipped their heads around to look at him. And her.
Dimple felt herself turn bright red. “What?” she bit out.
The tips of his ears flamed, and his face slackened as he realized what he’d just said. “I meant because we could really kick everyone’s butts. If we had more time like that. If we were living together.” Rishi sighed when he saw that she wasn’t convinced. “Never mind.”
Celia giggled. “That is so cute.”
“Yeah.” Evan smiled a strangely plastic smile. “So . . . cute.”
Before it could get more awkward, the waiter came forward. “Would anyone like dessert?”
Dimple groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t they just give them their checks? Now she’d have to pretend she was all filled up on tomato water while everyone else ordered $50 desserts and ate them around her.
Celia looked at her. “The Nutella crepes are supposed to be good. Split one with me?”
The Nutella crepes. Those were $28. Half of that was fourteen, which meant her bill would be just about $40, plus tip. Dang it. She only had a twenty, so she’d have to put the rest on the credit card. Would it be weird to pay half in cash and half on a card in a place like this? Yes. It would. She’d have to put it all on the card and find a way to explain it to Mamma and Papa later.
“Excuse me, sir,” Rishi asked the waiter, who turned to him, beaming. “Can you tell me how much the Nutella crepes are?” He raised his eyebrows. “I want to make sure I’m not exceeding my budget here.”
What? Why was he saying that? Mr. Gucci obviously didn’t have a budget. He was doing this for her benefit, wasn’t he?
The waiter nodded and smiled. “An understandable concern, sir. But not to worry. An anonymous donor has very generously paid for all of your meals already. To include desserts.”
Dimple looked up sharply. “What? Who was it?”
The waiter held up his perfectly manicured hands. “Now, that wouldn’t make it very anonymous, would it, miss? The donor asked not to be identified. But please order whatever you choose.”
“Well, that is really cool of this donor person,” Rishi said.
Dimple glanced at him suspiciously, but he was studying the dessert menu with a renewed interest. The others looked dumbfounded.
“We can afford to pay our own bill,” Hari said finally, sounding mortally offended.
“Indeed, sir,” the waiter said. “The donor was simply attempting to do something good, I think. One of those pay it forward things.”
Isabelle was pink as she said, “Yeah. Or, like, it was a guy and he wanted to pay my bill and didn’t know how to do that without paying for everyone’s.” She looked at the waiter. “Did he leave a number?”
The waiter frowned. “No, miss. The donor left nothing except money. Do you wish to order a dessert?”
Miffed, Isabelle blew out a breath. “Well.” After a pause, she said grudgingly, “Yes. I suppose I’ll have a caramel brownie.”
• • •
The rest of the dinner wasn’t very eventful. Everyone mainly talked about the upcoming week, how they were going to position themselves going into Insomnia Con proper, and how difficult it was going to be. Some people, they’d heard rumors, even brought caffeine pills to stay up through the night.
Celia shuddered. “I couldn’t do that. Give me a Red Bull any day of the week.” Then she paused and looked around. “Seriously. Any day of the week, I’m willing.”
Everyone laughed, even Dimple, who laughed with a hysterical edge to her voice because she was just so glad this thing was winding down. She wanted nothing more than to go back to the dorm, take a scalding hot shower, and wash her hair. There was something about washing out her hair that calmed her.
Dimple and Rishi finished their desserts at the same time, and Rishi immediately threw down his napkin and stood. “Well, I’m off.” Dimple tried not to laugh; he wasn’t even pretending like he wanted to suffer their company a moment longer than he absolutely had to. With a hand on the back of her chair, he said, “Are you coming, or would you like to stay a bit longer?”
Dimple tossed her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. “Oh no. I’m definitely done.” She smiled at Celia. “I’ll see you later.”