“Believe me, that sounds totally fine to me,” Rishi said. He felt the stirrings of irritation. Why did she have to be so . . . intense? What did it matter to her whether or not he wanted to marry web development and have its babies? “You know, I think I’m going to head back to my dorm,” he said, wiping his hands on his napkin. “I need to unpack and all that.”
“Aw, are you sure?” Celia said, and he got the feeling she genuinely liked his company.
“Yeah.” He smiled. “But I’ll see you both tomorrow in class.”
The silence was heavy while Rishi stood and left a hefty tip on the table so they wouldn’t have to. He knew they were just waiting for him to leave so they could talk about him. Sighing, he headed to the door and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine.
CHAPTER 7
The bell above the door clanged shut as Rishi disappeared onto the sidewalk. Dimple continued munching on her pizza, ignoring the tiny pit in her stomach, even though she could feel Celia’s gaze heavy on her face.
“A-hem.”
Dimpled rolled her eyes. “No one says ‘ahem.’ You’re supposed to just clear your throat.”
Celia waved an insouciant hand. Her many wooden bangles clattered together. “So pretend I just cleared my throat. Did you have to be so mean to him?”
“I wasn’t mean, just . . . honest. Wouldn’t it be crueler to make him think there was some hope that I’d come around and just embrace all of this?” She took a sip of water, feeling the pit in her stomach grow. Guilt, she thought. It was guilt. Celia had a point: Rishi was a perfectly nice guy, and Dimple had sentenced him to a thousand lashes of her sharp tongue. Speak first, think later, that was her default setting, no matter how she tried to control it. Dimple sat up straighter, quashing those thoughts. She’d sent Rishi Patel away—there was no reason to be all weak and second-guess her choices now.
Celia wound one of her long curls around her finger. “I guess.” Dimple wondered how she could stand having hair that fell to her waist. She’d have to be careful not to mention this to Mamma, or she’d probably phone Celia for tips on how to convince Dimple to grow her hair out too. And it wouldn’t matter that they’d never spoken to each other before in their lives.
“Okay, I’m done talking about boys.” Dimple leaned forward and smiled. “What do you think the prize is going to be for this year’s Insomnia Con?”
“Ooh.” Celia rubbed her hands together, eyes shining. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely something epic. There were rumblings that they really went all out this year. Everyone thinks it’s going to be a personalized letter with feedback from Jenny Lindt, but I’m guessing a cash prize of, like, ten grand.”
Dimple shook her head. “No, I bet it’s something way crazy cooler than that. They don’t generally do cash prizes with Insomnia Con; that’s usually what they do for the talent show about halfway in, remember? Maybe it’ll be, like, feedback and a signed copy of Jenny Lindt’s next memoir or something.”
Celia laughed. “Your Jenny Lindt obsession knows no bounds. You know what your big project’s going to be yet?”
“I have a pretty solid idea,” Dimple said, trying not to show how ridiculously excited she was about it. She’d thought of it last year. And honestly, she was going to code this app somehow whether or not she came to Insomnia Con, but the idea of doing it on such a large scale was even more thrilling. She’d checked—there was nothing on the market quite like it. She couldn’t share it with Celia; that was one of the rules of Insomnia Con. Only your partner could know what you were working on. “I haven’t fully fleshed it out, though. You?”
“I’m still thinking about it; nothing’s really jumped out at me. I wouldn’t mind working with you on your idea.” Celia grinned. “Do you think they’ll make us partners?”
“I’ve heard roommates don’t generally get made partners,” Dimple said, pushing her empty plate aside. “But fingers crossed.”
? ? ?
When her phone rang early the next morning, Dimple was dreaming that she was accepting an award onstage from Jenny Lindt. Jenny beamed at her as she said something that Dimple was sure were effervescent compliments, but every time Jenny opened her mouth, all Dimple could hear were beeps. “Sorry?” Dimple kept saying, in her dream. “Can you repeat that?”
Finally, Celia called out from across the room, “Dimple, it’s your phone! For the love of God, answer it before I lose my mind!”
“Sorry,” Dimple mumbled, reaching for her phone on her nightstand. She silenced it and looked at the screen. Anger shot through her, red-hot. Suddenly she was very much awake. Grabbing it, she strode out into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Mamma.”
“Dimple!” her mother said, sounding forcefully jolly. “Kaisi ho, beti? Did you unpack? How is the campus?”
“Oh no, no. You don’t get to wake me up and ask me about the campus. Let’s talk about the real issue here, shall we?”
“I woke you up? But why you’re not already awake? It’s the first day!”
Dimple squeezed the phone tighter. “Because the seminar doesn’t start at the butt crack of dawn! Besides which, that is not even the point. Can you please focus, Mamma? What the heck is up with Rishi Patel?”
“Up with him . . . ?” Mamma feigned ignorance to slang, which just infuriated Dimple more. Seriously, where did she get this stuff? “I don’t know what you mean, Dimple—”
“Mamma, please! Why did you and Papa do this? Why are you trying to set me up with some dude I’ve never heard of before in my life? You know that’s not why I’m here! You know how important this is to me!” Dimple felt tears rising, pressing hot and furious against her eyelids. For once, why couldn’t her parents just be on the same page as her?
“Dimple, beti, math ro.” Mamma sounded genuinely upset now. “Don’t cry. We just wanted you to meet him. He is a good boy, from a good family. You have a lot in common.”
Dimple swiped at her eyes, ignoring the looks of a couple of early risers probably headed out to coffee. They were all blurry to her anyway, without her glasses on. “Don’t you see? I. Don’t. Care. He could be crafted from unicorn dust and jelly beans, and I still wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. I’m not interested in a marriage partner, Mamma, now or ten years from now!”
There was a shuffling, like Mamma was holding the phone away from her. She heard her mumble in Hindi, “Vijay, you talk to her.” A pause, and then, “I don’t know. Something about unicorns. I don’t understand.”
Dimple rolled her eyes and sighed, waiting for Papa to come on.
“Dimple beti?”