They walked along in relative silence, their classmates melting off onto various paths and striding over grass to go to the places where their pictures beckoned. It was cool enough, in spite of the sun, that Dimple had to pull her hoodie tighter around her.
She glanced sideways at Rishi through her curls, feeling like a jerk. She’d really unleashed a bunch of crap on him, and he’d been so . . . adult about it. So empathetic. Dimple really wished she could do this ice breaker thing with someone else, someone she’d be working with for the rest of this project, but asking him to leave right away would just be cruel. It was like saying she couldn’t stand to be around him for the length of a stupid project. And given how decent he’d been, there was no need for that. So she’d deal. It wasn’t like he was bad company, from the little she’d seen of him, anyway.
“Okay.” Dimple glanced down at the list as they meandered toward a patch of green field where a few students were tossing around a football. “Our list is: Funny, water, yellow, blur, and Buddha.” She looked up. “Where do you want to start?”
Rishi grinned. “Definitely with Buddha. Come on, check this out.” He quickened his pace, the Polaroid camera bouncing against his chest, and Dimple hurried to keep up.
“Want to tell me where we’re going?”
“Oh, you’ll see, my friend,” he said happily.
Dimple shook her head. “All right,” she said slowly. “Hey. What’s that on your T-shirt?” His jacket was unbuttoned, and the graphic on his T-shirt was only just visible. It looked like a comic drawing of a young Indian boy in an embroidered kurta, holding something—a sword?—above his head.
Rishi colored a little, but she couldn’t tell if that was from the pace they were keeping or her question. “Just a comic book character.”
Dimple rolled her eyes. “You’re pretty cryptic today, aren’t you? Obviously, I know it’s a comic book character. I meant, which one?”
Rishi glanced at her sideways. “You know comics?”
“Eh, just the major ones. Wonder Woman is sort of my girl crush.”
He smiled. “Yeah, she’s cool.” Glancing down at his shirt, he opened his jacket a bit more. Dimple could see now that the boy held a golden gada, or mace, in one hand, not a sword. “This is Aditya,” Rishi said, a smile cupping his words. “He’s a young Indian superhero who draws his power from the sun. I based him vaguely on Hanuman—hence the gada. I was a huge Hanuman fanboy growing up; my mom used to make me watch those Ramayana series with her on the Hindi channel when I was little. Aditya’s one of my earliest creations from about three years ago. I was so proud of him, I had him put on a T-shirt.” He snorted.
“Wait, wait, wait, you drew him? Like, from scratch?” Dimple ogled the drawing, the rich detail of the boy’s brocade kurta and pants, the intricate metal work on the gada. “That’s amazing. And you were what, fifteen?”
Rishi nodded. He barely met her eyes when he spoke, but there was a blooming happiness in his voice that belied how pleased he was at her compliments. “Yeah, making my own comics was the big thing back then. I had a little studio space set up in my room and everything.”
“What do you mean, ‘back then’? You don’t do it anymore?”
He shrugged as they came to a light and then began to cross the street. The air was getting mistier, heavier. Rishi’s words got muffled. “I don’t know. I guess when I have the time, which isn’t very often these days.”
Dimple pulled her hoodie up. “But . . . why? I mean, you obviously love it, and you’re good at it.” She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She lived and breathed coding; she couldn’t imagine giving it up for anything.
He laughed a little, but there was something guarded about it, like there were things he was keeping hidden away in a mental lockbox. “It’s not the most practical pursuit. Art is a nice side hobby, for when you have the time. But it’s not something you pursue for itself.” A pause and then, “Stupid fog.”
“Karl,” Dimple confirmed, distractedly. “Apparently San Franciscans name their weather patterns.” They rounded the corner, and Rishi began to slow down. “But anyway, I just don’t believe that,” Dimple said. “So what if your art’s not practical? If you love it, you should do it. What’s the point of anything otherwise?”
She nearly ran into him when he stopped. Surprised, she looked up at the peeling green fa?ade of an ancient-looking store tucked among many other abandoned seeming shops. WANDA’S WORLD TREASURES, the hand-painted sign out front said. “What is this place?”
“This is where we’ll find Buddha,” Rishi said, grinning as he pulled open the door for her.
CHAPTER 11
The smell of sandalwood and cloves enveloped them like a soft, unfurling curtain. The wind chimes on the door sang gently, and Rishi found himself nervous. He wanted Dimple to like this place, he realized.
To be honest, they could’ve found a statue of Buddha in virtually any store around campus. This was San Francisco, after all. But he’d specifically dragged her over here to see this, to delight in it. Rishi wanted to give her a reason to smile. But he wasn’t sure if this was Dimple’s thing at all. What if she found all of this old, used stuff totally gross?
Rishi gestured around at the dimly lit, cluttered interior. Everywhere they looked, piles of things teetered—books with leather and gold covers, gold and silver trays, bead necklaces hanging out of chipped teacups, old, creaking furniture of all kinds. Overhead, strings of globe lights were looped around tall mirrors, bedposts, and the odd nonfunctional chandelier. “I stumbled on this place yesterday, after we’d had lunch. I don’t know, I guess I thought it was kind of cool—”
“I love it,” Dimple breathed, the lenses of her glasses reflecting the lights as she swiveled her head to look at every corner. She walked to a painted horse head and stroked its opalescent mane. “Amazing.”
“Welcome,” a middle-aged lady with short hair said from behind a teal desk in the corner. “I’m Wanda. These are all things I’ve found on my travels around the world. Some are from flea markets; others were gifts. Take a look around and let me know if you have any questions!”
“Will do!” Dimple called. Then she looped a gaudy set of necklaces laden with gold discs the size of her palm around her neck and put a hand on her hip. “What do you think? Definitely me, right?”
Rishi held up a finger. He grabbed a silver rhinestone-studded headband with a peacock feather sticking out of it and set it on Dimple’s head. “There you go. Now that’s simply fetching.”
She pretended to strut around, and, on impulse, he raised the Polaroid and took a picture.
“Hey!” she said when the flash popped. “What was that for?” She reached out and punched him in the ribs, seemingly as an afterthought.
“Ow!” Rishi said, rubbing his side. “What the heck?”