The waiter stopped, his mouth slightly open, brows knitting together. “Anonymously?”
“Yes.” Rishi tried to keep his tone patient. Had no one ever done this before? Well, now that he thought about it, maybe not. “I’d like to pay now, and for you or whoever our waiter is to not mention that it was me who paid. Maybe you guys could just say someone decided to pay our bill. You know, like those pay it forward things. Okay?”
The waiter adjusted his bow tie, still looking totally lost. “But, sir, how will we know how much it’s going to be in advance?”
“Well . . .” Rishi reached in his wallet and pulled out a wedge of bills. “This should cover seven full course meals, right? Plus tip? Just keep the change.”
The waiter took the money and discreetly slipped it into a bill holder he pulled from the pocket of his apron. “Of course, sir. I shall be taking care of your table myself.”
Rishi grinned at him, and after a moment, the waiter grinned back.
Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.
Dimple heard and smelled them before she saw them. The Aberzombies. Instead of death rattle moans, they were known for their piercing laughter (girls), forced guffawing (boys), and excessive expensive perfume (both). She craned her neck and scanned desperately for Rishi, but he wasn’t visible. He’d left to go to the restroom only a minute ago, so she was just going to have to handle this on her own.
Dimple turned as Evan, Hari, and Isabelle sauntered up, laughing and talking loudly, impervious to the glares of the older diners. Evan was a paler, taller version of Hari, but otherwise they were dressed almost identically, in understated plaid button-down shirts with a little Ralph Lauren emblem on the chest, khaki pants, and loafers. On each of their wrists gleamed a heavy gold watch. Unlike Rishi’s, these were made to proclaim, Look at me! Evan’s watch caught the light and seared Dimple’s retina. Blinking, she looked at Isabelle. In spite of the chill outside, she was dressed in a barely-there strapless blue dress that complimented her tanning bed complexion. A thin white belt snaked around her narrow waist, and a small diamond cross glinted in the hollow of her neck. Her blond hair had been teased into curls that hung past her shoulders.
They all sat down without so much as a glance at Dimple, still engrossed in their conversation about some dude named Corey on their lacrosse team back home. Dimple sipped her water, trying not to feel small and irrelevant. I don’t care about them, she kept reminding herself. I’m here for myself.
Finally, a good five minutes later when the conversation began to peter out, Isabelle turned her blue eyes on Dimple. “Hi,” she said, smiling a tight-lipped kind of smile. “It’s Dimple, right?” She said “Dimple” with a slightly distasteful grimace. As if Dimple’s name were Pus Filled Cyst or Male Pattern Baldness instead.
“Right,” Dimple said, forcing herself to smile. “And you’re . . . Isabella?” she couldn’t help adding.
“Isabelle,” the girl said, in the tired manner of someone who’d said it a thousand times before, which, of course, was exactly what Dimple had been counting on.
“Right. Sorry.” She forced herself to turn to the boys, who were silently studying their menus. “And you guys are Evan and Hari, right? Celia’s told me about you all.” She pronounced Hari the correct way, rolling the r and saying it sort of like Hurry.
Evan just nodded and went back to his menu, but Hari turned to her with an orthodontically enhanced smile that made her feel sticky all over. “It’s pronounced Harry, actually.”
Evan snorted.
No, actually, Dimple thought. Why should he get to act all high and mighty when he was wrong? “But it’s not,” she responded, before she could stop herself.
Hari’s gaze was all ice and venom as he said, “Forgive me if I don’t want to take advice on names from someone called Dimple.”
Dimple felt her shoulders hunch into themselves even as she tried not to let them. She shouldn’t give someone like Hari so much power, but she couldn’t help it. She felt utterly dumpy and completely put in her place, which, of course, was exactly what he’d been going for.
Evan guffawed showily and said, “Dude . . .” into a closed fist that he held in front of his mouth.
Isabelle glanced at Dimple out of the corner of her eye. A slight flush was working its way into her cheeks. “Chill,” she mumbled. “She’s just interested in a connection with someone from her own country.” Dimple tried not to roll her eyes at Isabelle’s well-intentioned defense. She needed a sandwich board that said, America is my country too.
Evan grinned. “Yeah, don’t worry about Hari.” Harry. “He’s not as well traveled as some of us.”
Isabelle snorted and played with her cross, clearly uncomfortable. “Sailing around in your daddy’s yacht doesn’t mean you’re well traveled.”
Evan leaned back in his chair. “Excuse me. I’ve been to Manila, Bombay, and Haiti on missions. And here’s my proof: As soon as you hit the airport, you can smell the third world countries. That’s something they don’t tell you in travel books. Ask anyone. Ask Dimple here. Isn’t it true?” he asked, his green eyes wide. “Can’t you just smell them as soon as you land?”
Dimple tried not to let her anger show. “Um, I haven’t been to India since I was a little kid, so I don’t remember.” They were just dumb rich kids who knew nothing about anything. She knew that. And yet, somehow, it was amazing how conversations like these made her feel so other. Hands shaking a bit, she picked up her glass and took a sip of chilled water.
Dimple began to wish she hadn’t accepted this dinner invitation.
CHAPTER 15
As soon as he rounded the corner back to the table, Rishi saw the Aberzombies had arrived. He picked up his pace, wanting to get back to Dimple. And when he saw her, cheeks red, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip, he knew they’d already said something. And he’d missed it. Crap.
He sat down and smiled at Dimple. “Sorry I took so long. There was a line.”
“No problem,” she muttered, her eyes on her menu.
Rishi began to study his. “What looks good to you?”
“Um, hi?” a female voice said. “I’m Isabelle?”
Rishi raised his eyes, making sure to wear the “bored mask” he’d perfected at private school. “Rishi.” He didn’t acknowledge the guys before he began to study the menu again.
“Rishi,” Isabelle said, pronouncing it Ree-shee, even though he’d just told her how to say it. “You guys have such interesting names.” The way she said “interesting” made it clear she meant “weird.”
Rishi looked up, feigning confusion. “?‘You guys’? You mean people at Insomnia Con? Because I haven’t noticed that.”