Dimple nodded to encourage Celia to keep talking. Of course Isabelle was up for it. She’d probably even eat carbs for that amount of attention. Dimple ignored the pinprick of guilt she felt at the uncharitable thought; Isabelle wasn’t nearly as awful as the guys.
“I just don’t know if I want to be up there onstage on display for everyone to stare at.” Celia waved her hands in the air aggressively. “Am I being too sensitive? They all seem to think so.” She gestured to the lecture hall.
“No.” Dimple reached out and put a hand on Celia’s arm. “Not at all. It’s totally up to you how comfortable you are with this, you know? It’s not up to Evan or Hari or Isabelle. So what if she wants to do it? She’s not you, and you’re not her.” Celia gave her a look, and Dimple chuckled. “I know, I’m very wise. But seriously, don’t give in. It sucks that you’re in a partnership with Evan, or you could just quit. But will Max even let all four of you do this thing together? I mean, I thought partners were supposed to work just with each other.”
“Yeah, I think they worked it out with him. They didn’t tell him what song we’d be dancing to, but he seemed to think it was creative. Each partnership would be judged separately, anyway.”
“Well, could a partnership split up? Because then maybe you could dance with us, and Evan could be the one in a bikini.”
Celia snorted. “Thanks, but I don’t think they’ll let us do that. I should probably figure out a way to deal with this.” She held out her arms and Dimple stood to give her a hug. “Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy. I think I’ve been hanging out with those three for too long.”
“Probably,” Dimple said, pulling back. “Maybe you can come to dinner with Rishi and me tonight. We’re probably going to be eating at the dining hall.”
“Sounds good.” Celia smiled, seemingly cheered at this thought. “Thanks.”
They turned around and walked back into the lecture hall.
• • •
“So you have the gist, right?” Dimple asked after they’d watched the “Dil Na Diya” video for the fourth time. They were in Rishi’s room after class, getting ready for their first practice session. “It’s not too complicated? I mean, I know Hrithik’s, like, this world-class dancer. But you don’t have to be. Just get the moves down and it’ll be good. I’ve seen the other talent show winners on YouTube, and it’s not like they were all rock stars. We’re coders, you know? Not . . .” She trailed off at Rishi’s raised eyebrow.
“You’re nervous,” he said, but not accusingly. He was sort of smiling.
Dimple chewed the inside of her cheek. “I guess. Kind of.” But not for the reason he thought. She was nervous because in a moment, he’d see her dancing skills. The video had about two seconds of the girl dancing, but still. She’d never danced in front of anyone since the bhangra puke fiasco. Let alone in front of a boy she actually liked. Whom she’d kissed. Dimple felt herself begin to hyperventilate, so she busied herself with putting her hair up in a bun.
Rishi, oblivious to her internal storm of turmoil, had pushed his bed up against the far wall, so they had a clean rectangle of space to work in. He stood in the middle and nodded, satisfied. “Okay.”
Dimple hit the play button with a shaking finger, and the song flooded the room. Rishi paused, his eyes closed, apparently trying to let the beat move him or something.
Then he jerked, his hands and legs spasming as he tried to copy Hrithik Roshan. He kept going, occasionally glancing at the screen to make sure he had it down. He was grinning now, enjoying himself as he jumped up and landed with his feet wide, then shimmied across the room, nodding his head with a heck yeah expression on his face.
Dimple was sure she was in a dream. That could be the only explanation. She saw her hand float out in front of her and hit the space bar on his laptop, pausing the video.
Rishi stopped thrashing abruptly. “What’s wrong?”
Dimple gripped the edge of his desk. The corners of the room swam. Her voice came from a million galaxies away. “That’s . . . that’s how you dance?”
Rishi looked down at his body, as if to check something. “Yeah?” He looked back at her, confused.
Dimple clutched her head. “But you said—you said you were a good dancer!”
“I did not! I barely agreed that I was ‘decent’!”
Dimple glared at him, her temper flaring. She spoke slowly, enunciating the words. “That. Was not. Anywhere near decent.”
They stared at each other for a minute, Rishi’s deep honey eyes boring into hers. And then he burst out laughing. Geysers of “ha ha ha” burst out of him, and watching him guffaw like that, helpless, actually slapping his knee, Dimple began to laugh too, just slightly hysterically.
Finally, Rishi sank down on the floor, holding his stomach, alternating groans with laughter. Dimple sat beside him and wiped her eyes, her laughter subsiding to a few hiccups. “Okay, seriously, what are we going to do?”
Rishi looked at her from where he was sprawled on the floor, his arms and legs askew. “Well, do you still want to win the talent show?”
She nodded. “Obviously.”
“Then we keep practicing. We have six and a half days to get this down.” Rishi hopped up, lithe as a lion. Why couldn’t he use that grace in his dancing? He held out a hand to Dimple and pulled her up. Bending down so they were nose to nose, he said, “Show me what you got, Priyanka.”
• • •
Priyanka Chopra—Hrithik Roshan’s partner in “Dil Na Diya”—was equally as good as him. Thankfully, since her part was so minuscule in that song, Dimple didn’t have the intense pressure that Rishi had on him. They practiced the part where both Hrithik and Priyanka danced together. Dimple moved her arms around and hoped to God she didn’t look like she was convulsing. Like Rishi looked right then.
Panting, Rishi grabbed her arm so she’d stop. “Hey, what about at this part if you, like, hopped up in my arms?”
“What?” Dimple wiped her forehead and went over to pause the laptop. In the silence she said, “Rishi, I don’t think hopping into your arms is going to improve this routine. Let’s just stick with what the Bollywood choreographers, in all their wisdom and experience, deemed good enough for Hrithik and Priyanka.”
“No, wait, just hear me out. Here, rewind it a bit? Like, to the part where he points at her?” Dimple did what he asked in spite of her intense misgivings. “Okay, now hit play and come back here.”
She did.
“Now, when I point to you, instead of beginning your dance move, what about if you just jump up on me and I’ll catch you?”
“Are you serious? I’m not going to just jump—”
“I won’t let you fall, I promise. Oh, look, it’s coming up, come on!” Rishi held his arms open, and Dimple, giving in to peer pressure in spite of every instinct screaming at her not to, leaped into his arms.
Or rather, she tried to, but her jeans wouldn’t allow her the flexibility she needed. So, instead, she kneed Rishi in the ribs, hard.
He yelled out “Ow!” and instead of catching Dimple, used his arms to fend her off with a deftly executed karate chop. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Rishi scrambled to help her, apparently consumed by a vortex of regret. But Dimple, feeling spiteful, grabbed him around the neck on the way down to take him with her.
They lay in a silent, shocked heap on the floor, arms and legs so tangled Dimple had no idea whose limbs were whose.
She was in too much pain to say anything for a full ten seconds, so she just lay there staring at the ceiling as the merry tunes of “Dil Na Diya” blared into the room. And then Rishi began to laugh again. Dimple wasn’t sure she cared anymore for his penchant for finding humor in every situation.
He turned his head, groaning, and said, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Dimple managed, pushing his thigh off her stomach so she could breathe better. “Ouch.”
Rishi tried pulling his arm out from under her, but since she was still partiall
y pinned under him, she just rolled toward him. He was looking down at her, their noses almost touching, both her legs under his left one. “Hi,” he said, his eyes warm and liquid. “I’m sorry.”
She wanted to punch him in the ribs. She wanted to bite his nose. But looking into those eyes, Dimple realized she wanted something else even more. So she lifted her head and kissed him.
And that’s when a male voice said, loudly, “Well, well, WELL. What have we here?”
CHAPTER 39
They flew apart, struggling to sit up, Dimple’s head swimming. Oh my God. They hadn’t even heard the door opening, they’d been so deep into their kiss. Dimple blinked and then frowned. Wait. Rishi didn’t have a roommate. So who was this boy, with his curly black hair and seemingly never-ending, muscled legs, dressed in athletic shorts and dirty sneakers, standing there with that annoying smirk on his face?
“Ashish?”
What the heck? What was his idiot brother doing here, ruining this perfectly amazing moment? Rishi struggled to his feet and held out a hand to Dimple, but she hopped up herself, her eyes wild, looking from him to Ashish and back. Like they’d been caught smuggling diamonds instead of just kissing. It would be comical if Rishi weren’t so irritated. “What are you doing here?”
Ashish breezed into the room and, like he owned it, pushed pause on Rishi’s laptop. “Okay, what is going on here?” He dumped his gym bag on the floor and sprawled on Rishi’s chair, his gigantic praying-mantis legs encroaching into Rishi’s space. The stench of Axe body spray was enough to strangle anyone within fifty feet of the boy.
Rishi stepped back and crossed his arms. “Answer my question first.”
Ashish rolled his eyes. “I thought Ma and Pappa told you. I wanted to see the campus.”
Rishi held out his arms. Were all little brothers this annoying, or was he just blessed with an especially potent member of the species? “And? How’d you get here? Why didn’t Ma or Pappa call me first? And how the heck did you open my locked door?”
Ashish reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a key. “I told the desk attendant that I was Rishi Patel in room 406.” He looked at Dimple and said, as an aside, “My mom and dad told me which room he was in.” Then, looking back at Rishi, he added, “I said I’d been locked out of my room and needed to borrow the spare.” He grinned. “Good thing people think all Indians look alike, huh?”
Dimple cleared her throat and looked meaningfully at Rishi. He pushed a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Dimple, this is my brother, Ashish. Ashish, this is Dimple Shah.”
Ashish smiled lazily at her as he shook her proffered hand. “You’re a lot less scary-looking in perso—”
“Answer my other two questions,” Rishi interrupted loudly just as Dimple crossed her arms and cocked her head, in a come at me, bro pose. “How’d you get here? And why didn’t any of you call me?”
Ashish let his head fall back over the back of the chair. “Ah, I bummed a ride from someone I know. Ma and Pappa were driving me nuts. I had to get out of there. So I figured why not come now? A few days early, but whatever.” He looked at Rishi, smiling, but there was an edge to it. “You don’t mind, do you, bhaiyya?” He said bhaiyya ingratiatingly, cloyingly, making it a mockery of the word.
This was embarrassing. Not only was Ashish being a total punk, like usual, he was also talking about Ma and Pappa in front of Dimple. Rishi would never think to speak about his parents behind their backs. He glanced at Dimple, wondering what she thought about all of this.
“Maybe I should go,” Dimple said, slipping on her Chucks. “So you guys can, you know, talk and—”
Ashish crossed his hands behind his head. “Aw, don’t leave. I haven’t even had a chance to speak with my future bhabhi yet.”
Dimple’s face paled at the Hindi word for sister-in-law, and Rishi rushed to correct Ashish. “There are some things you and I will need to talk about, Ashish.”
“What were you guys doing?” Ashish said, totally ignoring them. Always on his own schedule. Selfish. He looked at the YouTube video, tilting his head. “Is that Krrish?”
“Yeah,” Dimple said, ignoring Rishi’s very obvious don’t encourage him eyebrow raising combined with a head shake. “We have this talent show we’re doing next weekend, and we decided to do a dance routine with ‘Dil Na Diya.’ ”
“Hey, you guys need some help? I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I’m a really good dancer.” Ashish smiled again, that smarmy, full-toothed shark smile. “Ask Rishi; he knows.”
Dimple turned to him. “Seriously? That would be so awesome if—”
“No,” Rishi said. “We don’t want your help.” He looked at Dimple, half pleading, half annoyed. “Right? We can do this ourselves?”
She raised an eyebrow and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “We were lying in a tangled heap on the floor when Ashish walked in.” And then she felt her cheeks heat because she’d thought of just what they were doing in that tangled heap. Rishi knew because he’d automatically thought it too. And now he couldn’t stop staring at her . . . and she was staring at him, too.
Ashish cleared his throat loudly, shaking them both from their reverie. “Oh-kay. You guys seem a little . . . conflicted or something, so I’m going to go downstairs and return this.” He jangled the spare key. “See ya.” He stood and ambled out of the room.
Dimple watched him go. When the door had shut behind him, she turned to Rishi, her lips twitching. “That’s your brother?”
“Yeah.” Rishi sighed. “What? Why is your mouth all quivery?”
Dimple laughed, one hand at her chest. “Oh my God. You guys are so different. Like, I didn’t even think that was possible. Aren’t siblings supposed to share the same genes and everything?”
Rishi pushed a hand through his hair, feeling slightly put off by how amused Dimple was. Living with Ashish was anything but funny. This entire situation was distinctly unfunny. “Yeah, he’s somewhat of an aberration. I’m pretty sure someone stole our nice, sweet boy and replaced him with . . .” He gestured at the door.
Dimple stopped laughing. “Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.” She toyed with a pen on his desk. “And we really need the help, Rishi. You know we do. Besides, what are you going to do? Send him back home? He came here to be with you.” She shrugged.
Rishi tried not to groan and tear out his hair. Did Dimple have a point? Would he just be a big jerk if he insisted Ashish go back home? There was one person he could always count on for advice.
Rishi pulled his cell phone off his desk and called Pappa.
“Beta! Kaise ho?”
“Fine, Pappa. I have a visitor.” He raised his eyebrows at Dimple, and she giggled in response.
“Haan? Kaun?”
Rishi frowned. Who did Pappa think? “Ashish.” He straightened as a thought occurred to him. “No. Please tell me he told you he was coming.”
“Ashish! Ashish is with you? In your dorm?” Rishi heard Ma in the background, speaking in rapid-fire Hindi. He caught a few hysterical kya?!s and kyon?!s.
Rishi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, he’s here. He hitched a ride with someone. I thought you knew.”
Dimple clapped her hand over her mouth. Rishi couldn’t help but see the slight admiration in her expression.
“Haan, Pappa, main usko keh doonga. I’ll tell him. Thikh hai. Bye.” Rishi hung up and looked at Dimple. His face was so creased with worry, he looked at least a decade older. “I better go find Ashish before he gets up to I-shudder-to-think-what. Will you be okay here for a minute?”
“Yeah. I mean, I could go downstairs back to my room if you need a little while with him.”
“No, stay. We need to practice. Besides, I’m not ready for you to go yet.” Rishi smiled, leaned down, and gently kissed her. Then he was gone.
CHAPTER 40
Dimple sank into the chair and fiddled absently with the laptop. This was beyond weird. Ashish was nothing at all like what she’d expected, like what sh
e’d thought Rishi’s little brother would be like. He’d said before that Ashish was different from him, but this was so beyond different, Dimple didn’t even know how to comprehend it. Ashish seemed like he should’ve come from a different set of parents. Honestly, he seemed more like he could be Dimple’s little brother than Rishi’s.
But things made more sense now. That’s why Rishi was so adamant about doing exactly what his parents wanted. He’d said it before, but Dimple hadn’t really gotten it. He was the only child in the family who was doing what their parents wanted. Ashish was probably such a handful that Rishi wanted to smooth things over, make things better for his parents.
But that’s not fair, Dimple found herself thinking, her temper flaring. Why was it Rishi’s responsibility to keep their parents happy while Ashish got to do whatever he wanted? Why did it become Rishi’s job by default to be unfailingly dutiful and obedient just because his little brother wasn’t? Dimple felt a throb of resentment toward Rishi’s parents, for not realizing how unhappy they were making him with their unfair, unrealistic expectations.
She got up and began to pace the room to dispel some of the anger before Rishi and Ashish came back. That’s when she saw it.
Rishi’s messenger bag, hanging open from the bedpost. Peeking out was his sketch pad, full of his art, brimming with his talent. Dimple hesitated for just a second before walking to it.
She ran her fingers along the spiral top, letting the cool metal press into her flesh, turning her fingertips white. Rishi was protective of his sketches. He didn’t like anyone to see them, but he was doing such a great disservice to himself and other people. He didn’t know how much the world needed his art. Society was practically crying out for people who poured their heart and soul into work that was bigger than them. Besides, he had let her see his pocket-size sketch book. Surely he wouldn’t object to this.
When Dimple Met Rishi Page 19
