When Dimple Met Rishi

by Sandhya Menon

  Celia turned to her, her face remote and blank. “You’ve known me a month, Dimple.”

  Dimple felt something cold close around her heart. She stood up slowly. “No, you’re right. I know if I was going to make a mistake, I’d want my friend looking out for me, but maybe that’s just me. And anyway, it’s not like you can be friends with someone you’ve lived with for less than a month, so okay. I get your point.”

  Celia’s face flashed hurt for a second, but she just turned back to her makeup in silence. Dimple walked out without saying bye.

  At dinner Rishi glanced at Ashish, who made a who knows? face and went back to eating his chicken and dumplings. (Their entire family was supposed to be vegetarian for religious reasons, but Ashish—of course—ate meat whenever their parents weren’t around.) Rishi tried to catch Dimple’s eye, but she kept shoveling in French fry after French fry like she was punishing them with her teeth. For a small second his gaze focused on her mouth, and he remembered . . . things. But then, cheeks flushing, he pushed the thought away. Now was definitely not the time, Patel.

  “Everything okay?” he ventured, waiting for an outburst.

  Dimple had been waiting for them in the lobby, and when he’d reached for her, she’d patted his back perfunctorily, with way more force than necessary, and then proceeded to fume the entire way to the dining hall.

  “Yeah,” she said, gnashing her teeth as she chewed on a fry. “Fine. Just great. Fabulous.” She sipped from her glass of Coke and glared at the ice cubes when they rattled. Then, looking at Ashish, she said, “You need to forget about Celia. It’s never going to happen.”

  Rishi watched his little brother’s face fall and then settle into its usual nonchalant mask, and he felt a tug of sympathy. He turned to Dimple. “Why? What happened?”

  She stabbed a fry into the little plastic ketchup pot on her plate. “She’s an idiot.” Dimple looked back up at Ashish, and her eyes softened. “Sorry, man, but she’s just too into Evan for anything to happen between you guys. For no reason I can fathom. I mean, you’re clearly the better choice, but try telling her that.” She set her fry down and sat back in her chair, sighing. “Love just makes idiots of people.”

  Rishi grinned. “Yeah, but that’s not always a bad thing.”

  Dimple smiled reluctantly, and his heart soared on gilded wings. He had the power to do that. To make her smile even when she was upset. She felt the same about him as he felt about her. The thought still made him giddy. Then, remembering his little brother’s pain, Rishi put a hand on Ashish’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

  Ashish shrugged and took a sip of water. Then he pushed his chair back. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you back at your room later.”

  As they watched him walk away, Dimple said softly, “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” Rishi said, watching his brother’s retreating form. “He’ll be fine. Ashish always lands on his feet.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Saturday night came hurtling with the speed of a thousand maglev trains. Dimple did not feel remotely ready.

  It was dark backstage, darker than she’d anticipated. Dimple hadn’t been in a backstage area since elementary school. It was too big, too serious, too heavy. Everyone was speaking in hushed voices, racing back and forth from the dressing room, even though the audience hadn’t even begun to gather yet. Max flitted around, talking to people encouragingly, one hand on the shoulders of those especially nervous.

  She swallowed and turned to Rishi in the wings. “I don’t think I can do this.” She clenched her hand around her tote bag that held her costume and makeup. “Seriously. Maybe we should just back out now.”

  He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “No.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Did you just say ‘no’ to me?”

  He looked sheepish. “No?”

  That made her smile. For a second. “Look, maybe we can tell Max I’m sick. He can’t dock points for that, right? It’s, like, an act of God or nature or something. Even insurance companies realize those are—”

  Rishi put both hands on her shoulders and took a deep breath. She copied him without even thinking about it and felt instantly slightly calmer. “We’re going to be fine,” he said, his voice low and rumbling and soothing. “I promise.” His honey eyes didn’t lie.

  She nodded, and, hand in hand, they walked to the dressing rooms in the back.

  • • •

  If backstage had been heavy with hushed silence, the dressing rooms were mirthful, dizzying chaos. The smell of hairspray and cologne was like a physical presence, pressing itself between people, wrapping its arms around Dimple. People peered in mirrors that had big, round lightbulbs studded around them, putting off enough heat so that the light hoodie Dimple wore began to feel like a snowsuit. She unzipped it and took it off, looking around at the various stages of costumed finery. “Wow.”

  “No kidding,” Rishi said, looking around. His eyes sparkled in the lights. “It looks like a bunch of theater majors in here.”

  A boy dressed like a mime—his face white with makeup, lips done in rosy red—turned to them from the next chair. “Hey.”

  It took Dimple about ten full seconds to realize it was José. She laughed. “Hey! Nice costume.”

  He grinned, his teeth slightly yellow against the white paint on his face. “Thanks. This is nothing, though. Apparently some of our classmates got the hookup from some theater camp peeps. That’s why some of the costumes are so amazing.” He waved his hand over at a brown-haired girl, Lyric. She wore a long-sleeved leotard, with a big plume of peacock feathers fanning out from her butt area, studded with glittering blue and green sequins and trailing black-sequined feather boas from her wrists. She looked ethereal.

  Dimple looked around. Celia wasn’t anywhere; none of the Aberzombies were. She wondered what was going on. Then she was distracted—some of the guys had whole cases of professional-looking makeup and actual rolls of makeup brushes. Dimple had her Covergirl stuff she’d had since ninth grade, when Mamma had forced her to buy some for the Diwali celebration. She looked in alarm at Rishi. “How do they even know how to use this stuff?”

  He leaned toward her. “We don’t need that,” he said confidently. “We have sheer talent. They’re obviously overcompensating.”

  One of the übercostumed guys passing by threw them a dirty look, and Dimple pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “Well, I guess I’d better get started.” She sat on the stool nearest her, setting her bag on the table. Rishi took the stool next to hers.

  They were already wearing most of their costumes. Luckily, Anushka Sharma and Shah Rukh Khan wore pretty simple outfits in the official “Dance Pe Chance” video—athletic clothes for her, pants and a jacket and shirt for him. It was just another reason Ashish’s idea to use the song had been so genius. Now Dimple could focus on not blundering the steps and falling off the stage.

  “Celia isn’t here,” Rishi said simply.

  Dimple didn’t answer the question he wasn’t asking. “Nope.” She concentrated on plugging in her hair straightener—which she’d borrowed from a girl down the hall who was going to be wearing a wig tonight anyway—and laid out her makeup. Powder foundation, eyeliner (not kaajal; Mamma would be so disappointed), and lip gloss. She tried not to think about what was probably happening out there: The show didn’t start for another forty-five minutes, but some of the early birds in the audience would be filtering in. Each segment was supposed to be no longer than five minutes, and Dimple and Rishi didn’t come on till the middle, so they probably had close to two hours of waiting left. Urrrrgh.

  “I heard the audience is supposed to be a mix of art and theater students attending summer camps,” Louis, a quiet, blond boy said. He was sitting on Dimple’s right, dressed in a suit with a red handkerchief poking out from his pocket. A black top hat, white gloves, and a bouquet of colorful plastic flowers sat on the counter at his elbow.

  “Magic?” Dimple guessed, nodding tow
ard his accoutrements.

  He nodded. “I’ve been doing it since I was seven.” He nodded toward his partner, who was sitting beside him, playing on his phone. “Connor’s my assistant. I’ll saw him in half at the end. I think we have a real shot at winning.”

  Dimple’s spreadsheet said otherwise. Magic was a notoriously poor performer. “Cool.”

  “What about you guys?” he asked, glancing over at Rishi, who, totally unself-consciously, was practicing a few moves in front of the mirror.

  “We’re doing a dance to an Indian song,” Dimple said, feeling a flurry of nerves in her belly.

  Louis’s eyes drifted to Rishi’s gyrating form. “Oh,” he said slowly. “Good luck.”

  • • •

  Max stood between their stools and smiled at them. This was their second visit in ten minutes. Ashish had been in before Max, to assure them that he was armed and ready with the music. He kept saying, “Chill, dudes, you’re going to be great.” Dimple knew he was trying to be helpful, but at the end she’d wanted to bash him over the head with her stool. She’d been glad when he left. Honestly, with her nerves the way they were, the only person she could stand to be around right then was Rishi.

  “You guys ready?” Max asked, looking from Rishi to Dimple. His smile, hidden snugly behind his beard and mustache, faded slightly as he took in her face. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, “You’re going to be great. You’re rehearsed. Just go out there and have fun.”

  Oh great. She was one of the hand on the shoulder people. Dimple nodded, gulped, and smiled.

  “Two minutes, okay?” He patted Rishi on the back and turned on his heel to wait for Louis and Connor to finish their magician’s act. From the scattered applause, it didn’t sound like it was going so well so far.

  “Oh God,” Dimple said, clutching her stomach. Her newly straightened hair fell into her face. “What if they start booing us? Should we finish? Or should we just bow and walk out? I mean, it’s so undignified to keep performing while people boo, right? Or what if they throw stuff? I’ve heard those theater students can be heartless because their standards are so high. . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” Rishi said, stretching his arms above his head. How the heck did he look so relaxed? How? “I’ll be your body shield.”

  She glared at him. “Not funny, Patel.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Rishi didn’t understand how Dimple could be so nervous. They’d watched the rehearsal videos together. She was amazing, so apsara-like, he felt bad for the other performers. They may as well just pack up and go home now.

  He ran a finger down her arm and reveled in the way goose bumps sprouted on her skin. She was so incredibly beautiful, even then, with that frenzied, nervous energy emanating from her. Her eyes were wild behind her glasses (she’d refused to consider taking them off for the dance, afraid she’d tumble right off the stage, even though her eyes weren’t that bad), and she kept swallowing compulsively. She was probably so full of air she’d lift off the stage like a balloon, Rishi thought with a smile. But he probably shouldn’t tell her that.

  He wrapped his hand around Dimple’s as they walked to the wings. They heard Louis and Connor finishing up, the audience clapping halfheartedly. Max turned and winked before walking out onstage to introduce them.

  “There are so many people here,” Dimple murmured, peeking through a little opening at the audience.

  Rishi took the chance to steal one last look at her. He didn’t care about this whole talent show thing very much, not beyond the fact that it mattered to Dimple. He was lucky; his lack of caring made him supremely un-nervous. He watched the tiny pulse fluttering at Dimple’s neck, the way her shoulders were bunched up around her ears. She wanted this so much. So, so much.

  He leaned in and kissed her temple. “Tujhme rab dikhta hai,” he whispered, an over-the-top line from the movie their song came from. It meant I see God in you. He watched her smile and roll her eyes. And then he said, “I love you.”

  She jumped and turned to look at him, eyes wide, just as Max announced their names. Rishi grinned and pulled her onstage.

  It was dark while they took their positions. Dimple looked at the outline of Rishi next to her. She heard the near absolute silence of people in the audience. A few shifted; someone coughed. She felt herself breathe.

  I love you.

  He’d really, finally said the words. Rishi loved her. When the lights came on, Dimple was smiling.

  The music began and Dimple started to move. She knew Rishi was doing his part, but she wasn’t focused on him. She wasn’t focused on what the audience was looking at. She just kept moving the way she’d been practicing all week, the way her body knew she should move. And mixed in with the music and the beat, she kept hearing, I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Then the song was over. She and Rishi came together to bow. And the theater cracked open with applause.

  They ran offstage together the moment the spotlights went off. Dimple was giggling so hard, Rishi was worried she’d keel over. They were holding hands again, but this time, she was the one pulling them offstage.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. We did it.”

  He smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You did it. You were incredible.”

  She turned to him as they made their way to the dressing room, stopping right beside a couple of people stretching their hamstrings, who paused to give them thumbs-up signs before resuming their stretches. “I love you.” Her eyes were emitting so much light they’d gone supernova.

  Rishi’s heart exploded into a thousand colors. The world was on fire. He put his hands on her face and kissed her like he might never have the chance again. Dimple kissed him back, mouth pressed against his with a fevered hunger. He tasted salt from her sweat. When they broke apart, Rishi grinned. “I knew, though.”

  She laughed and clutched his arm as they walked back and entered the dressing room. “Do you think we might win? Everyone seemed to love it. I really think we have a chance.”

  “We totally have a chance. A really good one.”

  “Great job, guys!” It was Ashish, loping toward them, grinning.

  Dimple spun around. “Did you really think so? Was it good?”

  “Was it good?” Ashish held out his phone. “Check it out for yourselves, dudes. You guys looked just like Anushka and Shah Rukh out there.” He played them a snippet.

  Rishi was astounded. He’d known Dimple had looked good, but he’d been distracted by his own steps. Now, seeing it like Ashish had, he was blown away. She looked like a professional. Not like someone who’d decided to do this for a talent show, but like someone who did it all the time. Every step was fire; her hips were magic.

  “You should be a dancer,” he said, and then whistled. “I mean, wow.”

  She smiled and blushed adorably, swatting at him. “I’m so glad it looked okay. I really want to win that money.”

  “You will,” Ashish said with absolute sincerity, and Rishi’s heart surged with love for his little brother.

  Dimple was giddy with glee. She stood in front of the mirror, wiping her makeup off with remover José had given her. He seemed genuinely excited for Rishi and her, which she thought was sweet. Dimple could see, flush from the endorphins of a great performance, why actors and performers got addicted to this kind of thing. It had always seemed unfathomable to her, choosing a career where all you did was put yourself out in front of hundreds or thousands of people and risked rejection in real time. But if they felt even half of what she was feeling now when it went well . . .

  Cackling laughter broke Dimple out of her reverie. She looked in the mirror to see Isabelle and Celia stumble in behind her, arms around each other, laughing and swaying, clearly drunk on something besides life. Celia’s face was red and sweaty, her usually buoyant curls stuck to the back of her neck and her forehead. She was wearing a hot pink leotard with a cotton ball tail and a headband with pink, glittery ears. Sh
e looked like she’d been dipped in body glitter. Isabelle was dressed in a black bikini that showed 98 percent of her skin, but she kept holding her arms in front of her chest and stomach, like maybe she wasn’t the one who’d chosen that particular outfit.

  “Oh dear gods,” Rishi muttered next to her, his mouth twisting into a mixture of distaste and pity. “Celia’s trying to be a sexy bunny.”

  “I wonder what the guys are dressed like,” Dimple said just as Evan and Hari walked in. They were, no surprise, both shirtless. Their six-packs (collective twelve-packs?) had been coated in bronzing oil. Dimple got a whiff from where she stood—it smelled like the word “tropical.” They wore surf shorts and their hair was carelessly bedheady.

  Evan caught her eye and flashed her a thousand-watt grin. “Nice stretchy pants,” he said, half leering. “Too bad you got no booty to fill them out.”

  Rishi stood up, hands balled at his sides. “What did you say?”

  Dimple put a hand on his arm. “Not worth it,” she said, looking straight at Evan, who laughed and bumped fists with Hari before they kept moving.

  Celia didn’t even spare her a glance. Dimple wasn’t sure she’d even seen her, but it still stung.

  “Man, those singer guys just bombed so hard. I mean, they utterly and totally butchered ‘Hotel California,’ ” Ashish said, walking in with two bottles of water. He stopped when he caught sight of Celia and the Aberzombie group, his smile slowly fading.

  Dimple walked up to him and took the bottles of water. She spoke quietly, looking at him, though his eyes never left Celia. “She’s just doing this because she wants to finally have that high school experience she never had. It means nothing.”