When Dimple Met Rishi(49)

"I don't think so," Rishi said, giving her an okay, crazy lady look.

"And-time!" the MC guy shouted, and the artists set their pencils down. One of them wiggled his fingers as people began to vote on who won, which consisted of them shouting out either "Vinnie!" or "Lola!" Someone, obviously too excited for his own good, said, "Lolinnie!" They counted that one as one vote for both artists. At the end Lola was declared the winner. Vinnie slammed his sketch pad closed and proceeded to disappear into the darkened rooms of the house with a girl from the audience.

Lola, a small woman with blue (or burgundy or yellow-it was hard to tell in the light) braids looked around at everyone, smiling too widely. "So? Who's next?"

Dimple pushed Rishi, harder than she'd meant to, and he went stumbling forward so his shins knocked against the table.

"All right!" Lola said, looking up at him. "Have a seat!" She grinned wider. "And get ready to lose."

Rishi tossed Dimple a baleful look over his shoulder, but he sat down and pulled out his sketch pad.

"Okay, contestants, introduce yourselves to each other," the MC said.

"I'm Lola," the girl said, holding out a hand.

"Rishi." He shook her hand.

"Great! Now let's hear some suggestions, guys!" MC boy looked around at the swarming, grinning, chattering crowd.

Someone in the audience yelled, "A sloth in a dress doing ballet!"

There were hoots of approval, so the two of them nodded at each other and began to draw.

Dimple had been to a magic show before. She'd been eight, and her elementary school principal had hired some dude named Amos the Amazing to entertain them. She remembered sitting in the auditorium with all the other sweaty second graders, neck craned to look up at the stage while Amos pulled out orange silk scarves from his sleeves, made a bunny appear out of thin air and then disappear again, and pushed a penny through his own palm. She'd been totally enthralled. For two weeks afterward she'd even decided she wanted to be a magician when she grew up. Her stage name would be Dimple the Dazzling.



       
         
       
        

But that complete rapture was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

As Rishi sat there, hunched over his sketch pad, the stub of a pencil in his hand, the other hand curled around the corner of the paper, Dimple knew he wasn't really there. He'd checked out; he was on some floating island made of graphite and paper where this reality didn't exist. The only thing he saw was the bizarre ballerina sloth in his head, the one that was taking shape pencil stroke by pencil stroke on paper. His lines were confident and sure, the emerging picture comical and twisted and breathtakingly mesmerizing all at the same time.

Dimple noticed people nudging each other, leaning in to get closer, to really take in the little details. Like how the sloth was wearing a monocle. Or the fact that Rishi was drawing it with a perfect ballerina's bun, except the bun happened to be a croissant.

A few minutes later, the MC called out, "Time!"

Rishi set his pencil down and flexed his fingers. His eyes searched for Dimple's in the crowd, and when they locked gazes, he grinned, big and happy. Dimple felt something flutter in her chest as she smiled back.

It was almost unanimous-Rishi won. Lola stood. "Great work," she said, nodding seriously. "You go here?"

Rishi shook his head. "No, I'm just here for a summer program." He darted a glance at Dimple.

"Too bad," Lola said as she gathered her sketch pad and adjusted her skirt. "You kick butt."

"Who wants to go head-to-head with our new champion, Rishi?" MC boy asked, but Rishi stood up and shook his head.

"No, thanks, man. I'm done."

People groaned and booed, but Rishi held up his hands-sketch pad and all-and made his way over to Dimple.

She felt suddenly shy. It was weird, but it was like . . . like she'd seen a part of him she'd never knew existed. Most people wouldn't have this kind of reaction to a sloth in a monocle doing ballet, she knew. It was hard to explain, even to herself. Rishi had a gift. A serious gift that he didn't seem to like to share with people. Dimple knew why now . . . it was so intimate. He became someone else, stripped down, unself-conscious, unaware. She'd seen what his soul was made of. And she'd liked it.

"So," he said, smiling at her, tucking his sketch pad into his messenger bag and snapping it shut, "what do you want to do next?"

She rubbed her arm. "Um, I'm not sure. . . ."

"Dimple!"

They both turned at the voice to see Kevin Keo coming into the house, followed by three other artsy types. One of the girls, Dimple saw, was the one with the piercings she'd seen earlier, putting brownies into the oven. "You came!"