They walked out into the chill, Dimple pulling her hoodie on, and Ashish blowing out a breath. "Man, it's foggy," he said, looking around.
"That's just Karl," Dimple and Rishi said casually at the same time, like wizened San Franciscans. Rishi looked down at her as they burst out laughing. Her eyes shone like wet black jewels; the hoodie almost completely obscured her face. Gods, he wished he could keep her in his pocket.
"Oh . . . kay," Ashish said, rolling his eyes. It was in his tone; Rishi didn't have to look at him to know he was rolling them. "I don't remember it being like this last year." He said it all affronted, as if Rishi had purposely conjured up the fog to ruin his visit.
Funnily enough, Rishi didn't care so much. Ashish's attitude was as annoying as getting your sleeves wet when you washed your hands, but somehow with Dimple there, it didn't really bother him. It didn't feel as abrasive, as unforgivable.
The truth was . . . Dimple made everything seem softer. She was like a tortillon, a blending brush, melting harsh lines into gentler curves. Rishi put his hand around hers as Ashish trailed behind them, already back to texting and pretending they didn't exist. "Your hands are cold. You nervous?" He grinned at her, arching an eyebrow villainously, expecting her to laugh and swat at him or punch him in the ribs.
Instead, she swallowed. Like, literally gulped. And smiled much, much too brightly. "No! What? Why would you say that? Nervous about what?"
CHAPTER 43
Rishi frowned. Was it just him or was everyone acting weird tonight? "I was just kidding." He squeezed Dimple's hand gently. "By the way, I know we were going to do the dining hall tonight, but what do you feel about Portuguese instead? I was thinking maybe Rios. It's a bit of a walk, but Ashish is a total Caldo Verde fanatic, and they make it well, so . . ."
"That's fine with me," Dimple said. "Celia was supposed to tell me what she wanted, but I guess she's just going to have to deal. If she ever shows up." She sighed.
"She having problems with Aberzombie number two?" Rishi asked, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice.
"I think so," Dimple said, another gusty sigh making her shoulders heave. "I feel so bad for her. They're being totally awful about the talent show too, and she was all messed up about it. She doesn't take crap, you know, but these people totally unnerve her, I can tell." She glanced up at him, the edge of the hoodie in the way, so he could see only half her eye. "I'll shut up; I know you despise them."
"No, I wanted to know. I care about Celia. Maybe Maximo wouldn't mind letting her be on our team."
Dimple gave him a grateful smile. "I thought about that too, but she didn't want me to ask. Oh well, I'm sure it'll work out. Maybe she needed the night off to think or something."
"Maybe," Rishi said thoughtfully. "Hey . . ." He looked behind them to make sure Ashish wasn't within hearing distance. He shouldn't have bothered; the boy was absorbed in his phone again, thumbs and fingers doing a furious dance on the keyboard. It was possible that this wasn't the best time to have this conversation. But the thought had built and built in Rishi's mind until he couldn't contain it anymore.
"Yeah?" Dimple looked up at him, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. That lip. Rishi was fairly certain he could write an epic poem about it.
"We're leaving in three weeks." The fog sucked the tremor of inflection in his voice, and the sentence came out sounding flat, lifeless. Rishi tried again. "I mean . . . Insomnia Con's going to be over then. It'll be back to real life."
Dimple's voice was tiny when she spoke. She was pointed forward so Rishi couldn't see her face at all. "Yeah. I've been thinking about that too."
"You have?" He couldn't figure out whether she was happy or sad or what. It felt like there was a rock in his stomach, slowly grinding away at his internal organs. "And what have you been thinking, exactly?"
She glanced at him then and quickly looked away. "I don't know," she said quietly.
"Right." The rock was now on his chest. "You don't know. . . ."
"You're going to MIT . I'm going to Stanford. Those are on opposite coasts." Each sentence she spoke was devoid of emotion. She sounded like she was reading an instruction manual. Karl the Fog burned Rishi's nose, and he felt suddenly, irrationally angry at a weather pattern.
"Right." He swallowed, his hand still loosely clasped around hers. He didn't want to be the first to pull away, but was he making things weirder for her? "So you . . . you're saying . . ."