“Oh, you too,” Rahul said, grabbing her hand as if it were a malfunctioning water pump handle and jerking it enthusiastically up and down. His maniacal grin slowly faded at her stony expression. He paused the jerking and then let go of her hand. “Um, too much?”
“Far too much,” Caterina said as calmly as she could manage. How could a Rosetta student be so undereducated in proper etiquette? “Your mother is the chief minister of Delhi, is she not?” she asked, suddenly afraid that Rahul was actually a street urchin who’d just wandered in for warm meals and a bed and this was all a case of mistaken identity.
“Yep. We don’t talk a lot, but I did get a Google alert saying she was headed to Canada for a speaking engagement, and the article did reference her formal title, which is ‘Mukhyamantri’ or ‘Chief Minister.’ ”
Caterina frowned. “You don’t talk a lot? Why not?”
Rahul flushed a faint pink and looked away. Curious. “She’s, ah, busy. It’s always been that way with her and the rest of my family; my father and older brother, too. They’re all jet-setters, very engaged in my mother’s career.” He managed a weak smile, then took off his glasses and focused intently on cleaning them.
Caterina felt a tug of pity in her heart. What Rahul wasn’t saying, but what she was hearing anyway, was that his family was ashamed of him. Perhaps his… odd… way of being in the world was something they’d tried and failed to fix. Perhaps Rosetta Academy was a way for them to sequester him from the public eye without feeling guilty about it. She thought of her own father, always eager to have her on his arm at various events, and realized how lucky she was to have the relationship she did with him.
She cleared her throat delicately. “Right, of course. Politics is very demanding.” After a pause, Caterina broached a topic she’d been meaning to broach since she’d asked him to do this. “So… I was wondering, ah, about your social relationships. Do you have, that is, is there a diagnosis?” It was clumsy, but she’d never been trained on anything like this. In her usual circles, she’d never dream of bringing it up, but this was important.
Rahul looked confused for a moment, but then his brow cleared. He wiped his palms on his pants. “Are you asking if I’m on the autism spectrum?”
Caterina nodded.
“I’m not.” Rahul looked her steadily in the eye, but he licked his lips as if he were nervous. “People often wonder that about me, but Ari—um, the school psychologist—says I have social anxiety and am supremely logical, which is different from being on the spectrum.”
“Ah.” Caterina studied his expression; his cheeks were stained pink. This was hard for him to talk about. He was probably afraid she’d judge him, like almost everyone probably did. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I wanted to be sure I was being sensitive to your needs.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I appreciate that.”
Sensing that they both needed to move past this, Caterina said, “So. Back to that handshake.”
Rahul appeared relieved at the change in subject. “Back to the handshake.”
Caterina held her hand out again. “Take it gently, but with a firm pressure,” she advised.
Rahul paused, regarding her hand as if it were a complex advanced calculus equation he was trying to solve in his head, before taking it between two fingers, like he was afraid it would break.
Caterina sighed. “No.” She withdrew her hand. “Hold out your hand. I’ll demonstrate.”
He did, and she took it, wrapping her fingers around his hand, feeling the warmth in his skin. Her hands were always too cold. “Like that,” she said. “Do you feel the pressure?”
Rahul was turning a flamingo-pink color. “I—I do feel it. Pressure,” he said, his voice cracking.
“And how is it?” Caterina asked, not understanding why he was having such a reaction to hand shaking. Was he a secret germophobe? But he’d had no issues taking her hand the first time around.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, it’s—it’s gentle.” He licked his lips again, as if they were dry. “But, um, f-firm.”
“Right. Good.” Caterina pumped his hand once. “One or two pumps, max. Anything else is too much. Do you understand?”
He was still staring at their hands. “Yep. I got it.”
“And study my hand. Where is it in relation to yours?”
“Um…” He kept staring at their hands until Caterina was concerned he was going into some sort of weird trance. “Your hand is in mine,” he said finally, faintly, as if he were having trouble believing it.
“Yes,” Caterina replied impatiently, “but what else?”
“Um…”
Ugh. This strange Rahul trance had gone on long enough. “The webs of our fingers are aligned, do you see? My hand isn’t on top of yours, which would imply that I’m in control of you.”
Rahul looked up at her at last, still looking like he was in a daze. “You’re in control of me?”
What was going on with him? “Yes. And you don’t want to offend anyone at the gala, so keep your hand in line with theirs.”
“Okay.” He smiled a little moonily at her.
“Okay.” Caterina withdrew her hand. “Now. On to the next thing.”
“Which is…?”
“Air-kissing,” Caterina said matter-of-factly, and Rahul collapsed back against the window.
RAHUL
“Are you okay?” Caterina said, frowning, reaching for his elbow. “Do you feel faint? There’s some kind of flu going around.…”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Rahul insisted, righting himself and forcing his body not to sway.
First she’d held his hand for what felt like an hour, her skin all soft and silky and cool against his. And now she wanted to air-kiss him? Okay, so that wasn’t a kiss kiss, but still. She would be up close to his body. He’d be able to smell her perfume. Oh God. The thought made him want to simultaneously run away and sing a hymn about the wonder that was Caterina LaValle in a quavery, religious voice. She wanted to air-kiss him. Voluntarily. What else could a guy want in life, really? Rahul had the distinct sense that if a lightning bolt came through the window right now and struck him in the heart, he’d die with a smile on his face.
“If you’re sure…” Caterina eyed him up and down suspiciously. He had to get over his starstruckness if he wanted her to continue her lessons.
Forcing a more solemn expression and broadening his shoulders, he said as confidently as he could manage, “I’m sure. So. We’re on to air-kissing.”
“Right.” Caterina took a step closer to him, and Rahul forced his heart to stop its useless spluttering. “Now, if you were at an event in New York City, you’d do just one air-kiss on the right cheek. But since our event is in Denver this year, we’ll be doing two air-kisses on the right cheek, just like everywhere else in the world.”
Rahul frowned, his curiosity piqued in spite of himself. “Why is it different in New York City?”
“Because they think they’re special,” Caterina said wearily, as if she were tired of New York’s shit. “Anyway. Two things to keep in mind: Absolutely no lip or skin contact. They call it an air-kiss for a reason. And two, it’s always right cheek to right cheek.”