Page 12

JULIE

Yum Yum Dim Sum is back! Ever since Enrique accepted our proposal, our Saturday sales have doubled where we were a month ago. I bake triple of everything just to keep up with demand. No one is happier than my ahma, who barely breaks a sweat and serves her customers with her signature “everyone is family” style. Mom is at the hospital so it’s the three of us dealing with the line.

I, on the other hand, look like I got hit by a sprinkler and am dripping sweat everywhere. I look over at Tyler, who is strangely frozen in place.

While still packing orders, I wave him to come closer so we can discuss. I move fast to stuff six pork dumplings into a container.

“You’d think it was Lunar New Year,” I say.

Tyler is still silent. Now I’m starting to worry. I can barely get him to shut up most days.

“Spit it out, T.”

“I kinda screwed up.”

“Okay. I still love you, so what is it?”

“I took a big catering order for a hundred people and there’s no way we’re going to be able to fill it in time,” says Tyler in one quick breath.

He wrings his hands together. I want to wring his neck.

“Is it supposed to be filled today?”

He nods. I glance at Ahma hustling so hard that my feet hurt just looking at her. There’s no way we can physically do this.

“I took the order when we were at the Sunday market and had half the normal amount of customers. Ahma was all excited. What should I do?”

I look over at Randall’s family’s booth. Their line is long, like usual. Maybe I can solve this problem and create some peace with Randall’s family.

“I have a wild idea,” I say. “What if we ask the Hurs to take half of the order?”

Tyler squeezes his face like he sucked a lemon. “Never.”

“We can’t fill this hundred-person order on our own today. You know that. I know that.”

Tyler grunts in response.

“I’ll deal with it. Cover me.”

He begrudgingly takes over my station. I have to come up with something clever because I’m walking into enemy territory. I catch Randall’s eye. He sees the look of panic in my eyes and gestures to the back of the Sebae tent.

I walk over to another booth and slyly dart around to the back. Randall is there, waiting for me.

He glances to each side of the tent before asking, “What’s up?”

“We have a huge catering order that we can’t possibly fill. Could Sebae fill half of it? Split the profits down the middle.”

Randall scoffs. “You think your ahma will go for it?”

“She will have no idea.”

“Text me the details. I’ll drive it over later.”

“Thank you!”

I hug Randall tightly. He looks as surprised as I feel. I pull away quickly, so it doesn’t look so obvious.

“Wait here.”

Randall heads back to the booth. I nervously bounce on my feet, knowing that I’m running out of time. My family is drowning in orders. I inhale deeply, savoring the familiar aromas.

“Here’s your notebook,” says Randall.

He hands me our old notebook. The black-and-white composition notebook filled with dozens of notes between the four of us. I take it and tuck it under my arm so that it’s hidden.

“Thanks,” I say.

I hurry to return to our booth. Tyler looks up at me.

“It’s done,” I say.

He sighs. The moment he turns away, I shove the notebook in my backpack. I call the customer about the changes and ask what they want from Sebae. Then, I text the details for the catering event to Randall.

I return my attention to the mountain of green tickets waiting for me to fill. I don’t have time to think about what I’ve just done.

RANDALL

When I tell Halmeoni that we have a catering order to fill today, she lights up as if I told her that we won the California state lottery.

I don’t tell her where the order came from. That’s not really important, is it?

She puts me in charge of the order. She wants me to include more than they ordered so that “they return for more.”

As I pull it together, my mind wanders to the notebook I gave Julie and the words I wrote last night that I can’t say aloud.

Back when we were kids, using the invisible ink pen was reserved for revealing crushes or sometimes answers to tests. I had no idea back then that we’d stop communicating for five years. It felt like our notebook would go on forever.

A t the end of our farmers market shift, I pack up our best dishes to take to the venue that Julie sent me.

“Take business cards!” encourages Halmeoni, who stuffs a ton of cards in my hands.

My phone lights up on our table. Mercy leans in to sneak a peek. Based on her open-mouthed reaction, the text must be from Julie. I swipe my phone away and stuff it in my back pocket.

“The plot thickens,” whispers Mercy.

“It’s for school,” I whisper back.

“Sure.” She gives me a huge wink. I roll my eyes.

“I’m off to do the delivery, Halmeoni.”

My grandmother grabs my face in her hands and squeezes tight.

“Be safe. Los Angeles drivers are crazy!”

“You’re a Los Angeles driver.”

“Ppffh. I learned to drive in South Korea, where we followed the rules. Everyone here is a race car driver,” says Halmeoni.

I hug her goodbye. I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying her trust by not telling her that Julie’s family is the reason we have this catering gig.

“Let me help you carry everything to your car,” says Mercy.

The moment we’re out of earshot, she exclaims. “Julie’s text specifically references a notebook. Is it the notebook?”

“How do you have eagle eyes?”

“These glasses give me superpowers.”

Mercy helps me get all the food safely in the trunk. We arrange it so that the containers are supported and none of Halmeoni’s amazing gochujang sauce spills out.

“Anyway! Gotta go!” I say, shutting the car door.

Mercy mouths more words. I turn up the car stereo volume to drown out whatever nonsense she’s saying. I wave goodbye, pretending everything is fine.