Page 9

CHAPTER 9 VI?T

Three days later, Lis hugged Viet the moment he walked into the first Forensic Science club meeting of the year at the Sciences Laboratory. He could tell she was a hugger—and noted that he’d have to prepare himself next time, if there was a next time, because she hugged tight .

The meeting room was cold like the labs Viet had been in for his other classes. The overhead lights were stark white. The club wasn’t as small as he’d imagined it. There were about twenty people, and with Lis leading the way, he was pulled into intros. Sitting at the front desk were two preceptors, two mentors from the graduate program, regarding the members with friendly smiles.

The members had split off into two distinct groups—one group that distanced itself from everyone else, and another group that mingled with Lis, which usually included Kale, but he was missing because he was cooking. Cooking what, Viet didn’t get a chance to ask.

“What’s with the first group? They look friendly,” he dryly remarked.

The group had three girls and two boys. They appeared taller, leaned against or sat on the tables, lounging like they belonged there and the rest of them were party-crashers. The tallest boy, dressed in jeans and a loose black T-shirt, was glaring at Lis.

Lis shrugged. “Ignore their weird vibes. They’re fourth-years and think they run the club.”

“Do they? Run the club.”

“Well, they did—until I joined and made it clear that class years don’t matter here. When they first joined, the club was way smaller. That meant they were always allowed to compete in the collegiate competition in the early spring.”

At Viet’s look, she explained, “Yes, we’re not just meeting to geek out about forensic science. There’s an actual competition that includes several colleges across the country, and Davis somehow gets enough donations that help us fund the trip.”

“What do you win?” Viet asked.

One of the preceptors walked by, shrugging on a lab coat, and chimed in brightly: “Absolutely nothing!”

“Wrong! We get a shiny trophy and a boost in self-worth,” answered Lis, ignoring the preceptor. “More members have joined over the years, and so last year was the first time the club had to hold a qualifying event to determine who’d go to the final competition. We lost last time because of—” Lis shook her head. “Just many reasons.”

Viet wondered if that reason had to do with the tall guy. Did he and Lis know each other? She adopted her usual cheery tone and smiled at Viet. “But I’m convinced this will be our year. The fourth-years won’t be ready for us.”

At the boom of the preceptor’s voice welcoming everyone tonight, the students parted and took their seats. Viet sat next to Lis in the back. The lights were shut off, and a PowerPoint presentation was projected on the largest wall.

Each club meeting, Viet was told, had lectures about different aspects of forensics: DNA, blood splatter, fibers. Then the members would apply techniques in mock investigations.

“The club preceptors have made it their mission to dispel the CSI effect—the stuff that’s done wrong but is in a lot of the investigation shows you watch. Raise your hands if that’s what got you interested in the first place.”

No one raised their hands.

“Come on. Be honest.”

Slowly hands went up, including Viet’s. His parents were pretty lax with what he watched as a child, and while he shouldn’t have been watching CSI: Miami , well… he was.

“Like I said, that’s okay. How do you think I got interested in forensics? Anyway, the preceptors are here to show you how things are really done. It’s way more interesting than most college courses, in my humble opinion.”

“But let’s start with the basics. What is forensic science?”

All around him—even returning members—had quieted and taken out their notebooks and pencils, their faces concentrated. It wasn’t like they were here in class because they needed to fill the school’s core requirements. No, everyone was here because they wanted to be. Viet settled in. Déjà vu washed over him—not from the moment itself, but from a sensation that he felt at Kale and Tate’s place. The relief of finding an anchor to keep him rooted.

For the rest of the school week, Viet’s mind buzzed, the energy from the forensic science meeting still flowing through him. It was the same type he used to fuel his running, but by Saturday morning he’d already gone for a run, and knew his homework was waiting for him. Unfortunately, Wren was thinking the same thing because when Viet returned, he was already at his desk.

Since the night with Wren’s friends, they’d only had brief, neutral exchanges about the dining hall’s food, how distant their classrooms were, and how much homework they had. Before long, Viet didn’t really care what happened that night.

They sat with their backs to each other, lost in their assignments, and they continued in silence for two or three hours until the sun started setting and they were both yawning through the last of their work. Eventually Viet started to pack up, planning to grab a light snack or early dinner.

“Do you want to watch TV?” Wren asked.

“Sure. What do you want to watch?”

“National Geographic’s having a special,” he replied.

Viet was caught off guard. “You serious?”

Wren sort of flinched and looked away, and Viet realized it wasn’t a joke. “Sometimes I just need to… chill, you know? And I like animals.” He started to smile but raised one shoulder, like he wanted to brush it off. The move reminded him of Bao whenever someone complimented his writing. That was what happened when you became used to being underestimated.

Viet realized he was genuinely trying to apologize. “Sure, I got some time.”

It took him a good half hour to accept that the kid who led a pack of wild wolves, invading his space, was really the kid who was mesmerized by National Geographic and splitting a bag of popcorn with him.

He punctuated the silence with his random facts—like, this one: elephants are actually the only mammals, besides humans, to walk backward.

“Sorry. About the other night.”

“You don’t need to say.”

“Yeah, but my grandma would give me shit if I didn’t really apologize.”

“Your grandma?” Viet smirked in the dark.

Wren sensed his reaction. “You know what—I take it back. Shut up.” He threw a handful of popcorn at him. “Yes, Granny Ann Joseph can still kick my ass at age eighty-seven. She’s always telling me apologies aren’t words, they’re actions. But it wasn’t just that. We were assholes. I was. They’re chill—most of the time, I swear. But I wouldn’t, you know, be able to watch this without them making fun of me.”

“What makes you think I won’t make fun of you?”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Wren said, shaking his head. “But I know you’re not an asshole. And I think you probably know what it’s like to be bullied.” Wren quickly explained, “You’re super quiet. Quiet kids always get bullied.” Viet let him continue. “And I know that shit does stuff to you. Makes you want to take on a new identity, be someone else entirely.”

His roommate knew more about him than he expected.

“You know, when nice people invite you to hang out with them, you should either accept or decline. But it warrants a response.”

“Sorry, who’s this?”

“The guy who was nice enough to cook you breakfast when you were hungover!” Kale. But how—

“How’d you get my number?” Viet asked.

“School directory.”

“What a creep!” It sounded like Tate in the background.

“I said last week that my door would be open to you, and I meant it. Today happens to be a Saturday Sins dinner. You’re totally welcome to join us.”

“Oh.” Viet glanced over at his roommate, whose eyes were beginning to close. They’d watched TV for three hours; it was nighttime now. “I didn’t think you meant it.”

“Get over here, Viet! And come hungry.” Now it was Lis, and it sounded like she’d wrestled the phone from Kale. “I want to hear what you thought about the meeting!”

“Hurry up! We’re getting hungry waiting for you.” Now that was Evie, and if Viet was wrestling his decision before, her voice convinced him to go.

He made it to Kale and Tate’s apartment, and slipped right in. There were more people than he expected; all of them appeared to be upperclassmen. They were seated at what looked like two folding tables pushed together. Viet was sure one of them was used for beer pong the other weekend. No one looked over at his entrance. A Spotify playlist played at a medium volume from a MacBook. He remembered the music at the party had been twice as loud, and the lights blinked along with the beat. Now the lights were dimmed, and the whole setup felt disarmingly and unfamiliarly too “adult.” The tip jar that Kale mentioned when they first met was displayed prominently on the kitchen counter, and it had some cash in it, so Viet went over and pulled a few bills from his wallet.

“And Viet has arrived. Clap, everyone!”

To his utter horror, all the guests followed Kale’s command, and Viet could only stare back, his hand in the jar, fingers clinging to a five-dollar bill.

“What are you doing?” the older boy asked, spotting his hand.

“Putting money in the tip jar?”

“What a gentleman.” Kale grabbed him by the shoulders, like a music teacher forcing their student to bow after a performance. “They don’t make firsties like him anymore. Instead I have a bunch of freeloaders as friends.”

“It’s you who refuses the money,” one guest said. “You didn’t want me to pay, even as I tried to wrestle cash into your hands. In fact, if I remember correctly, you told me to shove it up my—”

Tate coughed loudly. He was seated at the far end of the table, and Evie and Lis waved Viet over, and he gratefully escaped everyone’s attention. Passing by the other guests, he was given smiles and unabashed waves, before they returned to their respective conversation.

“Seems like a lot more people are here than last time,” he said. “I thought it’d just be you four.”

“The number dwindles over time,” Evie said. He noticed her boyfriend didn’t come. Jake, was that his name? “Once the weeks go on, it is mainly us four—and hopefully, five if you want to keep coming—but the first few Saturday Sins is almost like a celebration that we’re all back on campus again.”

Viet eyed the other end of the table, heavy with different dishes: roasted sweet potatoes, glazed carrots, roasted Cornish hens on a bed of lemon and rosemary. Dessert was Oreos and dark chocolate–covered pretzels, likely brought by the guests.

“How does he pay for all this? Seriously.”

“Free produce,” Lis answered. “Perks of working at the Sustainability crew.”

“And we do pay, but we make it seem like we don’t,” Evie explained.

“Kale’s… forgetful,” Tate explained, noticing Viet’s confusion. “AggieCard, assignments, he loses everything. So, whenever he ‘finds’ cash lying around, I just tell him it’s money he had misplaced. Or he just assumes so. Actually, now that I’m saying all this, the only time he isn’t forgetful is when he’s cooking.”

“Uh. That’s…”

“Unbelievable, right?” Lis finished. “Yeah, but once, I stole his cozy, fuzzy blanket from his bed, and he didn’t realize it until two weeks later.”

“That was you?”

While Lis made excuses to Kale, who joined right then, Evie laughed. “Just hand over as much as you want. Tate will plant it somewhere soon.”

Viet’s five dollars seemed inadequate, given the amount of food, but he didn’t want to protest more. Kale encouraged him to eat up. He eyed Viet as he piled up on food, until discomfort creeped over him. The older boy only stopped after Tate elbowed him and said, “Leave the kid alone.”

“Just try the appetizers!” Kale insisted.

“He wants to know how the food tastes,” Evie explained. “We’re his guinea pigs.”

Viet understood. When he worked at Bao’s family restaurant, Bao’s mother had some servers taste-test batches of entrees, even though she never took their meek critique seriously. Stubborn and proud, that woman. Because Viet was no longer terrified of her, knowing that she was soft underneath all those thorns, he felt comfortable offering his feedback. And she listened to Viet’s suggestions, to a certain point, accepting them with a “Maybe I will do that next time.” And then she would never do it.

Well, at least she asked for his opinion.

Sensing the upperclassman’s watchful eye again, Viet tested the appetizers, and was grateful that there were only two: the sweet potatoes and carrots. Separately they were perfectly sweet, but two sugary appetizers overpowered his taste buds.

“That’s why I think the appetizers were a nine out of ten,” Viet concluded after a few minutes.

“Interesting.” A smile slowly formed on Kale’s face. “I like this kid. He’s honest,” he proclaimed to the others at the table.

With some astonishment and a speck of lingering fear—because Kale was now determined to get his opinion on the main courses, until thankfully, Tate shooed him away—Viet sat through dinner, until he was absorbed into the many random, slurred conversations around him. Lis appeared relieved that he enjoyed Wednesday’s club meeting. Evie asked about his first few weeks of classes, nodding because she’d taken similar courses.

At one point, Tate asked Evie where Jake was, and she only sighed, said he wasn’t free tonight. The older boy nodded at her response and there was no follow-up, though Viet thought Tate had sent Lis a look. Did that mean the boyfriend was always busy? Or just busy whenever they had their Saturday Sins dinner? Besides the brief sigh, Evie didn’t seem bothered by Jake’s absence.

One conversation made him think of Wren and their talk. Someone had brought up identities and maintaining them in different groups—school, work, and home—whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Banished by Tate to the other end of the table, Kale argued it was neither, but just an inevitable thing.

“We’re all different someones, depending on who we are with. It’s impossible to be consistent, and anyone who thinks they are is in denial. Me, for example—I’m much louder here than I am at home, with my family, especially my extended family, I’m not as open. It’s because I’m the baby, the wild card to some.” Kale rolled his eyes. “I don’t even get to touch the kitchen because apparently, my aunt is the queen of the kitchen, when really”—he stage-whispered—“she could use a little more of something called salt in her meals.”

“It’s hard to hold too many someones in your body, though,” Kale’s friend, Amina, said softly.

“I don’t think I have too many someones in this body,” Viet said honestly. He’d had some wine, which was offered to him “in moderation,” Tate joked. “I’m too busy trying to figure out one someone.” Maybe it didn’t make sense, but other people nodded like they understood him. Evie was one of them.

“When I’m with my family, I’m much surer of myself. I have a role.” Evie paused. “I had a role, I guess.”

“What’s the role that you want now?” Tate asked.

“Good question!” Evie pointed at Viet as if he’d just said the most enlightening fact. “Be my own person. I need to figure out how.”

“It’s the people around you,” Kale said, bursting into their personal space as if he were summoned. He plopped down right beside Tate, letting his hand brush along his boyfriend’s shoulders. His face was fully red—same as Evie, he realized. A quick selfie check—Viet too. Damn you, ALDH2.

Though his answer was nonsensical, Viet could feel the older boy was making a point, and maybe the true meaning would dawn on him later, once he slept away the wine. The table had already split into separate conversations. He overheard a rumor about a bed with chains in one of Hutchinson’s bathrooms….

Kale continued, projecting, “People will bring out all the different sides of you. Sometimes in the worst ways. But mostly in the best, and freeing, and fulfilling, way, ever.”

There was a brief solemn silence. Even the din of forks and spoons halted. And then:

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Amina, and the whole room laughed.