Page 10

CHAPTER 10

Mei: To answer your question from last night, I’d rather go without sugar for one week than not shave my legs. As for American names, I would choose Stella. Or Violet since it’s my favorite color. What do you think? If I had to choose a different name for you, it would be…maybe Bruno? Elwood? Or—I know—Alistair, Ali for short. You do go to that rich kid charter school, so…you should stop wearing hot boy t-shirts and jeans and switch to chinos and loafers. And a sweater around your neck. Maybe carry around a tennis racket.

I laugh at my phone, then shove it in my pocket and cross the street to the park where the boys are at the table under Ellie, the naked, red elephant-lady sculpture.

Johnny tosses an orange in the air and knee dribbles it while the other guys count. I walk by and snatch it, then throw it over his head to Ty. Johnny does a roundhouse and barely misses me, so I grab his leg until he falls. The guys laugh and I slide onto the bench, then destroy the triple decker turkey sandwich I made before school .

“Where’s your head been lately, Miller? Coach almost ripped you apart after you missed that pass during the game last night.”

I take a huge bite, chew. Shake my head.

“I’m tellin’ you.” Johnny leans around Jeff, pointing at me. “Miller has a girl, and he’s not spillin’. Last night on the train, he was talking to someone on the phone all secret. Must’ve been someone good, too, ‘cause his face was doing this.” Johnny stares at the sky, his mouth open in a stupid smile.

Jeff barks a laugh and Ty slaps the table. “Yeah, okay. Hilarious. It was probably his grandma telling him how much money she’s giving him for graduation.”

Ty leans across the table and pats my face with both hands. “Miller’s got girls trying to get his attention all the time, so unless she’s a super model, no girl’s gonna get him.”

I shove him away and Johnny slides onto the bench next to me. He wraps his arm around my neck and forces my head onto his shoulder, patting it. I jerk away from him, shove him off the bench, then finish my sandwich before ripping open a bag of Cheetos.

A week ago, soccer was my girlfriend, and I was a devoted boyfriend. It’ll always be my first love, but soccer doesn’t have a smile that shoots lasers and explodes my heart, or curve a pair of skinny jeans like Mei does. Soccer doesn’t have a voice that makes me shiver or turn my brain into neon cotton candy.

The guys move on to another topic and I pull out my phone, my heart tripping over itself when there’s a response from a-MEI-zing :

Mei: Having a hard time focusing on anything but last night...

I glance at the guys, leave the table, and slip around Ellie into some trees before dialing Mei’s number. I hold my breath.

“Hey.”

My heart jumps toward her voice. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Make your wildest guess.”

“If the answer’s working, we should change that.”

“Wish I had a good reason to take it off.”

“Or…maybe someone will come into the restaurant tonight.” I turn toward Chinatown and Mei’s school full of guys who look nothing like me. I turn a circle, scanning the girls sitting in clumps around the park and along the curb, hunched over their phones. None even compare to Mei. They’re not even in the same game.

“Twice in one week?” she asks through a smile that spreads through the phone to me. “Impressive.”

Jeff yells at me and I glance over my shoulder, then rush, “Gotta go.”

“Me, too, sadly.”

“Don’t be surprised if you see me tonight.”

“I like surprises.”

“Reason 362 why I like you. See you later.” I end the call and walk back to the table and grab my backpack. “Anyone craving Chinese food after practice?”

Johnny pops a fortune cookie into his mouth and reads the paper, then waves it in the air above our table, chewing as he talks. “I love this place! Fortune cookies before dinner, not after, and then, this fortune.” He throws the paper in the middle of the table like a touchdown. “Luck? I’ll take it. Maybe I’ll become the guy all the girls want instead of Miller.”

I snatch it and read, rolling my eyes at Johnny before glancing over to where Mei’s washing a table. When she turns around, she catches my eye and smiles, then looks away, scrubbing the life out of that table. I wanna see that smile as much as possible as close as possible as soon as possible. But not too close. Four more weeks. I can do this.

She glides toward the kitchen door, and my eyes get caught in the movement. Maybe I can’t do this.

I snatch Johnny’s fortune and hand him mine. “Nah, man. You got the wrong fortune. This one’s yours.”

He takes it and reads it out loud. “Being alone will bring perspective.” He tosses it on his empty plate and swears.

“Looks like loneliness is in your future. But perspective’s nice.”

He flips me off, then takes a drag on his Mountain Dew. “We’ll see ‘bout that, Miller. I’ll work some magic with our waitress. Watch and learn, boys…watch and learn.”

He leans around Ty and waves his arm at Mei who weaves between tables toward us. She’d be killer on the soccer field.

She tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s close, avoiding my eyes. I’m freaking losing it over the way she moves. She’s wearing makeup tonight. First time I’ve seen her with stuff all over her face and I prefer her without. But she did a decent job of hiding the bruise. Totally prefer her without that, too. Still wanna rip Face Eater apart. Or have Dad do it. Dad would destroy him. Not sure why she’s protecting him.

She smiles at every guy but me. “Ready to order?”

“Yeah, but quick question.” Johnny lounges in his chair and tilts his head back as he talks to her. “If you were to take your shot at any of us here, which black guy would you choose?”

Mei glances at me and her cheeks are either reflecting the red tabletop or she’s blushing, and my leg bounces under the table. “Since you’re the only black guy at this table, you’ve got a pretty good chance.”

“Told you who’s what.” Johnny slaps his chest.

“But,” Mei continues, “if you want to know who I’d take to the back pantry…I’ll just say…” Her eyes dart directly to mine before wandering back to Johnny. “It’s not you.” Mei turns and her curves move in all the right ways, blowing me completely apart like they’re sending shockwaves across the room.

“Ohh…dude!” Ty laughs to the light above our table. “You should see your face right now. That girl just got all my maddest respect.”

I try to focus on the guys and not how to get to the pantry and what could happen in it, then send her a text, pretending it’s to Dad: Which way to the pantry.

I keep my phone in my lap and Mei in my peripheral vision as she moves around the restaurant, and when every noodle and grain of rice disappears from our plates, she skims toward the table. Without looking at me, she leans across it to hand everyone their bills, and I have an eye level shot of her chest. I swallow and avert my eyes, opening my bill to slide my card inside but instead of a bill, there’s a note:

I went to the pantry. Guess we missed each other. But good news! My work schedule changed. Not sure why or how, but I didn’t ask questions. So, if there’s still an offer for a second date….

I glance up, my stomach doing a couple flips. She’s at the next table, holding a pitcher as she talks to a few old ladies, her long fingers wrapped around the handle, and I picture them all tangled in my hair, then take a drag on my Dr. Pepper to cool down the vitals.

I slip the folded note I wrote during class inside the bill sleeve, then use the pen to add :

Saturday = you + me + all day. See you at 10 AM.

I lie flat in my bed, watching my fan spin. Kinda like my brain. It’s so incredibly heavy because I didn’t ask The Question weighing it down when Dad and I went for a run along the bay after I got home from Zhang’s. Today was the first time in two weeks he had longer than two hours off work. Didn’t wanna add my brain junk to his night. Even though he’s wide-awake right now, painting his room since he can’t sleep like a normal person anymore, and I’m over here pretending to sleep because I pansied out and couldn’t think of a way to bring up my burning question. It’s 2 AM. I’ve been wrestling that burning question and equally hot thoughts about Mei for two hours. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough. Neither can graduation. Unless I can find a loophole in The Bet. Gotta talk to Dad.

I throw off my comforter and hurl myself out of my room and across the hall into Dad’s.

He stops singing to his music and glances over his shoulder. “Did I keep you awake? Sorry, man—can’t paint without Zeppelin.”

“Nah.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Just…too wired, and thought you could use some help.”

He smiles, then turns back to his painting. “I won’t turn down the company. Brushes are in the box.”

I rub my eye then snatch a brush, focusing really hard on taking off the plastic while I figure out how to bring up my question.

Dad gave me The Talk in third grade when I asked him what sex was while we were standing in the aisle of the train headed to a Giants game. He’d told me we’d talk about it when we got home and, during the game, he’d stared silently at his Dr Pepper. Wish he had one to stare at now because he’s probably not gonna like this question, either.

I dip my paint brush in the can, then swipe it across the door jamb to the beat of Led Zeppelin squealing from the speaker. This song always brings out Dad’s falsetto and I smile, then realize the song’s almost over. After tonight’s pantry talk, I have so many questions about the motorcycle. If I don’t ask, the guilt will rip me into confetti. I should just avoid Mei. But I can’t. Also can’t lie to Dad.

I step off the ladder and wipe my hands on a towel tossed over the paint bucket as the song ends. “So, Dad…”

He watches his roller smooth gray paint over his white bedroom wall. “Yeah?”

“About the bet…”

“Yeah?”

I twist the rag around my fingers. “I have a few clarifying questions.”

“Shoot.” He stands and steps back to admire his work.

“What exactly are the requirements for getting the motorcycle? Like…you know…” I scan the polka-dotted plastic sheet on the floor and blue tape strips around the open window, hoping for all the right words to fly through it. Or maybe if I sniff these paint fumes a little longer, the question will just slip out. “Like I just wanna make sure I understand what you mean by staying away from girls. Prom’s coming up and since I’m a senior…just wanna know what’s off limits.” He glances over his shoulder and his eyes leave a streak of panic in the air, so I rush, “Just checking. You know…don’t wanna lose the motorcycle over a technicality.”

His knuckles are white on the roller handle, so I pick paint off my fingernails. He sighs and turns to me, sets the roller in the tin, and runs his hand through his hair, leaving a gray streak through the brown. He inspects his fingers and bends to snatch a rag.

Flipping an empty bucket upside down, he drops onto it, forearms on his knees. “Look, M.C…if you want to go to prom, that’s fine. I get it.” He rubs the rag so violently on his hand, his skin’s gonna peel off.

“Here’s the thing…” He tosses the rag in the corner, the gray streak still in his hair. “You’ve got goals. Big dreams. Girls get in the way, I promise. They’re fun to look at, but they’re…” He scans the room. “Like candy, maybe? Something that’s so good, you can’t help yourself, and then, you’re sick and kind of hate yourself for not taking it easy. Stopping sooner.”

Okay. So…my mom was too much sugar. Dad didn’t stop, and it messed him up. Kind of nasty to think about, but I also get how it can happen. Too many times to count, I’ve taken down a package of Oreos, then felt the effects. And Mei’s way better than Oreos, so…

“If you keep your distance, you’ll get what you want and avoid all the aches girls can cause. That being said, you can take a girl to prom, sure. You can even dance with said girl. Just don’t do any of the after-prom kind of stuff and you have nothing to worry about.” He waves his hand. “If you find some girl you can’t resist, great—finish med school then marry her. Commit. Prove you mean it and do it. Just save all the other “doing” until after you’re married, if you know what I mean.” He turns back to the wall. “Trust me—I didn’t listen to that old-fashioned advice, and it detoured my life.” He stands and picks up the roller. “I’d never take it back because I got you, but…” He shakes his head. “It messed with me, so just…save it for someone who’s worthy of all your big ol’ feelings. You know I know, and I don’t want you to know in the same way.”

My existence is a result of two people who obviously had ‘big ol’ feelings’ for each other but didn’t know they came with a kid. So weird to think Dad once had the same crazy, out-of-control feelings for my mom that I’m starting to have for Mei. I haven’t even kissed Mei, so there’s a zero percent chance of a Baby Marcus. But man…I kinda get how things could get to a Baby Marcus Warning level. A few weeks ago, I was thinking about state championships, college, finding a job, tacos, and avoiding Prom. Then Mei. Now my brain’s swimming in girl thoughts that spill over into other parts of me. Dad obviously wasn’t able to stop with my mom, so will I be able to stop if I start with Mei?

“So basically,” Dad says, his eyes back on his roller moving up and down the wall, “keep your hands to yourself, keep your pants all nice and zipped until you’ve graduated med school. That’s it. Motorcycle, car. Happy life, done.”

Hands to myself. Pants zipped. Uh…okay, but what about that feeling when my whole body wants to be as close to Mei’s as possible? What about wanting to be on a machine that pumps Mei-infused air into my lungs? Or when my eyes wanna trap her smile so every time I blink, it flashes? What do I do with my fingers when they wanna touch her like I’m a blind person identifying her in a girl lineup? Or with my brain that plays her laugh on repeat?

I find the end of a piece of tape and pull it off the wall. Mei’s definitely my weakness, and I’m gonna have to watch my intake very, very closely.