CHAPTER 2
Two weeks later
A ww, yeah. Tuesday night Chinese food plus a view of Mei Li between Dad and Lex’s shoulders. Dude…Zhang’s has way more than the best Chinese food in San Francisco. Mei Li’s way more interesting than Dad’s and Lex’s conversation about the new detective they’re working with at the SFPD. And apparently more interesting than the sweet and sour pork I’ve been craving since biology. Which is a weird time to think about eating animals, but my stomach was threatening to eat itself. Only now, I can’t think about pork because Mei Li’s between our table and the next one.
She reaches for one of the customer’s glass and a narrow strip of skin peeks out between her low-rise skinny jeans and her shirt. When she straightens, she drops a piece of paper on the floor next to me and I stare at it before leaning down to pick it up. I straighten in my chair and my eyes catch up with her as she walks away. Unfolding the note in my lap, I glance down at her loopy handwriting .
I didn’t switch my shift just because I knew you’d be here tonight. But…I didn’t say no either, so….
Biting back a smile, I shove the note in my pocket and scan the room, spotting her at another table. Contact #24 since we met at Guo’s shop two weeks ago. The morning after our chance introduction, I’d stopped by Guo’s on my way to school and left Mei Li another fortune so the first one would come true and win me the double order of sweet and sour pork. After practice, there was the biggest takeout box waiting for me. And a note—number three. I wonder how long it will take her to down the jumbo bag of sour Skittles I left for her just for fun.
She’s at a table across the room again, and when she tilts her head and laughs along with the lady she’s serving, my eyes get stuck in her pink lip gloss. Her smile is a circle of light in the dim, red restaurant. Her ponytail sways with every step, waving for me to follow her through the swinging door she bumps open with her hip.
“Marcus? Hello? Marcus Miller?” Dad’s Southern drawl pulls me back to our table, a huge envelope in front of my face. “This came today. Thought you might be mildly interested.” He flips his tie over his shoulder and slurps Lo Mein noodles, and Lex takes down his beef and broccoli. Way too much broccoli, not enough beef.
I set down my chopsticks, scanning the return address before looking at Dad, back to the envelope, back to Dad, like eye ping-pong. He doesn’t know I’m gonna say no to what’s inside that envelope. No way I’m telling him tonight, though.
“Open it!” he says around a mouthful of noodles, shoving it toward me. “Let’s hear how much I don’t have to pay for you to become a brain surgeon.” His biceps strain impressively in his rolled shirt sleeves like he wants to rip it open himself. My leg bounces, my knee ramming the edge of the table and shaking the candle in the middle of it. My whole body knows what’s inside, and my brain’s trying to figure out how to say yes to it, even though there’s no way I can.
I slip a finger under the flap and slide it through the seal, then pull out the official Stanford letterhead. The offer. Full scholarship. Stanford soccer jersey. All mine if I sign.
“Don’t find offers like that in a fortune cookie!” Dad whoops, and Mei Li glances at us. I catch her eyes, but the guy she’s waiting on grabs her arm, and she turns back to face him.
My gaze lingers on the guy’s hand squeezing her arm until Lex leans across the table and slaps his palms against my chest like I’m a hand drum. “You know how to make your godfather look good.” He sits back in his chair, beaming as he crosses his meaty arms over the radio strapped across his dress shirt. “No big surprise, though—Ray’s raised the perfect kid.”
Except perfect kids don’t consider signing that Stanford offer and leaving their dad alone. It’s always been the two of us. If I leave him alone, I’ll be just like my mom.
Mei Li flows toward the kitchen, balancing dirty dishes on a tray she practically bear- hugs to hold. I think about her note. What I’ll write back. The Sharpie in my pocket. The bowl of fortune cookies near the register. Getting away from this table so I don’t accidentally tell Dad I accepted USF’s offer so I can live at home. I could sign the line and lock in my dreams right now. But I can’t. So I need to get far away from the temptation.
Lifting my cup, I let it slip through my hand so what’s left of my Dr. Pepper sloshes down my practice jersey. Swearing, I dab at it while Dad and Lex throw napkins at me, but I scoot my chair back. “Gonna go clean up.”
I weave away from our table toward the register, swiping a fortune cookie from the bowl on my way to the bathroom. Holding the hem of my jersey, I wave it dry as I push through the door and carefully open the wrapper, pull the fortune out of the cookie, then slide my Sharpie from my pocket. Yanking off the lid with my teeth, I use the wall as a writing surface and write my phone number on the back of the fortune before flipping it over to read it. I smile. No way. Someone in your life needs a letter from you . Maybe a text? A call? All of it.
Wedging the paper back inside the cookie, I drop it in its wrapper, then squat under the hand dryer, punching the button. I wave my shirt under it until I sweat, and when Stanford slips into my mind again, I push out of the bathroom, stopping to scan the restaurant. Mei Li’s balancing her tray as she hands drinks to a new group, so I stride through the table and chair maze and drop the fortune cookie on her tray as I pass.
When I slide back into my seat, Stanford’s offer stares up at me next to a fresh Dr. Pepper. She came to our table while I was gone. I pick up my soda and take a drag, even though coach will kill me for drinking it.
“Can’t believe this is it, M.C.” Dad grips his cup, swirling the soda inside before taking a few gulps. “Marcus Charleston Miller—Stanford’s next big thing.” He nods and Lex grins. “Always knew it.” He rubs his chin, the stubble from his 18-hour shift rustling against his palm but then I intercept Mei Li’s smile and pink spreads up her neck and settles on her cheeks and my stomach flips, trapping all the air I should be breathing.
Whoa.
Dad leans into my line of sight. “Off to Stanford on a brand spankin’ new motorcycle, right, M.C.?” He raises his eyebrows.
I tear my gaze from Mei Li, and feeling rushes back into my limbs like carbonation as I jab my chopsticks into my food and nod. “Yeah—definitely.” Somehow, she makes oxygen deprivation totally pleasant.
Dad picks up his chopsticks and attacks his noodles again. “Been thinking about sweetening that deal. ”
I frown and chew. “How’s that?”
“Keep avoiding girls until graduation, motorcycle’s still yours.” He crosses his arms and rests them on the table, leaning toward me. “Avoid girls until you finish undergrad, you’ve got yourself a car.”
I stare at him, then open my mouth, close it and ease back in my chair. “You serious?”
“Dead.”
Lex whistles and shakes his head. “Why don’t you make the boy a monk while you’re at it, Ray?”
I glance at him, then back to Dad. “Like what kind of car?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you want. Think you can do it?”
“Thinking about it.”
He frowns through a smile and tilts his head. “What’s there to think about? Let a girl mess you up or get a car—easy choice.”
It had been pretty easy so far. Sort of. There’d been a few times when long legs had momentarily blurred my focus, but…only six weeks until graduation. Mei Li and I have only talked in person once. But those 24 notes…and now my number…
“Deal’s on the table. Know what I’d do.” Dad goes back to his noodles as motorcycles and tricked-out cars race through my head. Black car—tinted windows. Nice rims, sweet system. So fast. No big deal. Right? I sneak a glance at Mei Li.
Maybe.
“Hey…uh…Marcus?” Dad interrupts my daydream of Mei Li sitting right next to me in my very fast car. He glances up from reading a text on the phone next to his plate, then holds it up for Lex to read. “Head back to The Clubhouse and get your homework done, how ‘bout? Have a night at home.” He pushes away from the table and Lex wipes his mouth and throws down his napkin, scooting his chair out.
“What’s going on?” I pop another piece of pork into my mouth and look from him to Lex, but Dad throws on his suit jacket, then talks to his wallet while he rifles through cash.
“Another woman disappeared. Number fourteen. Can’t all be runaways.” He shoves his wallet back into his suit pocket, and Lex pats me hard on the back as he passes. “Now, Marcus—home.”
Before my eyes, Detective Ray Miller transforms into RoboCop, and Tuesday night Chinese is officially over. “Any chance of a ride along? I could do chemistry later and—”
“Not a chance. Don’t want you anywhere near this stuff.”