CHAPTER 9
O h. My.
Soggy Oreos bob in the bowls I’m still holding, the milk shivering from my shaking hands. I set the bowl on the dresser beside a framed picture of Marcus and his dad standing next to mountain bikes, beaming and sweaty.
I drag my eyes away so I don’t leave eye-prints all over things I can’t have when Detective Miller’s voice rumbles from the living room and through the closed door.
“No movie tonight?”
Marcus’s response is closer. “Nah, sorry. Can’t stay up late.”
“Understood. Maybe tomorrow night.”
“Perfect. Night, Dad.”
I spin around, scanning the room. I should sit and look comfortable somehow. My eyes skip over shelves of signed soccer balls and trophies. Stacks of books on the nightstand. A chalkboard wall covered in pie charts, diagrams, percentages. Navy down comforter on the bed, orange blanket balled near a pile of pillows…Nope. Not there. I jerk my eyes away. Desk chair ?
I tiptoe-run to his desk beside the window and drop into the chair. When the door opens, I spin to face him, the room streaking around me before solidifying into lean, bare arms and shoulders in a tank top on a Marcus who closes the door behind him.
“Whoa,” he whispers, leaning his head back against the door, clutching a bundle of clothes and closing his eyes. He crosses to the hamper and tosses in the bundle. “Rescued your jacket. No evidence,” he whispers, “but I’ll wash it ‘cause I had to hide it in my hoodie and now it smells like fear. That was way too close.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“Am I not supposed to be here?”
“So…about that…” He lets out a long breath before pulling a fresh shirt out of his drawer and yanking it over his head. It feels like I’m watching him dress, so I shoot off the chair, eyes on the chalkboard wall. My ears stay behind to listen to every rustle he makes, my tattoo throbbing.
The floorboards creak as Marcus steps beside me, his arm brushing against mine. “To answer your question…” he whispers, “my dad doesn’t want girls here. Or anywhere near me.” His words land heavily on my head, then drop like rocks on my shoulders.
“Did something happen or…?”
“Yeah.” He nods and stares at the chalkboard wall. “My mom. She wrecked him and he’s…” Marcus pops his knuckles and rolls his neck. “He’s trying to protect me.”
“From girls.”
“Yep. My meemaw and my aunt are the only two girls allowed near me or in The Clubhouse.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble, so I’m going to leave.” Don’t want myself and my family in trouble, either.
“One big, fat problem,” he whispers. “There’s only one way out and Dad’s right by it. We’re in here until he goes to bed which could be awhile. He’s used to late nights. Plus…” He looks down at me. “ I don’t want you to go.”
I think I swallowed a sparkler.
Pulling out my phone, I text Lin:
Mei: Cover for me.
I don’t have to wait for her reply to know she will. I move to Marcus’s closet, facing it to muffle my voice before dialing Mama’s number, and she answers on the third ring.
“Wéi?”
“May I have a later curfew? Lin and I are working on our final chemistry project that’s due tomorrow.” The lie pours out of me, pushed out by the thought of hanging out with Marcus a bit longer.
There’s a shuffle on the other side, a door clicks shut, and when Mama speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That is fine but be quiet when you get home. Understand?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I end the call and turn to Marcus. “I can stay for a bit.”
He grins. “Guess I’ll give you a very quiet tour of my world, then. This eye language thing is gonna come in handy, I think.”
He looks back to the chalkboard wall. “You should probably know that I draw on everything. Arms, legs…walls.” He motions toward the chalkboard. “My dad installed this after I drew all over the wall with Sharpie in Kindergarten,” he whispers.
I smile at the pie charts and diagrams scrawled across it, my pulse thumping in my neck. “What was your specialty?” I whisper back.
“Army guys. Koalas in hot-air balloons.”
“Wait—it’s on my bucket list to see a koala in a hot-air balloon, and you’re telling me there’s one just behind this chalkboard?” I frown-smile up at him, then look back to the board. “All I see is math.”
He smiles at the wall and rubs the back of his neck. “Probability.”
I point to a blank space. “Are you saving that for a really big koala?”
He tilts his head, squinting at the wall, then down at me. “I was,” he whispers, “but I’ve got a better idea.” Stepping to his nightstand, he pulls out a piece of chalk, then points to the empty space. “You should stand right there. And wave.”
I hesitate, then turn and press my back to it and hold my hand up. “Like this?”
His smile shoots light at me. “ Exactly like that .”
He squats in front of me, tracing around my left foot, up the side of my leg which tenses, tingling when his hand brushes it. The chalk pauses at my hips before moving up my torso, but he hesitates at my chest and catches my eye.
“Didn’t think about how awkward this could get. Never had this issue in kindergarten.”
“What issue?”
He straightens and steps back, smiles at the floor, taps the chalk against his thigh. “Girl in my room. Close proximity. All the…” His face flushes. “Hormones.”
My twisting stomach wrings a nervous whisper-laugh out of me when he steps closer, his eyes mock serious. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers down to me, the air warming. “95 percent of guys twelve through twenty-one wrestle with them every second.”
I smile and roll my eyes while he continues tracing.
“Is this too weird for a first date?” he asks the chalkboard under my elbow.
I press my lips together to keep my somersaulting insides inside. “No.”
“If this is considered a date, I mean.” He takes a step back and jerks into motion, continuing his outline .
I squeeze my eyes shut to trap the thought. “Depends on your definition, I guess?”
He rounds my shoulder and traces my neck, his face so close, the heat of it washes over my cheek, and I swallow, pressing my lips together as he responds. “Don’t have a definition, but…” He stops, erases with his fingertip, then continues. “If we’re voting,” I say definitely. As long as you’re down.”
My chest tightens to stifle an inner squeal and I nod. “I’m down.”
“Yesssssss,” he says through a smile, then moves my hair and goosebumps play tag across my skin.
I drag in a breath through my nose and wiggle my toes against his rug when the line he’s drawing swerves outward.
“I don’t think my leg bends like that,” I whisper to the ceiling.
He snatches the eraser from his nightstand. “Got distracted.”
“By…?”
“Thought about kissing you.” He tosses the eraser to the floor and focuses on his drawing again. “But I won’t. Promise.”
A swallow lodges in the middle of my tight throat. This is only a daydream or I’m unconscious. I’m actually in math class right now, wishing I was here, that’s all. If he really tries to kiss me, it’s only me hallucinating.
Marcus speed-draws the rest of me then steps away, holding his hands up. “Done.”
I meet his eyes but am too afraid of what mine might say so I step away from the chalkboard and turn around, hand circling my neck as I nod. “An excellent, 2-D me,” I whisper, smiling at my waving outline on his wall. In his room. Drawn by him. I’m still passed out.
“Whoa.” Marcus hovers behind me and I glance over my shoulder at him. “The tat on your neck wasn’t there the other night.”
Feeling plummets from my face, pools in my toes, and I turn back to the chalkboard because I don’t want to talk about the reason behind the tattoo. But Marcus’s fingers smooth my hair over my shoulder and all feeling that left me five seconds ago surges back into me, hot and tingly.
“What’s it say?”
I press my lips together and close my eyes, breathing in heat. “My name.”
A moment of silence throbs before he speaks again. “So…” He steps around me to the chalkboard and draws a heart in the middle of my chalk chest. “It’s kinda stating the obvious, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know…meaning of your name.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Beautiful. Obvious.” He focuses on the chalkboard and swallows. “Did it hurt?”
I smile at my feet, wiggling my toes to distribute the heat from his comment, then look at him and shrug. “Kind of.”
He sections my chalk heart into two halves, the veins in his forearm shifting beneath his skin as he writes 50% Buddha in one half and 50% Face Eater in the other.
My stomach lurches and I grab the chalk from his hand, erasing Face Eater with my palm before drawing a question mark. Then I turn to him and shove the chalk against his chest, patting my hand over it, my fingertips flexing to get closer to him.
He stares at the board, a smile stretching across his face. “I can totally take that question mark.”
My eyes flutter open when the crack in my curtain sends a laser of sunlight into my room. I fell asleep in the hoodie Marcus gave me on our walk home at 3 AM, and when I pull it off, my skin refuses to let go of his smell the same way my mind won’t let go of last night. Actually…I glance at the time on my phone. Seven hours ago. When he walked me to my fire escape, and I figured that would be the last time I’d see him. But then he’d said “see you tomorrow.”
I snatch my phone from the nightstand and find a screen full of Marcus texts beaming up at me. Clutching it, I flop back on my pillows with a squeal and open to his most recent message.
Marcus: Good morning sleepy head! Just me again, hoping you’re finally awake and I’m not still talking to myself. How’s your eye? Your head? School? I have zero focus but am oddly energized after only two hours of sleep. Magical.
I bite my lip and smile, my stomach flipping around as I scroll to the first text in the very long chain he sent while I was sleeping and he should have been.
Marcus: Can’t sleep after tonight.
Now you probably can’t either. Sorry. Shh. Go back to sleep. I’ll tiptoe back to my side of the phone. Sorry. So sorry. Being quiet now. Very, very quiet…
But one more thing before I go…just gotta say…we should be hanging out right now. Yeah, I get the only ones awake at this hour are cats and people forced to work night shifts but sleep is such a waste of perfectly good hang out time, IMO.
Okay. Well…sounds like you’re sleeping. I can hear you snoring from here, so this is coming a little late but good night. Actually…good morning. Good 4:11 AM. But really. Bye. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams. See you later. Night night. Buh-bye. Signing off…
(Unless you’re awake now and have nothing better to do than text….)
Dude. My head won’t shut up. It keeps very loudly wondering how we talked for so long at my apartment. I’ve never done that. Ever with anyone, not even my dad who, you know, I live with. And how did he not hear us laughing? Especially that one time when you snorted? He’s a detective. Are we that stealth?! That was wild. The most excellent kind of wild. Love to be stealth with you again. Very, very soon? Yes, please—100% times a billion or so.
How’s your eye? Hopefully closed. Sleeping. Or staring at your phone while you’re texting me back any minute now…
Waiting…
So patiently…
Ok so you must really be asleep. Guess I’ll try. Here goes…
I laugh to the ceiling before texting:
Mei: I’m here! I’m awake! But I wasn’t at 4:11 AM. Now I wish I was though. I was completely exhausted from being so stealth I guess but I’d love to get exhausted being stealth again…100% times two billion…or so.
I press my phone to my chest and picture Marcus lying in his bed all night, sprawled out, thinking of me while he wrestled his sheets and waited for a text. My insides bubble and I whisper-squeal into my pillows.
The dull buzz of conversation and the smell of coffee sneaks upstairs from the restaurant and under my closed door. Which means Mama and Baba are busy and distracted and I’m free to figure out how to navigate this day. I’ve never skipped school, but the bus rumbled by hours ago, and I’m not walking through the halls with this advertisement from Nick on my face.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I flip it over while my stomach does the same, but it drops when Nick’s name slides onto the screen with a message that makes me want to throw my phone at the wall:
Nick: Sorry about last night. Can’t wait to see you again so I can show you just how sorry I am. Promise I will make it up to you.
I clench the phone in my hand, like I can squeeze his words from it. I don’t want to hear his excuses or his big plans for us that he thinks will somehow make up for his actions. I never want to see him again. But that’s impossible if I want any kind of future for myself.
I release a frustrated breath and turn onto my side, hating that nothing in my future will work without Nick, even angrier that he barged into this perfect morning. I hesitate, then force my fingers to type a single word response to his text so he doesn’t suspect anything:
Mei: Okay.
As I hit send, a text from Marcus slides onto the screen:
Marcus: FINALLY. You definitely know how to make a guy wait in agony. I survived the long night and now I’m trying to survive history by thinking about my most recent history. Specifically last night. This morning? It was way better than anything Napoleon’s army could have pulled off. Napoleon could only wish. And—sidenote—apparently he was a very short dude with a raging case of narcissism.
What class are you in right now? How you feeling?
I’m feeling so, so good, especially if his texts keep coming and crowd out Nick’s. I smile as I respond.
Mei: Fully smiling from your sleepless night of texting. Just caught up. Also…skipping school.
His response pops up seconds later:
Marcus: Seriously?! Arrrgghh!!!! Ask Magic 8 if I should skip with you.
But I don’t need to ask Magic 8 because everything about Marcus is a yes. Exclamation point, exclamation point.
Marcus: Magic 8 said, and I quote, WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME THIS STUPID QUESTION?! So weird. I’ve never seen that response before.
A selfie of him slumped in a desk chair slides onto the screen and I can’t stop smiling.
Marcus: Obviously, I don’t know how to properly navigate my life without Magic 8. Totally made the wrong choice and came to school. A whole day wasted in foolishness. Regrets are taking me down. Looking for the nearest exit.
I take a selfie of me in my bed, my head turned to the side to hide my bruised cheek and send it to him.
Mei: Rough day for me too. :)
We text for ten more minutes, the grin stretching my face making my jaw ache until Marcus sends an audio clip of the bell ringing, then a hurried, whispered message. “Just gonna say, you look way too cozy in my most favorite hoodie as I go off to face the consequences of my poor life choices in chemistry. But you look way wayyyyyyyyyyy better in it than I ever could so keep wearing it. Also! I might have left something for you at Guo’s. Hint: it’s not me, no matter how bad I wish it was. Later, my favorite delinquent student.”
The audio clip ends, and I hesitate, soaking in the moment and staring at the selfie he sent, memorizing the way his tousled hair sweeps across his forehead, his dark lashes reaching out and drawing me into deep blue. The smirk on the edge of his lips and the symmetrical lines of his face, confidently set into perfection. My eyes blur from staring and I blink and click off my phone, then ease off my bed toward my closet, my whole body sore like it was slammed against a wall. Or a bleeding flower rug.
Shaking my head, I focus on my row of sweaters but catch my reflection in the mirror—bad memories smeared across my face in black and blue, casting a shadow over the morning. I turn away; Nick isn’t going to be part of this day.
I reluctantly slip out of Marcus’s hoodie, his smell refusing to let go of my skin like my head clings to his voice and smile, and I pull on a sweater before sliding his hoodie under my pillow and stepping into my bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. Grabbing a scarf, I wrap it around my neck, wincing when the threads pull at raw skin around my tattoo.
I hurry downstairs and edge through the kitchen where the chefs are a blur of white against stainless steel and clouds of steam hiss from the grills. Servers dart in and out through the swinging door with trays and coffee pots as I slip behind shelves of stacked cans. I push open the back door and smack into a guy holding a sprawling bouquet of red roses.
“Sorry!” I call as I hurry down the chipped steps.
“Mei Li, wait!”
I glance over my shoulder as he takes off his hat.
Xander’s teeth glint in the morning sun slicing through the alley as he holds out the bouquet. “From Nick.”
I stare at the flowers, then turn toward the street again. Flowers won’t fix my eye or Nick’s drinking problem.
“He wanted to deliver these himself but had last-minute business in L.A. and won’t be back for a week or so.”
I dig my nails into my palms and look over my shoulder as he pulls a pink card from between the rose stems. “At least read the note.”
I hesitate before taking a few steps back toward him and snatching the envelope, not breathing as I pull the card out.
Mei Li,
I am so sorry for how I acted last night. I have work to do to become the man you deserve. Please let me try.
Yours, Nic k
His name stamps cold spots through my chest, and I press my lips together to stop their quivering. Does he really think flowers will erase last night? Xander holds out the flowers and I take them, choking the stems as I walk toward Guo Mama’s.
I don’t want Nick as “my man.” Not anymore. Alcohol makes people do things they normally wouldn’t. Baba was an alcoholic for years and ruined our life in Taiwan. If Nick keeps drinking, what will he ruin?
I put my palm over the welt on my face and clench my jaw against the memory of last night as I push through Guo Mama’s door. I drop the flowers and card in the garbage before swerving through racks, into the back room, and falling into a chair at the table. Three days ago, Nick was nice. Flirty but harmless. Baba wasn’t hiding something. Marcus was just words on paper and a Tuesday night spark in the restaurant. Now everything’s flipped. And Marcus is throwing sparks all over my life. Sparks I have to keep stomping on so they don’t turn into a wildfire.
Murmuring floats around the corner from the storage room and I turn in my chair to intercept the sound. I catch Mama’s voice and squint, listening to Guo Mama scoff at whatever she said.
“She is not a child any more Jia Li. She can handle the truth.”
“She already hates me. If I tell her, I lose her forever. I should have told her years ago, but I was afraid she’d run away, and I’d never see her again.”
The voices quiet and a door shuts. I stand, ready to bolt, but Mama rounds the corner.
Her eyes triple in size, and on the one place I’m trying to hide. “What are you doing here?”
I clench my fist at my side like it can squeeze words out of me and a moment swirls between us, gathering all the tension into a ball in my throat before Guo Mama shuffles to Mama’s side, hands clasped behind her back.
“I asked for help with boxes after school, but thank you for coming early, Xiao Mei.” Guo Mama’s eyes sweep over my bruised face, her jaw tightening.
My eyes dart after Mama’s so I can catch them and say, “You know who did this.” Instead, I nod and talk to the air, hoping Mama gets the hint to leave, “I’ll be home before my shift.”
She stares at the floor, then nods and ducks her head as she walks through the shop and out the front door.
“Ah! Beautiful Mei Li…” Guo Mama’s wrinkles droop as she studies my face. “I can either guess what happened,” she says, motioning to her own cheek, “or you can tell me. I’m not your Mama or Baba. I don’t need to protect Ugly Chao and neither should you.” She stares me down while shame leaks through me. “It was Ugly Chao, yes?”
I hesitate, then nod and she purses her lips, shakes her head, pivots toward the counter.
“He will wish I never saw this.” She drops the heavy words between us like an anchor then shuffles to a drawer, opens it, and pulls out a Tupperware container. She pries off the lid with her gnarled fingers before pulling out a folded piece of paper and giving it to me. “This will make everything better. And I mean everything.”
I stare at the note, and all thoughts of asking Guo Mama about the “she” from her and Mama’s conversation disappears. Mama can hide whatever she wants, and so can I.
I smile at Marcus’s precise creases and my name written on one side in his blocky, sloped handwriting I’ve memorized.
I look at Guo Mama and she waves her hand toward the note. “Read! It’s so very good!”
“You read it?”
“Of course. I can’t pass notes without knowing what they say.” She claps her hands, then brings them to prayer. “Everything’s going to be splendid, as I predict.” Humming, she shuffles off and pushes a rattly cart into her storage room.
I swallow and unfold the note’s corner flap, my fingertips pressing into the paper as I read the short message scrawled at the bottom corner in Sharpie instead of pen:
How would you feel about a second date? Saturday, 10 AM, maybe? Unless work and homework can tell better jokes than I can.
Guo Mama’s slippers flap against the terra cotta, and I straighten, balling my hands into fists at my side to keep all this energy inside. I don’t want to lose a particle of this feeling. She pats my shoulder as she passes, and I turn to her. “You can’t tell anyone, Guo Mama. Promise? I know it’s a stupid idea and I can’t have him but…I just…” I scan the letter again, my smile spreading. “I really like him and just want to pretend for one date longer.”
She cackles to the dragon lanterns hanging from the ceiling, then blinks at me. “You know I am good at keeping secrets. This one is special, and the gods are already helping you. Check your work schedule. You will see.”