Uh, yeah!
No, keep it cool, Grace. Don’t act like a total freakazoid.
“Sure,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual and not insta-stalker scary. “Sounds fun.”
Milo smiles and then flips open his physics book and starts on his homework. I glance up to find Thane staring at me, his dark-gray eyes unreadable. I raise my brows. He shifts his attention to his textbook.
After living in the same house for so long, I’m pretty much used to Thane’s odd, silent behavior. If he has something to say, he’ll say it. He just doesn’t have much to say very often. I shrug it off and instead focus on trying to find something in my backpack that can pass for homework.
Finding nothing, I dart to my room and grab my laptop off the desk. I can always find something to do with a computer.
Back at the table, I wake up my laptop and click open the word processor. In a new document, I start composing a list of things I want to change about my life. Starting with finding the ability to talk to cute boys.
I’m a little amazed that Mom approved this evening field trip. Thrilled, but amazed. She’s always been a little more on the overprotective-of-her-chicks side, and letting us both out into the big bad city after dark is uncharacteristic.
But then again, I’m sure she and Dad could use a night alone. They haven’t had a moment of peace since we started packing up the old house.
Plus we both have cell phones, bus passes, and—I steal a glance at Milo—a native guide. Of course, Mom didn’t know that, instead of walking around our neighborhood, we’d catch the bus heading to Fisherman’s Wharf to join the sea of tourists.
“Coach Guerrera likes to run the forwards into the ground for the first week,” Milo tells Thane as the bus bounces down the street. “But after that he lets up. I think he just wants to weed out the quitters.”
Thane nods.
Apparently that is enough of an answer for Milo, because he keeps on talking soccer. “He used to play professionally in Argentina, so he’s got the legs to back up his demands.”
I kind of tune out the words. Other than to watch Thane play, soccer is not really of interest to me.
Milo, on the other hand, is definitely of interest. And talkative—especially when Mom was peppering him with questions over dinner. Already I know he is a Bay Area native, is a senior like Thane, has three older sisters, and hates mushroom pizza and avocado. Oh well, he can’t be one-hundred-percent perfect.
With each bump in the road, Milo’s dark-brown curls bounce as if gravity has no control over them. It makes me smile every time.
“This is our stop,” Milo says as the bus pulls up in front of a hotel.
I jump up to follow him and Thane to the door, not wanting to get stuck on a bus for a second time today. The street we’re on is practically deserted, but one block north we step into a churning ocean of people, all ages and sizes and nationalities.
Distracted from my Milo watching, I gawk at the bustle of activity. There are street performers dressed as break-dancing robots or playing unrecognizable exotic instruments beneath giant crab sculptures. A woman in a long, exotic print dress with a shawl over her head tries to give me something, but Milo waves her off. He doesn’t stop the man who hands me a brochure for a Bay cruise. It’s utter chaos, but somehow everything flows perfectly together, like some kind of crazy, hectic ballet.
I’m surrounded by energy and I try to absorb as much as I can.
I follow the boys onto the pier, sticking close so we don’t get separated. I’m pretty sure I’d never find them again. As we push through the Thursday-night crowd, I marvel at all the shops: seashells and pearls, souvenirs, socks, bath salts, candy, and crystals, restaurants serving seafood and ice cream and a hundred kinds of crepes.
No wonder this is such a popular tourist attraction.
“Watch out,” Milo says, tugging me against his side as a tourist with a camera the size of my head nearly knocks me over. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, dazzled by the feel of Milo against me. “Yeah, thanks.”
“No problem.” He beams, and for a second it feels like we’re completely alone in the crowd.
“I’m hungry,” Thane says, killing our moment.
“We just ate,” I complain, mostly because Milo’s attention—and his hand—is now off me.
“Me too.” Milo agrees with Thane. “Everything here is overpriced for the tourists. Have you guys ever had dim sum?”
Had it? I’ve never even heard of it. Still, even though I know it’s a bonehead answer, I’m on the verge of saying,
Before I can finish, Thane says, “No.”
“Excellent!” Milo’s eyes light up brighter than before, and I’m really glad I didn’t get the chance to fib.
“—I haven’t,” I finish quietly.
The look Thane throws me suggests he knew what I’d actually been about to say.
“Then I’ll get to introduce you to it.” Milo starts walking back in the direction we’ve come from and then off to the west. “The best all-night dim sum in town is only a cable car ride away.”
I have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. We cross to a dead-end street where a line of people stand waiting. They’re all looking expectantly up the hill. I turn and see an ancient-looking cable car gliding down toward the dead end.
When I knew for sure we’d be moving to San Francisco, I researched the city online. I read a lot about the cable cars and their history and construction. I know the ropes and brakes are supposed to be safe, but I’m not entirely convinced. As I watch the people climb off and the car execute a complicated, man-powered turnaround, I’m getting a little apprehensive.
“Don’t worry,” Milo says quietly in my ear. “It’s fun.”
A warm, melty feeling spreads from my ear to the rest of my body. I smile and let him lead me to a seat while he and Thane stand, hanging out over the street. I look around and see that other riders are hanging out over the street too, but it doesn’t make me any less nervous.
My eyes stay squeezed tightly shut most of the ride, so I don’t remember much. There are a lot of jerks and stutters, and one time, when the car stops for a couple minutes, I hear a lot of shouting. I force one eye open and find Thane and Milo gone. Panicked, I lean out to search for them, only to find them—and a bunch of other passengers—actually
Two stops later, as the car slowly climbs up a hill, I feel a warmth on my cheek just before Milo whispers, “You’re going to miss the best part.”
Despite my fear, I force my eyes open. For a second, Milo fills my vision. Then he leans back and reveals the view. We’re at an intersection at the high point of a hill. Straight in front of me is a narrow street leading steeply down to a wider one, full of light and lanterns and activity. It’s beautiful.
I smile at Milo for making me open my eyes.
I smile even bigger when he smiles back.
At the next stop, Milo’s hand wraps around mine and tugs me to my feet. We’ve survived. Next time, I’ll keep my eyes open the whole time.
“This is the world-famous Chinatown,” he says, still holding my hand as he leads me down a very steep street.
My heart is racing, and not just because of the harrowing ride.
“And this,” he says, pulling up in front of a glass storefront full of hanging meats and birds and unidentifiable things, “is the world’s best dim sum parlor.”
Although I can sort of see through the windows, they have layers of dirt caked at the corners, as if every so often someone grabs a rag to wipe only the centers. It doesn’t exactly scream Great Place to Eat. Or even No Health Code Violations.
Milo throws the door open wide, flashes me a brilliant grin, and says, “Wait until you taste it.”
Shoving my hesitations about the sanitary conditions aside, I follow Thane through the door and to a once-
