“Horse it is, then,” Auntie Xin replies, winking at me. “But be careful. One born in the winter is cold. He’ll break your heart. Choose one born in spring or summer. Now, time to go.”
Auntie Xin stands, ushering us back out to the front. Before we leave the shop, Mom reminds her of the bags of horrible herbs she promised to buy. Once she receives a plastic bag full of the instruments of my torture, she waves goodbye and we head to the car. After starting the engine, Mom turns to me.
“School first, Michelle. Boys later.”
When I don’t immediately answer, her eyes narrow.
“Okay, okay,” I mumble. “School first.”
“Good. Now, what do you want for dinner?”
—
“Thank you for calling Chan’s Chinese Café. May I take your order?”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” the person on the other end says. “I can’t hear you.”
I pull the phone closer to my mouth, cursing the way my mask muffles my words.
“Thank you for calling Chan’s Chinese Café. What would you like to order?”
I scribble down the dishes as the customer rattles them off one by one.
“So that’s one Kung Pao chicken, one pepper steak, and a combination fried rice. Your total is twenty-five dollars and six cents. It’ll be ready in about fifteen to twenty minutes.”
It’s my birthday today, and so far I’ve spent it sitting through hours of Zoom lectures and then stuck at the restaurant. It’s nearly time to close, but I’m surprised at how many orders are still coming in. I guess nothing makes you crave Chinese food like being stuck in your house twenty-four hours a day.
I’ve barely hung up when the phone rings again. This time, the customer doesn’t know what they want, so I put them on speakerphone while they decide. I unlock my cell and open up Twitter, chuckling at the meme thread Pri just sent me. I’m so distracted that I don’t hear the bell above the front door ding, or the footsteps as someone approaches the counter.
“Um, hi. I’m here to pick up a to-go order?”
I start, nearly dropping my phone. My eyes briefly meet a pair of deep brown ones peeking out from above a blue mask before I bow my head in apology.
“Yes, of course. What’s the name for the order?”
“David.”
I tap on the computer screen and scroll until I find his name.
“Okay, you had one order of egg rolls, hot and sour soup, sweet and sour shrimp, and sesame chicken with steamed rice, right?”
“Yup.”
“Your total is thirty-two dollars and sixty-five cents.”
He slides two twenty-dollar bills across the counter. I shake my head politely.
“I’m sorry, but we’re only taking credit cards at this time.”
“Oh, sure. Hold on a sec.”
As he reaches for his wallet, I hear a discombobulated voice floating through the air.
“Hello? Hello!”
Oh no. The customer on the phone!
“I’m so sorry for the wait,” I barely avoid shouting into the handset. “What would you like to order?”
Grabbing a pen, I take their order while gesturing toward the credit machine.
Credit or debit? I mouth to David.
“Credit.”
I finish taking the phone order while he pays, sighing with relief after hanging up. When the machine spits out the store receipt, I tear it off and slide it toward him.
“Please sign this one for me.”
As David signs on the dotted line, I take a good look at him for the first time. When my brain registers the absurdly long eyelashes, thick brows, and wavy black hair, my heart stops.
Oh my god.
It’s him.
“You’re not David,” I blurt out.
His eyebrows shoot up. I groan inwardly before explaining.
“I recognize you. You’re Evan…Evan Kwon.”
Evan Kwon, the star of Memorial High’s varsity swim team, nicknamed the Asian Michael Phelps because he tried out for the U.S. Olympic swim team (though he didn’t make the cut). Even if he weren’t six feet tall, his easygoing personality and ridiculously good looks would make him stand out in a crowd. He’s also the boy I’ve been crushing on since I spotted him in the parking lot on the first day of freshman year.
“Um, yeah. That’s me.”
When several seconds pass without Evan saying anything else, I realize something.
He has no idea who I am.
“We…we go to the same school,” I finally say, eyes pinned on his right earlobe. “We had chemistry together.”
Something I’m reminded we don’t actually have as he stares at me blankly.
“I mean, chemistry class. We had chemistry class. Together.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize…”
This is just getting worse by the minute. Wishing I could summon the earth to swallow me whole, I print out a copy of his receipt and hold it out. He accepts it without a word, and I grab his order and place it on the counter. As he reaches for it, he tips his head to the side, his mahogany eyes narrowing slightly.
“Wait…I think I do know you.”
I endure another moment of scrutiny before his eyes light up. My traitorous mind fills in the teasing grin hidden behind his mask, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
“Michelle, right?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“You’re the one who made those fireballs for your final project, right? With the seeds?”
“Spores,” I correct. “Lycopodium spores. They’re super flammable when you mix them with air.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, it was super cool.”
It would’ve been nicer if he said I was cool, but at least he remembers my name. He inhales as if to say something else, but pauses when his cellphone goes off. He checks the screen before heaving a sigh.
“That’s my dad. I should go.”
“Okay, sure. Have a good night,” I stammer. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“I’m sure we will. It smells amazing.”
Evan picks up his food and walks toward the door. As he goes to push it open, he glances back at me.
“I’ll see you around.”
I’m still staring at the door minutes later when Mom sticks her head out of the kitchen and shoots me an irritated look.
“Michelle! What are you doing out there?”
“Huh?”
“The phone, Michelle. Why aren’t you picking it up? It’s been ringing nonstop.”
“Oh, sorry!”
She watches
