MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF HAM is during the last five minutes of the game. The score is zero to zero for what seems like forever. Seung tracks back to the car to grab a blanket. He tosses it over Kristen and me, and the three of us huddle and laugh and blow on each other’s hands for warmth. I couldn’t care less about the plunging temperature or the possibility of sleeping beneath the stars. Tonight I’m focused on having fun with friends. Feeling like I finally fit in.
It’s the end of fourth quarter when I hear a chant of what I believe to be Ham’s name. It starts as a dull hum and hits a high note thirty seconds deep.
Ham-HamHamHam.
Ham-HamHamHam.
It sounds like a fraternity drinking game and quite possibly Ham’s demise.
I elbow Seung and point to the far corner of the field. We stare in awe as our bare-chested, formal-trousered friend pirouettes across the football field. A dad behind us shouts, “Hey, Chunk from the Goonies,” and a mom, who should be ashamed of herself, yells, “Do the truffle shuffle, kid!” The crowd erupts with laughter.
“Oh my God!” Kristen shouts. “That’s Ham!”
I jump from the bleacher for a better view, and Seung steps beside me at the railing. “What the hell is he doing, and why is he doing it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I wish he’d stop.”
The referee whistles and waves his arms in the air like he’s swatting gnats. One oversized, overstuffed, truffle-shuffling gnat. Ham grips his belly and twists the skin to synchronous chants from sidelined players.
Ham-Ham-HamHamHam.
Ham-Ham-HamHamHam.
“Stop laughing!” I shout at the row of parents behind us. “Stop laughing now!” I want to jump over the fence and wrap Ham in my blanket. Order everyone off the field. Scream that the show’s over. Time to head home.
A referee lunges at Ham, and he sprints toward the crowd. He sidesteps the yard lines, passing front and center at the fifty-yard line. He drops his belly to wave wildly at us with both hands.
Seung cups his mouth and shouts, “What is wrong with you?”
“Having fun!” Ham yells, now pounding invisible drums. “You should try it sometime.” Ham flashes his teeth and blows me a kiss. “Love you, guys!” he shouts.
“Be careful!” I holler as Ham’s foot slides switch to full-fledged crisscross scissor steps.
“All part of the plan, Linden! Remember? And I’m just getting started!”
“What plan?” Seung yells.
Ham answers by pointing in our direction, and that’s when I see T.P., leaning against the chain link fence, signaling Ham to spin like a top. I nudge Seung and he says, “Toby’s making him do this nonsense.”
I shake my head, unsure who I’d rather be in charge of Ham’s nonsense, T.P. or Ham. But beyond the surface, Ham seems to be maintaining control of the situation.
The crowd cheers as the referee closes in. Ham trips over his feet and sprawls flat on the field, back first. The mob explodes, first booing the referee, then cheering for Ham. Jarrell drops his helmet on the field, sprints toward Ham, and lifts him up—but Ham drops to his knees, then speed-crawls off the field.
Seung senses that my worry has returned. “He said he’s just having fun, Linden. It’s what Ham does best.”
I point at Toby’s fist pumping at the moon. “I hope this is part of Ham’s plan.”
“I’m sure it is,” Seung says.
Kristen jumps up and down with the cheering crowd, shouting, “I’m having fun, too!” her blond curls loosening and spilling from their clips. I’ve never seen her relax like this before. Maybe Seung and I should learn a lesson from Ham and Kristen, and stop standing here like stiffs.
Seung smiles and I link my arm through his. I reach for Kristen’s hand and join her in jumping. It takes Seung a minute, but before long he’s hopping, too.
We watch while T.P. slinks down the side of the stadium to meet up with Ham. They race behind the bleachers as Toby yelps, “Shit was awesome! Now time to get my drink on!”
The next time we see Ham is in the gymnasium.
Kristen scurries off to talk business with Principal Falsetto, and Seung bumps his head on a low-hanging pagoda. I swat the paper away and we stop and stare at the carnage that our high school gym has become. Mistletoe. Everywhere. In the shape of upside-down artificial bonsai trees.
“Holy shit,” Seung says, his eyes wide and twinkling under the red flashing lights.
“Whispers of the Orient.”
Complete with kimonos, plastic trees, and fake-gold-leaf dragons. The homecoming committee outdid themselves by stuffing every stereotypical Asian trope into one room. Everything they could shape out of paper and plastic, that is.
I don’t know whether to laugh or vomit. I nudge Seung with my elbow and he chuckles. Then reaches for my hand.
“It’s about time my people receive recognition. Especially at this school.” Seung waves his hand, the one unattached to mine. “Even if it is this.”
My hand slips from Seung’s grip and our fingers fumble against each other’s forearms until they lock back in place. I swallow hard and we walk deeper and deeper into Hinderwood’s Orient.
When I see Ham he is shirtless, except for the “cape.” Well, Ham is technically wearing a shirt, if one calls a tuxedo vest a shirt. His jacket sleeves are tied around his neck and flop in rhythm to the music as he twists and turns. Where his white button-up went remains a mystery until Bea and Beth circle Ham and link arms like they did with Reed in the Pajama Day photo. As they walk center stage, I notice that Beth’s hips are wrapped in Ham’s shirt. Ham performs what I believe to be a slow dance but looks more like a mating ritual for a sloth.
Seung groans and repeats his earlier rant. “What the hell is he doing, and why is he doing it?”
I shake my head. It’s not so much Ham’s dancing, which I’ve grown to admire, as the affectionate groping between Bea and Ham, Ham and Beth, and Ham and Ham. He’s literally dancing with himself, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The three are all smiles and seem to be enjoying each other’s company. I’m damn suspicious.
Seung and I discuss dancing, but since neither of us dances, in public or private, we stare at Ham until Bea’s laser-beam eyes target my other best friend.
First she glances over Ham’s shoulder and a smile spreads across her face.
She beelines toward Seung, with so much force that I actually step back, out of her way, immediately regretting my move. Bea twists to her side and blocks me from my space next to Seung. He squeezes my hand but our grip weakens, slips. Bea tugs him into the crowd, and I’m left with a shit-ton of jealousy stacked on my shoulders.
I’m alone with my green-eyed monster for only a few seconds before Jarrell appears beside me. He watches Ham do-si-do with Beth, twirling her in circles. I belly laugh and plop onto a foldable chair. Jarrell sits next to me.
“Good game tonight.”
“Until we were interrupted.” Jarrell points at Ham and leans forward with elbows on his knees. “Please tell me he hasn’t been drinking.”
Poor Jarrell. He’s remembering last year’s episode. The one that prompted Seung’s Rule. Jarrell was there to pick up the pieces. And by pieces, I mean chunks. After Ham blew a few on the hood of Jarrell’s car following an emotionally complicated night of what appeared to be beer guzzling but was later revealed as an energy-drink overdose. Ham said he needed to blow off steam, so as Ham does, he called a few near-strangers and asked them to come over to his house. Jarrell was the only one who showed. Seung and I were already there because we’re not strangers and don’t count. By the time Jarrell arrived, Ham was uncontrollable, uncontainable. So, basically, he was Normal Ham.
“I don’t think so,” I say, then remember the scotch, the revenge plot, and Toby’s “get my drink on” comment. It’s not like Ham requires liquid courage, though. But maybe this preplanned prank is bigger than Ham or his personality.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Bea draping her arms around Seung, then plopping her head onto his chest. She runs one hand up and down his jacket, causing Seung’s spine to stiffen. He moves like a robot. A rather constipated robot in desperate need of grease.
“Where’s your date?” Jarrell asks.
I point at Seung.
“And yours?” I ask, ears perked and poised for confirmation that he and Ham might just be an actual thing in need of confirmation.
Jarrell shrugs. “Well, I thought I had one, but I guess not. . . .”
I want to ask Jarrell if Ham’s his date, but I don’t want to butt in where I don’t belong. I mean, shouldn’t Ham be the one to tell me who he’s dating? Besides, Ham insisted I not react.
Principal Falsetto squawks into the microphone, informing us the votes are counted. Hinderwood High has chosen its royalty. Winners to be announced within the hour. Kristen squeals from the stage.
The music bounces from country to pop and the crowd begins to bob their arms in the air. I bump Jarrell and wave good-bye. He nods as I race toward the bleachers. When I reach the bench, I slide down the back row toward the exit, to avoid Principal Falsetto. Kristen’s talking to Falsetto’s sister, which makes me pause longer than I should. When I reach the side door, the one that will lead me to the fire escape, a hand squeezes my bare shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I whip around and my nose digs deep into Reed Clemmings’s shearling jacket. I position myself to answer truthfully, mouth open and eyes wide, but something stops me. I don’t need Reed knowing about my trips to the outdoor fire escape.
“Nowhere.”
“Sure about that?”
Yes, Reed, I’m sure I’m going nowhere you need to know. I bite my tongue and hold on to the words.
“Well, wherever you’re going, I’ll join. I need air to breathe.”
I snicker at the obvious and slide past him, out the door, saying, “I really need to go.”
The fire escape beckons—otherwise I’ll be spending the night in the windy outdoors.
“Good idea.” Reed winks, twice, or maybe the red lights make it hard for him to focus. I’m unsure if he’s complimenting my plan or planning to join, so I step into the grass to find out.
The door shuts and Reed marches behind me.
Here’s me, living in the proverbial moment, the place I swore I’d be tonight, staring at the stars with Reed, while Seung slow-dances with Bea. Could this night complicate my life more?
The only way out is to straight-shoot the truth. So I say, “I need to check something,” and stomp off toward the metal stairs.
“I’ll come with you,” he says, and jogs after me in the dark.
I pound through the tall-weeded grass near the corner of the school. Blades brush against my calves, making me happy I slid into my own shoes and out of Mrs. Rhee’s.
“Wait up!” Reed shouts as I jump a knee-high bush.
Wait up? For you? I’m sort of surprised he’s still behind me.
When we reach the bottom of the fire-escape stairs, he asks, “Where are you going?”
I point. “Up there.”
He smiles and his snow-bright teeth sparkle. He’s probably never missed a brush, floss, or dental appointment in his life.
I skip the last two stairs and lunge for the top, pouncing on my makeshift metal doorstop like a cat jumping on one of those rubber mice. I forget all about Reed, or the tight dress riding up my ass. I forget the fact that he followed me up the stairs and is observing everything I do. I slide the shank with my foot and yank the door open.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I bend over to secure the railroad tie beneath the door.
Good question. What am I doing here with Reed? Letting him see where I live, what I do. I won’t even let Ham or Seung get this close.
“I might need to get in here later.” The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them. I jerk the door handle to make sure it’s secure, then walk toward the stairs.
Reed blocks the exit with his arms. “Wait. Can’t we stay here longer? Look at the stars, or something?”
I choke out, “Sure. I guess,” but the words squeak and I slap my hand to my lips. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m standing two stories high beneath the stars with Reed, or that he witnessed my preparations for breaking and entering. Possibly it’s the question he asked . . . because when he said we, my response was faint, my voice trembled.
“They’re going to announce the royal court, and I am so over it.” He slaps the rail with his palms. “I’m over this whole fucking place.”
Of course you are. You’re Reed Fucking Clemmings.
I stare at him, at his jacket. I wonder what it smells like, all wool lined and warm. A football dipped in deodorant, probably.
I think about Seung and Bea and wonder if Toby interrupted their dance. I wonder if Seung’s nose is bloody from the beating he took for “stealing someone’s girl.” I wonder if Seung’s smiling while he dances with Bea like he smiles at me when I insult his driving or tell him he’s hot. I wonder who makes him smile more.
“Aren’t you excited to be king?”
Reed scoffs. “I’m not king.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Bea and I argued.”
Bea. That explains everything. Why Reed wanted to go outside, why he needed to escape. Bea. Slobbering all over Seung, patting his chest, probably pretending to know the geographical difference between North and South Korea. Bea. Paying attention to Ham so that she could pay attention to Seung.
I shiver and attempt to mind-control Reed into handing over his coat, because the chill is inching up my spine and crawling over my limbs. I need Seung’s blanket in the worst way, but he stuffed it in the car before heading in to the dance. I also need Reed to transform into Seung.
“So you and Bea haven’t been together for a while, right?”
“Define together.”
“She’s with Toby Patters now.”
“Something like that.”
“So shouldn’t Toby be king? I mean, logistically, he is with Bea, and she’s always the queen.” I clamp my lips together to prevent my teeth from chattering. Wind whips against my bare back.
“Who knows what the future might bring,” Reed says, using his sexy voice. Okay, his normal voice.
There’s a smile in Reed’s eyes, or maybe a reflection of the crescent moon. I should turn around, but I don’t. I’m instantly warm from my nose to big toe. Reed doesn’t pick up on my heat, though. He slithers out of his jacket like the rock-star, sexy gentleman that he always acts like, and says, “Here. You’re cold.”
He drapes me in suede and shearling. The scent of football, cocoa, and—I’m not going to lie, it’s either beer or B.O.—inches up my nose. Not quite the smell I expected. Reed is his own tailgate party. He smiles again and I’m positive now, it’s not the moon’s reflection.
“Who’s your date?” he asks as I stand drowning in suede, empty sleeves tapping my thighs.
I crinkle my nose, fighting to remember. For a while tonight, at Seung’s house, with his mom, later huddling and jumping with Kristen, and then when he reached for my hand and led me deep into the dance, I felt like I was on the biggest date of my life. But now Seung is dancing with Bea. And though he looked like an in-need-of-a-laxative robot, he did ask his mom for pictures of us, even after the just Linden comment.
“My best friend,” I whisper.
Reed nods and puckers his lips. It’s his kiss look, I know it.
I flop back toward the fire escape, jacket arms swinging and slapping me on the hips. “We should go back inside before we get caught.”
“I don’t care if I get caught.”
I smile. I like his style, but arguably, risks aren’t my thing. Remaining unnoticed is. “I do,” I say. “I care if I get caught.”
Reed groans but tags behind me, down the stairs and to the side door of the gym.
It is the third time I see Ham.
Spinning in circles, puking, hands on his hips, half naked, and alone. Several strips of duct tape stick to his stomach like markings for a runway.
“Ohmygod, Ham!” I sprint toward him. “Are you okay?” I reach over his shoulders to stop him from spinning.
“I don’t feel so well, Linden.” Ham drops to his knees. “I need a mint.”
I dig my hand into his front pocket.
“Whoa, whoa—easy, Linden.” Even Ham’s laughs are slurred.
I pop a mint into Ham’s gaping mouth. “What have you been doing?” Knowing full well what I’ve seen him doing, but more concerned about the moments missed.
Ham grabs my arm for balance and whispers, “Gaining trust.”
I wipe spit from his mouth and ask, “Are you going to be okay?”
“I am now that you’re here, Linden. Just cold. So very cold.”
I tear off Reed’s jacket to cover Ham’s bare chest but am stopped midremoval. “No!” Reed snaps. “That’s fine shearling. I don’t want puke on it. Someone should get towels.”
I huff and grunt and shout, “Towels! Now!” and point to the door. Reed jumps and disappears into the gym, along with his jacket.
“The sky is spinning,” Ham moans.
“Kneel down.” I push on Ham’s shoulders and his knees bend. “What happened? Did you drink your dad’s scotch?”
“It was something I ate.”
I rub Ham’s shoulders. “You sure? We ate the same things.”
He groans and holds his stomach. “Bad meat sticks or something.”
I remember the convenience-store loot and ask, “Where’s Toby? I haven’t seen him since the game.”
Ham laughs. “And you probably won’t see him again. He’s a little tied up right now. Or should I say taped up?” He flops over on his back.
“Ham? What have you done?”
He rolls over, shuts his eyes, and moans.
“You’re cold.” I glance back at the door. What’s taking Reed so long? “Let’s get you inside.”
“No.” Ham swings his arm, then kicks his legs like an overturned beetle. “I don’t want to go in there, Linden. I want to go home.”
“Okay? Okay.” I pat Ham’s chest. He’s right. Going into the gym would be a bad idea, especially if a teacher witnessed his condition. “I’ll get Seung. We’ll get you home.”
Ham grumbles and moans and grabs his stomach. “Hurry, Linden. Please.” There’s worry in his voice that causes hesitation.
“I hate to leave you. Maybe you should just come with me.”
Ham straightens his arm, points, and shoots. “GO!”
I race for the gym.
Inside, lights flicker and horns toot like it’s a new year. I follow the glow-in-the-dark court lines toward the locker room, glancing around for Reed and his promised towels. Midway, the crowd splits into a gap and at the head of the aisle, I see Seung, his crown, and his ear-to-ear smile. The crowd claps as Seung moves toward me. His eyes dart around the room and take in everything but me, his arms locked with his queen—Bea.
A forearm snakes around my neck. “I told you I wasn’t king.” His breath, hot on my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
A part of me wants to leave. Run. Flee far from this scene. Seung and his smile. Bea, staring at Seung as if he could smash away her problems. But another part of me is left outside, spread-eagled on the grass, nearly naked and alone.
“Towels.” I snap my fingers. “Where are they?”
Reed points to a stack on the bench, and I race for the pile. At least I can wrap Ham in towels and scoot him to the car before the dance ends. Seung would never leave without us. I drop a towel on my way to the door but don’t stop to pick it up. I hit the side exit at full speed and race toward the garbage can. There, on the ground, lie his ripped-up vest and a tail of duct tape.
But no Ham. He’s gone.
“Ham!” I shout, spinning 360 degrees. “Where the hell are you?”
I jog to the front of the school, circle around, and run to the back of the building. He could have crawled off, passed out, fallen behind a bush. But he’s nowhere I look.
I run back to the place I first saw him and snatch his vest. The back fabric torn, the bottom frayed and frazzled with loose threads. I didn’t notice the rips before, but then again, Ham didn’t have it on. He wore duct tape instead. I step on something plastic and it squirts brown liquid onto my shoe. I pick up the bottle and squint to read the front: ULTIMATE BRONZER GUARANTEED TO COVER EVEN THE BLOTCHIEST OF SKIN TONES. Oh, Ham. What have you done?
I scour the entire perimeter of the school before heading back inside. Ham couldn’t have crawled far unless he had help. My stomach turns. Ham said Toby was taped up, but I can’t help wondering if the tape is strong enough to hold a monster.
When I open the gym door, the music is loud and everyone’s dancing, including Seung. He’s still smiling, too. Having the time of his life. Enjoying this moment without Ham, without me.
Jarrell stands at the opposite door with his coat draped over one shoulder. I dart and weave through the crowd, forcing my way to him.
“Hey, Linden,” Jarrell says when he sees me.
I slap his chest. “Ham? Have you seen him?”
He frowns, eyebrows fold. “Indeed.” He rubs his forehead. “Pretty sure Ham left. He said he had to check on Toby.” And the way he spits out check on Toby slugs my stomach.
Shit. Left? How? Was one of them sober?
Jarrell glances behind me as two heavy arms cloak my shoulders. “Let’s dance,” Reed says in my ear, although it’s more of a command than a suggestion.
He pushes me toward the middle of the room, guiding me with his arms, while I insist, “I can’t. Must go. Have to find Ham. Need to speak to Seung.”
Reed points at the newly crowned couple and says, “Seung’s a little busy right now.”
Seung’s wrapped in Bea’s arms, dancing, more relaxed and fluid and all Seung 2.0. He doesn’t see me dancing with Reed. He’s forgotten I’m here. And it hits me: I’ve been searching for Ham like a good freaking friend, and Seung hasn’t even bothered to find out where I went.
I twist Reed around so I have a clear view of Seung. I yank, then push hard to steer him, because he’s twenty feet tall. That’s when I notice, just for a moment, everyone watching me. Noticing me. Seeing me.
I’m the girl.
The one others long to be.
At least right now. In this moment. Which has nothing to do with me, only Reed. Sure, it feels good to wear a fancy dress and dance with the guy everyone worships, but I don’t really want to be that girl, the one hanging on his arms and every word, for more than this instant. I want to be mopping Ham’s face and laughing with Seung. I want to be poking fun at plastic pagodas while stuffing my pockets full of egg rolls. That’s who I really am.
I tug Reed toward Seung. We half dance and half walk, weaving through the crowded floor. Reed inches with ease toward Bea and Seung, and I realize they’re his target, too, and I’m not the only one aiming the bow.
We turn left, right. We walk more than we dance until we reach the head of the crowd. Only one couple between us and the homecoming king and queen, and when the song ends and a new one begins, there is only space between us.
As soon as we land next to Seung and Bea, Reed rubs his hands up and down my bare back. This is the moment when I’m supposed to get turned on. And maybe if I could let my guard down, or if Reed weren’t so hell-bent on making Bea jealous, I would enjoy this moment. But news flash, Reed. You picked the wrong girl.
Seung’s eyes dart my way and he scowls.
I act like I don’t see him at first and desperately wish I didn’t. Bea rubs his chest and Seung twitches his shoulders. We move beside them and Reed shoulder-bumps Bea. She whips around and laughs. Okay, to me it’s more of a cackle.
“Nice date,” Bea snaps, and as I prepare to mouth the words nice crown to Seung, Reed snatches my chin with his thumb and forefinger and shoves his lips into mine.
I expect his tongue to force its way between my lips, pushing and probing to get what it wants. What I don’t expect is a warm, slow stride, his mouth matching the movements of his body. I also don’t expect his fingers to graze my neck and web the back of my hair, or my stomach to wobble like Jell-O.
When Reed opens his eyes, he finds mine never closed. He smiles and rubs my cheek with the pads of his fingers. I draw short breaths while my lungs fight for air and my stomach falters. The feeling is pleasant, and I can’t help myself, I don’t want it to stop, but when I see Bea’s bare leg hook around Seung’s clothed one, and her mouth stick to his like a lamprey, the poke jabs. Hurts. Bleeds. Bea, sucking the life out of Seung, which means I’m dying, too.
I twist away from Reed and his weighty arms and tap Bea on the shoulder. Okay, jab her on the shoulder. She whips around and I shout, “Cutting in!” She shakes her head no and I bump her to the side. Reed steps in for backup and whisks her away. Bea’s the girl he wanted anyway, not me. But the way Bea looks back at Seung, her eyes brimming with hurt, tells me Reed is the wrong guy.
“Where have you been?” Seung says, no longer dancing, his hands on his hips, pissed.
“Oh my God. Are you serious?” I slap his chest and hold my hands there for a few seconds. Okay, a minute. He looks at his chest and I drop my arms.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“Why would I want to?”
He thumbs at his crown. Yeah, I’ve seen it.
“This is weird,” he says, eyeballing his forehead.
“I guess Bea pulled some strings.” I smile, although it’s forced. I’m happy for Seung and his awkward confidence, just not settled with the fact that Bea’s involved.
“Yeah.” Seung smiles.
“Well, glad you’re happy, but celebration time’s over. Ham’s MIA.”
Seung’s face scrunches. I tap his chest. My fingers like magnets drawn to his damn chest armor. “Found Ham sick outside. But now he’s gone. Missing. And Toby Patters is unfortunately involved.”
“Ham will turn up. He always does.”
I shake my head with force. “Jarrell said he might be with Toby.”
Seung pauses. A hint of worry spreads across his face; then Bea reaches between us and snatches Seung’s arm. “Royalty’s leaving,” she snaps. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Seung turns back with saucer eyes. “Follow us!” he shouts over the cheering, clapping crowd. “Please, Linden.”
I raise a finger. Sure. I’ll get right on that. Follow you, following Bea.
Principal Falsetto announces that the royal court will meet in the corridor for pictures and the rest of us, peasants, are free to leave. I half smile at Seung when I slip by him toward the exit. He’s standing like a scarecrow, straw stiff.
At the front of the school, a pack of smokers join forces beneath the awning.
“Hey,” a girl says from the step.
I smile and say, “Hey,” back.
A guy with curly bangs bubbling from beneath a knit hat lifts his hand in my direction. “Want one?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.” Then I fall against the concrete pillar to wait for Seung.
“What’s up with you and Man Bun?” a girl asks. She’s wrapped in a poncho and boots I’d die for.
It takes a minute to register that she’s talking about Reed. And me. “Oh. Yeah. Reed. Me. Nothing’s up.”
“Yeah,” she says, “that’d be weird,” and I wonder what she means exactly by that and weird. Lately, I seem to be misinterpreting what people think about me. How they view me. I mean, Toby tells the story like he sees it. Bea never shuts up. But people like Jarrell or Kristen or Reed seem genuinely interested in me. Sure, Reed has a motive, but when he kissed me, I felt it in my ankles. You can’t fake that. Can you?
“Have you seen Ham?” I ask, not directing the question to any particular person.
“Saw him on the field,” a guy says. “Stellar moves.” He jumps to his feet and shimmies back and forth.
“Wasn’t he dancing with Bea?” someone asks.
“I saw him with Jarrell. Looked like they were arguing.”
Huh. Jarrell didn’t mention that detail.
Knit-hat guy says, “How’d Seung swing homecoming king? Thought he was better than that.”
I chuckle. “It’s a fluke. He doesn’t really care about the whole king thing.” At least I don’t think he does.
“He cares,” a girl says in middrag off her cigarette, “about one thing, anyway.” She smiles, and I know exactly who she’s referring to.
“Bea would be okay,” hat guy says, “if you duct taped her mouth.”
“That’s vile.”
“And wrong.”
“That’s what she’s into. Isn’t it?”
“Again, a horrible thing to say.”
“Seung wouldn’t treat her that way,” the girl with the cigarette says.
“Seung’s hot,” a girl says.
“Agreed,” a guy says.
“Extra hot,” they both say.
I roll my eyes and try not to barf, even though I heart-and-soul agree. I decide to try my question again, forage for more detail. “So where did Ham go? Anyone see him leave?”
Hat boy says, “He was in the parking lot with Jarrell. I told you.”
Uh, no. You forgot that detail.
He puffs his cigarette twice before I snap my finger and motion for him to pass it to me. I take a drag and cough like a barn animal.
“Ham’s probably at Beth’s party,” a girl says. “Isn’t that where everyone’s going tonight?”
The front doors open and laughter surges. Voices suck away the second-hand smoke and my questions.
“Make way for Hinderwood’s King and Queen!” Complete with entourage in tow.
Seung’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open when he sees me. He wiggles his hand loose from Bea and I wave my cigarette in the air, pretending not to see their webbed fingers.
I bump shoulders with members of the court and force my way inside the group.
“Linden!” Seung snaps, and points. “Smoking? That shit will kill you.” The crowd rolls down the steps like a wave and I glance at my hand still clutching the cigarette. I wave it in Seung’s face and ignore his alarm over lung cancer. It’s not like I’m inhaling correctly, anyway.
The group ripples into the parking lot. “Where are you going?” I shout.
Seung walks backward. “Bea and Beth’s party. Come with!”
I suck on the cigarette, cough a few more times, and toss the butt into a soda can.
“Vape, Linden. Heard of it? That shit’s so unhealthy.”
I want to shout, “So is Bea and Beth’s party!” but instead I sprint toward Gold Nugget.
Bea cuts me off at the driver’s-side door. “You’re not going,” she snaps. “Unless, of course, you’re going with him?” She points to Reed strutting down the steps.
I shake my head. “Whatever. Move over.”
“The whole school saw you attack his mouth,” Bea says. “Go with Reed. You guys are perfectly matched.”
Seung, shocked by Bea’s words, says, “You kissed Reed Clemmings?”
Oh my freaking God, Seung. Where have you been?
I lift my arms, and Seung snaps, “Yeah, Linden. Maybe you shouldn’t go with us.” He sounds like a puppy, all whimpers. He has no reason to be hurt. It’s not like I asked Reed to kiss me. It’s not like I kissed back. Besides, Seung is the one marching around with his fingers wrapped around Bea’s.
I scoff. “Yeah. Well, if you see Ham, take care of him. Better yet, find me so I can make sure he’s okay.”
“Ham will be okay, Linden. He always is.”
I hope Seung’s right, but he’s hard to believe. If only he’d act like himself, or at least who I think he should be.
“C’mon, Seung,” Bea calls from inside the car.
Seung bumps me, scrambling for the passenger’s-side door to sit next to his chauffeur. He won’t even let me sit behind Gold Nugget’s wheel.
The engine revs and Seung rolls down the window and shouts, “Come with us! Ham’s probably already there. Plenty of room in the back.”
News flash, Seung. I prefer shotgun.
The car windows are dark, but light enough for me to see my bag, the blanket, and my belongings piled in the backseat. Dammit. I reach for the handle as Bea kicks the car into drive. Gold Nugget’s tires spin and squeal and I’m left with the scent of rubber and a hint of rejection.
There, in the parking lot, dressed to the nines and decorated with Grandmother Rhee’s lotus, surrounded by smokers and small-town hipsters, I scream at the top of my lungs.
“Fuck. FUCK it! FUCK IT ALL!”
The crowd behind me cheers.
Maybe it was the applause that shot me with moxie. Normally I’m not a girl who seeks danger on purpose. I plan. I schedule. I prefer to know what’s happening next. It’s what living homeless has done to me. I adapt to change yet fight to keep everything the same. However, tonight is anything but normal. So when the guttural crack of a motorcycle pops behind me, I weigh all options: (1) eliminate regret, (2) rescue friends, (3) all of the above.
First I wave for Reed to hand over his prized sheep. Then I button his coat to my neck, wrap my legs around his hips, and squeeze. I need to feel safe.
We race down the highway, free of helmets and horse sense. I’ll admit it’s not my smartest moment, but I’m on a mission to save my friends. I shut my eyes as we climb the hill before Triangle Park, when I begin sliding in the wrong direction. Away from safety. Seatbelts should be regulation on motorcycles. That’s what Seung would say. One bump and I could break open, spill all over the pavement. I press my knees into Reed’s ass and clench. He mistakes fear for flirting, and shifts sideways and smiles, but who cares? If clutching his ass with my knees prevents me from hitting concrete, squeeze I will.
We slow alongside a 1950s brick rambler overlooking the park. Cars block the drive but Reed manipulates the bike toward the tiny porch and parks horizontally. He lifts his hand to help me out of the straddle, and winks.
He opens the front door without ringing the bell, and music booms from the basement. We walk downstairs, bumping into three guys passing in the opposite direction. They hold red plastic cups and splash beer with each stomp. At the bottom of the stairs, we’re met with low lights, beer bottles stuffed in coolers, and the smell of feet. I glance at couches in search of Ham or Seung, while Reed scans the room, too, but for different reasons.
“Want something to drink?” His breath tickles my ear.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, soaking up the ambience. There’s nothing more appealing than being one of the few sobers in a space full of drunks. “I want something to drink, something strong, maybe something to smoke, too.” If for no other reason than to clutch weaponry. . . . I may need to crack a bottle over someone’s head, send smoke signals with a lit cigarette.
Reed strolls toward a cooler, opens the lid, and grabs a beer. He ignores two girls saying, “Hi, Reed,” and beelines back to me, twisting off the bottle top and flicking it onto the tile. He hands me the beer and I slurp bubbles off the top. Too much, too fast. Here’s me gagging, wiping my tongue, and looking damn desirable.
Reed snatches the bottle from my hand and gulps. Apparently we’ve reached bottle-sharing status. I mean, we did kiss and my thighs clutched his ass, but there’s something more intimate about sips from the same bottle.
“Want to dance?” he asks. My answer is a firm no in my head, but I reach for his waist and push him to the center of the room. His eyes go saucer big, but he’s reading me wrong. My mission is to circle the floor to search for Seung and Ham.
So here I am, dancing with Reed Clemmings, and his crotch is rubbing my stomach, and all I’m thinking about is finding my friends. I promised myself I’d live in the moment tonight, ignore probability, welcome possibility. I’m free from worrying about security or whether I’ll make it back to school in time to sleep indoors.
Reed snakes his hips from side to side and I laugh in my head. If Seung and I were on the sidelines, watching him dance, we would remark on how ridiculous he looks. This mating ritual. And me, his mate.
He bends in for the second kiss of the night and I consider closing my eyes, letting it play out the way it should, but I can’t even blink. He pushes his neck forward and parts my lips with his tongue. I let him poke around until he finds what he’s looking for, but my arms are stiff and his lips are warm and sticky, and smell of beer. After a few seconds, my eyes shut and a picture of Seung and Bea flashes in my mind, her hand on his ass, their fingers intertwined. Then Ham, bouncing about the dance floor, all pink cheeked and smiles while the crowd eggs him on. I run my fingers through my hair and remember the gentle tugs of Mrs. Rhee braiding with her warm, soft, motherly hands.
Pagodas, dinner rolls, and pink powdered soap flash through my mind.
There’s pounding on the door, then my mother’s voice winds up.
Linden. In here.
Where?
The closet. Put your headphones on.
More banging on the door.
Now, Linden. Go!
Mama?
She should have been gone before he arrived. She had a date. She was happy. Happier than I’d ever seen her. The wrinkle between her eyes showing signs of smoothing. But in an instant, fear flashed in my mother’s eyes. I crouched and scooted toward the door, glanced over my shoulder, and witnessed relief on my mom’s face when I nodded and climbed into the closet. Into my safe place. This is where I went, where I was told to go, when he knocked and demanded money. She never let me see him. Never let him know I was here. This man who showed up unannounced every time my mother made changes to make our lives better.
I wrapped my knees to my chest, cuddled my legs, and was asleep when the police came, headphones still hushing out sounds. I fought not to see my mom’s lifeless body. The busts, cuts, and broken bones. I pretended not to hear their assumptions. When they called my mother a dead prostitute. When they whispered that I was the daughter of someone who didn’t matter. Why didn’t I stand up for her? Tell them she wasn’t who they thought she was? Why didn’t I do something? Fly out of the closet, protect her from pain? My mother promised nobody hurts you when they don’t know you exist. But she existed. And so do I.
I jerk back from Reed and he draws a deep breath. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, settling surfaced visions, the ones fighting for their rightful space in my mind. Pictures from the past grabbing at me, jabbing, tapping me on the shoulder to remind me they’re still here, every time I lift my foot to take a forward step. My eyes pool with tears. I blink and unwind from Reed’s grasp.
I shift left and immediately see Seung.
Alone.
Staring at me from the bottom step.
For how long, I can only guess. But from the look on Seung’s face, I’m guessing it was long enough to see me close my eyes and kiss another guy.