MRS. RHEE OPENS THE DOOR before I ring the bell and sweeps me away to the master bedroom. The borrowed black minidress is spread on the bed, complete with three pairs of shoes in different sizes and an odd-looking strap that’s supposed to attach to my bra, then make it disappear on my back.
On the bathroom vanity sits a makeup bag full of color. A curling and flat iron are near the sink. Seung shared more information than I thought he knew, because everything, I mean everything, is here in the bathroom, waiting for me. I feel like Cinderella minus the mice, pumpkin, and prince.
I ask Mrs. Rhee if I can shower, and she scurries to a cupboard to retrieve two towel sizes, both full and fluffy, not lifeless and limp like the overbleached ones from the locker room. She promises to return to help with my hair if I want her to, and of course I do.
My plan for Kristen and me to put on makeup together didn’t pan out. It took convincing for Kristen to even agree to join us at homecoming. She said she had decorations to fuss over, last-minute tickets to sell, and chaperones to direct. Finally I promised her one dance with Seung, and she agreed right away to meet us at Ham’s place.
The shower is hot, steamy, everything a shower should be. I smell like a lemon soaked in vanilla, different from the mildew freshness that sometimes lingers on my skin after a locker-room shower. Water streams massage my shoulders instead of jab at my muscles like pins and needles, and I feel like I could stand here, on this one square foot, forever.
After a full body scrub and leg shave with a brand-new razor, I shut off the water, wrap myself in a towel, and sink my toes into the memory-foam bath mat. The scratches on my feet from gritty floors and occasional fights with foot fungus immediately heal. The rug is like aloe.
I gawk in the mirror, unsure which body part to tackle first. I decide to dry my hair so my dress won’t drown. When I’m done, my hair flops onto my shoulders, except for the few snapped strands shooting straight up from the crown of my head. Mrs. Rhee left a glass bottle on the vanity filled with something that looks like honey or liquid gold. I pump three drops onto my fingertips and rub oil into my split ends.
I fumble through the makeup bag. Three kinds of costly blush, four mascaras, five lip liners with matching sticks. There’s also the complex eyeliner I’m afraid to uncap.
I crack the bathroom door and peek to make sure I’m alone. The bedroom door is shut, so I walk to the foot of the bed, pick up the lace dress, and let the towel drop to the floor. The dress doesn’t fit as sexy and snug as I imagined. I guess I’ve lost a couple more pounds than I thought. I pinch the back of the dress to draw it tight at the waist and stuff my fist into the cups that are hunting for boobs.
Mrs. Rhee taps the door with her fingernail.
“Come in,” I say, turning around.
Mrs. Rhee’s smile reassures me she can, and will, reconstruct the dress, my mop of hair, and my face. She kneels and pins, fluffs and curls, paints and brushes. Her hands, which normally help heal the sick during the day, have transformed into those of a sculptor, turning life magically into art. I won’t say I’m a masterpiece, but when Mrs. Rhee applies her last stroke of lipstick and scrawls her signature with a puff of eau de toilette, I feel as beautiful as a Botticelli painting. I’m afraid to blink or smile big, because if I move a muscle, my face might crack.
“You’re ready,” Mrs. Rhee says, tucking in a loose strand of hair that snuck out of the side braid. She smiles, and so do I. It’s more than homecoming, or Seung seeing me in makeup and a dress. It’s Mrs. Rhee’s affection, the warmth of her fingers and care from her hands. It’s the touch of a mother I fight to remember.
Mrs. Rhee links my arm around hers and walks me to the full-length mirror. She straightens the neckline by gently tugging on the cap sleeves. When I make eye contact with myself in the mirror, my chest tightens. I want to glance over my shoulder and shake the imposter’s hand behind me, the one who should take credit for the beauty I see.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rhee.” I flicker my eyes to prevent tears from destroying her canvas.
“You like what you see?” she asks, and I nod. “You should, Linden. You’re stunning with or without all this.” She circles her hand at my dress and hair.
Mrs. Rhee snatches the towels from the floor and folds them over her arm. She walks to the chest of drawers and opens a miniature door on a wooden box. She says, “One more thing,” then drops the towels on the bed and reaches around my neck. The cold metal tingles my warm skin, and I catch a shimmer in the mirror. “This,” she says, “belonged to Seung’s grandmother. It’s from Seoul.”
I run my fingers over the baubles and stones that cluster into three tiny lotuses. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, “but should I really wear it? I mean, it’s just homecoming and this looks priceless.”
Mrs. Rhee laughs. “It isn’t replaceable, but it’s no Harry Winston.” She straightens the pendant. “Wear it. It needs to be taken out once in a while. Given a night to remember.”
And only because it’s Mrs. Rhee do I hold the poker face. Her sentimentality is contagious and makes me feel like I fit, somehow, into a family. If Seung were in the room, I’m sure he’d make me laugh or tell his mother to quit embarrassing me, but I don’t want her to stop. It’s obvious that the necklace means so much. And to me, it means a connection to family I no longer have.
“Seung’s grandparents were Buddhist,” she says. “They believed the lotus, padma, is a symbol of our true nature.”
Between her words and whispers, I’m overcome with the feeling I get when I first walk indoors following a freezing night outside. I’m fuzzy and warm from head to toe.
“The lotus flower grows in shallow, muddy water. It rises above the surface of the muck to bloom and show its beauty to the world. When night comes, the flower closes and sinks underwater. But it always rises and opens at dawn.”
“Why does it sink?” I ask.
“To remain untouched by impurity.” Mrs. Rhee smiles. “There’s so much symbolism in Buddhism and Korean culture. Seung and I don’t get the chance to discuss his father’s family. We’re all so busy. Maybe when he’s older and has kids.” She smiles again, that affectionate, motherly smile. “Now, let’s go see if Seung’s ready. He’s been a fidgety mess this week and a bundle of nerves tonight. Something’s definitely gotten into that boy.” Mrs. Rhee winks and blood rushes to my cheeks. Instant blush.
I round the corner of the hall and pass the main bathroom. The door is shut, and Seung’s on the other side.
When we reach the family room, Mrs. Rhee announces my arrival like she’s heralding a queen. Mr. Rhee says, “All hail the queen,” and I don’t know whether I should twirl or curtsy, so I jokingly do both. Mr. Rhee plays along, reaching for my hand and kissing the back of it.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Mrs. Rhee says.
Mr. Rhee smiles and bows. “Our homecoming queen has arrived.”
Seung struts in and clears his throat. My cheeks flame up and my hands start to sweat. I mean, he looks like Seung, only hotter. Cheeks glowing in the yellow light, hair shining almost blue. Thanks to the fabric of the tux, his shoulders look even wider somehow. I glance at my feet, then back at Seung. We finally lock eyes and stare at each other until Mrs. Rhee tugs at Mr. Rhee’s arm and says, “Honey, I need you in the kitchen,” and they bolt.
I nod. Seung nods.
I smile with the side of my mouth and Seung matches my move. It’s a slow game of chess until I finally blurt, “You look fucking hot!” Checkmate.
Seung exhales as if he’s held his breath since entering the room. “This old thing?” He thumbs at the lapels and his shoulders relax.
“So, dinner?” I say, switching subjects. “I’m starving.”
“Change of plans,” Seung says, still staring me in the eyes. I mean, he won’t look away. “We’re eating at Ham’s. He says he needs us.” Seung flashes the text from Ham on his phone screen and I step forward.
Seung takes a step back, then realizes he moved in the wrong direction. He practically jerks his body forward. “So,” he says.
“So,” I say, and smile.
His eyes bounce around the room, finally landing on me, or should I say my cleavage. I mean, holy shit, Mrs. Rhee is a miracle worker. She created cleavage and I’m not even offended by Seung glancing at it.
“We should probably get going,” Seung says.
I spin my heel on the carpet and watch the indentation it leaves. “Yeah. Yes. We should.”
Seung and I bump into each other scrambling for the doorway. “Sorry,” we both say in unison. Then Seung remembers he has parents and should probably say good-bye.
He bangs the kitchen door and Mr. and Mrs. Rhee bounce back into the living room.
“We need pictures before you leave.” Mrs. Rhee opens a buffet drawer and presents an oversized camera and lens longer than my shoe.
Seung rolls his eyes. “Really, Mom?”
“You’ll thank me when you’re older,” she says, turning toward Mr. Rhee’s already nodding head. She glances around the room. “Kids, stand in front of that cabinet. The backdrop looks nice.”
Seung and I shuffle to the picture spot like two first graders being told where to stand for school photos.
“Seung?” his mom asks. “Where’s Linden’s corsage?”
Seung doesn’t move. He doesn’t answer Mrs. Rhee, either. Instead, he stares at me as if I’m privy to its whereabouts. I shrug my shoulders. Seung reciprocates.
Mr. Rhee launches from the footstool. “Saw it in the refrigerator.” He darts into the kitchen and returns with a clear plastic box. “Chest or wrist?” he says, kneeling before me. Talk about awkward.
“Honey,” Mrs. Rhee says, “let Seung fasten it.”
I gulp and Seung’s eyes go wide. His chest, too, literally expands before me as he sucks in air. His eyes pinball until he finally fixes on the plastic shell clutched in his hands. He squeezes the top until the box bends and the lid pops open. We jump.
“Be careful not to poke her,” Mrs. Rhee says.
I refuse to make eye contact with Seung and instead tuck my lips around my teeth to prevent the push of a nervous smile.
Seung stands in front of me stone faced. Our eyes are glued on the plastic. “Wrist or . . . ?” Seung taps his chest and I tap mine back. He lifts the flower out by the stem and stares at the pin. “I have no idea how to do this.”
Mrs. Rhee pops her head over Seung’s shoulder. There are now four eyeballs staring at my chest, six if you count my own. I hold my breath as Seung’s cold knuckle grazes my bare skin. I shiver, then feel the pinprick.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“All good.”
“Try not to move.”
“Okay.”
“You’re moving.”
“I am?”
The back of Seung’s hand brushes my collarbone. He slides two fingers beneath my bra strap and I slowly sip air.
“Be careful not to stick her, Son.” Ohmygod, Mr. Rhee.
Once the flower is in place, Mrs. Rhee wiggles her finger at Mr. Rhee to start snapping pictures.
Seung shakes his head and says, “Okaydonelet’sgo,” and Mrs. Rhee points at the buffet table.
“We need one more of you two together,” she says.
Seung groans. “Come on, Mom. It’s just Linden.”
My chin drops. I stare at my feet. When I’m brave enough to glance at Mrs. Rhee, I see the just Linden comment hit her, too, deep in the stomach. But Seung’s right. We’re just Linden, just Seung. Two best friends going to homecoming, together. And I guess I’m okay with that for now. I mean, he found me a dress, a flower, a mom to pamper me.
Then Seung contradicts his words and shoves his phone at his mom, saying, “Take a picture with this.” Seung hooks my waist and yanks me next to him. I’m pretty positive the photo displays my mix of jolt and joy.
Mr. Rhee hands Mrs. Rhee a small container.
“Seung,” she says, “we forgot yours.” She passes me the box.
My face freezes. What do I do with this?
Seung snatches the box from my hand. “We’re going. Good-bye.”
“Yes. Yes.” Mr. Rhee pats his son’s back. “Go on. Get out of here. And don’t return until it’s really late.” Mr. Rhee winks, but Seung is too busy rushing to the door to notice.
“Honey, if you don’t want to wear your boutonniere,” Mrs. Rhee shouts, “give it to Ham!”
“Leaving!” Seung yells halfway out the door.
By the time I step onto the porch, Seung is already in the car. I round the back of Gold Nugget and hear Mrs. Rhee say, “They make a stunning couple.”
I pause and wave. Seung’s parents wave back with so much force, it looks like their arms might snap at the elbows. Mr. Rhee snakes his arm around his wife’s waist, and they turn to walk inside. I’m still staring when Mrs. Rhee twists around for one last glance. I mouth, “Thank you,” and she says, “You’re welcome.” She blows me a kiss and my throat tightens.
If only my mother could see me and how happy I am tonight. I imagine her standing on the other side of the yard, opposite Mrs. Rhee. Her curls blow away from her face, and her skirt whips against her knee as she fixes her earring post back into place. She waves with her fingers while Mrs. Rhee nods in her direction, as if to say, Look at our babies. Look how happy they are. My mother smiles and nods at Mrs. Rhee as if to thank her for all she’s done for me. When my mom looks my way, my eyes fill with tears and I blink. She’s gone. I pause for a second, a minute, and whisper, “Mama, I love you. I don’t know how, but I’m going to be okay. I promise.”
In the car, I wiggle up and down on my seat, smoothing my dress. I attempt to sit in a way that defies wrinkle-making physics, which means when I’m finished, I’m practically standing on the floorboard, bridging my body with both hands. Seung shifts into drive and my hands slip. I plop onto the seat and bounce. Seung glances over and smiles.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, “I actually am.”
“You forgot your coat,” Seung says, still smiling. “Put it in the back for you.”
“Thank you, Seung.”
“You are most welcome, Linden.”
The ride to Ham’s quiets us. Instead of talking, I wring my hands, pop three knuckles, and smack my lips. Seung drums the steering wheel to the beat of whatever notes are playing inside his head. Neither of us speaks until Gold Nugget creeps into Ham’s circular drive. Six vehicles line the curve leading up to the steps.
“What’s with all the cars?” I ask.
“Ham’s grandparents?”
I shrug. “You know Ham has a date, right?”
“Is that what he called it? Specifically?” Seung tilts his head. Could he be any more gorgeous tonight?
I shrug again. “Has Ham talked to you about Toby Patters? Some revenge plot?”
Seung snatches the small flower box from the dashboard. “Ham hasn’t talked to me about anything,” he says, slamming the car door. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you’re Toby.”
We stomp up the steps and pause in the archway of the door. “Sorry about my mom,” Seung says, rubbing his neck and yanking at his collar. “She kind of overdoes it, you know.”
I smile. “I know. And I love that she does.”
Seung opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then snaps his lips shut and chickens out. He holds his finger on the doorbell, hesitates, then drops his hand and stuffs it into his pocket. He draws a deep breath, turns to face me, and reaches for my hand. I offer both. He quickly unstuffs his pocketed hand and grabs all my fingers. His Adam’s apple bumps up and down while he gulps and swallows. Finally, he says, “I’ve been meaning to say this all night.”
We lock eyes.
“You look fucking hot, too,” Seung blurts, his face beaming beneath the porch light.
Hello, goose bumps.
I’m all smiles when I bump Seung with my hip and reach for the doorbell. He’s all smiles, too, as I push the button. Any worry I had about Bea and Seung just jumped ship. I mean, we are definitely together tonight.
As soon as the bell dings, Basil and Thyme, the Royses’ Welsh corgis, yap.
I shout, “Remember to spread your feet!” when Mrs. Royse opens the door. We crouch like quarterbacks ready for the ball as Basil and Thyme weave between our legs, dribbling dots of urine.
“Basil, Thyme: Retreat.” Mrs. Royse claps and the dogs scurry off toward the kitchen, where a delicious family dinner bakes in the oven. “We’re almost ready, kids. Come in. Come in.”
Mrs. Royse disappears around the corner into Mr. Royse’s office, shouting, “Ham’s been in the bathroom for hours.”
Seung laughs. “Yeah, and I doubt he’s getting ready.”
Mrs. Royse bounces back into the hall. “Could one of you knock? Tell him we’re all in the dining room.”
Seung and I stare at each other, drawing mental straws, flipping the proverbial coin.
Mrs. Royse lowers her voice and cups her mouth. “I’d rather not interrupt a teenage boy in the bathroom, if you know what I mean.”
We slip out of our shoes and park them in the entryway, house rules, and follow the lines on the hand-scraped hardwood toward the dining room.
As soon as Mrs. Royse disappears, Seung whips around and I slam into his back. “The button ear,” he says. “Will you give it to Ham?” He shoves the box with the boutonniere into my hands.
“No. You should give it to him after dinner.” I push the box back at Seung and slip up the stairs toward Ham’s bathroom, wondering when and how I drew the shorter straw.
I rap on the door, hoping Mrs. Royse is wrong about teenage boys.
“Go away!” Ham shouts.
“It’s me, Linden.”
The door swings open and slams against the wall. Ham grabs me by the elbow and yanks me inside.
“Jesus, Ham!” I slap my hands over my eyes. “You could have gotten dressed first, you know?” Ham snatches a white robe from a hook and swings it over his back like a cape.
“I can’t do this, Linden.” I peek through my fingers as he cinches his robe.
“Do what? Eat dinner? Are you sick?” I reach for his forehead and a temperature check. His face is rosy, his eyes are puffy, red.
Ham untwists the towel from his head and tosses it at the sink. His hair springs in all directions.
“I’m not sick, Linden, I’m nervous for the first damn time in my life.” He grips the vanity for balance, wobbling for effect.
“Does this have something to do with Toby Patters? Your plot for revenge? Getting him back for all the terrible things he’s done to you and Seung?”
Ham chuckles and slices the air with his hand. “He’s not my concern now. He’ll get what’s coming to him in due time.”
“What, then? Why are you nervous?”
Ham finger combs his bangs. “Do you remember the moment you realized Seung’s the only guy you want to see naked?”
“Well, uh, you kind of ruined that moment for me.” I wink and Ham tightens his robe.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
Someone knocks on the door. “Franklin, honey.” Ham’s mom. “Are you ever coming down? And is Linden in there with you?”
Ham stomps to the door and shouts, “Of course Linden’s in here with me!”
“Well, um, I hate to interrupt, but, um, please . . .”
Ham whips the door open. “Jesus, Mother, get your mind out of the gutter. There’s more that goes on in a bathroom than that.”
I wait in the hallway while Ham slips into his tux. He emerges from the bathroom with his chest puffed. He smiles and says, “This night belongs to us, Linden.”
Arm in arm Ham and I step inside the dining room and the crowd erupts. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, Seung, and Jarrell. Cheers. Accolades. Affection. Seung waves at me with a what-the-eff face and I flash a perplexed yet bring-down-the-house grin. I mean, Seung oozes sexiness, and thanks to Ham I’m actually picturing Seung naked, at the table, in the middle of a Royse family gathering.
Ham’s dad stands and taps his champagne glass with a tiny fork. Hurrahs hush as Mr. Royse thanks everyone for coming. Ham interrupts, saying, “Move over, asswipes,” to his male cousins, and squeezes into a chair beside Jarrell. It’s the first time I’ve seen Jarrell in anything but a well-worded tee or football jersey.
“This is for you,” Seung says, all hot potato with the flower box. He chucks the boutonniere across the table to Ham.
I glance around the room at the familiar faces. Grandparents smile. Cousins giggle. Aunts and uncles pat each other’s backs. Ham’s parents beam with affection for their son, their family, and the love that’s filling up the room.
I pick up a toasting flute and tip it at my lips, then realize I sipped champagne, not cider. I smile at Ham and his big, amazing family. He sits like a stone while Jarrell pins the flower onto his lapel.
Then I remember Ham’s date. That he actually has one. I jab Seung with a tiny spoon and he raises his eyebrow. Enough with the sexiness, Seung.
“To my son,” Mr. Royse continues his speech.
More relatives cheer and Ham yells, “Hear! Hear!” to himself.
“Shall we eat?” someone says, and Ham reaches for the mashed potatoes. He’s the first to dip the spoon, but not the first to take a bite. He plops a pile of spuds onto Jarrell’s bare plate.
I sit up straight. Squirm in my chair. Glance at Seung, who’s busy scraping the bacon off his green beans. Ham said he was nervous. The first time in his life. Am I imagining things? Drama Jarrell? But Ham hates football.
“Thanks for the spread, Mom,” Ham says with his mouth full.
No. Not Ham. He would have told me. In the bathroom. But his mom interrupted.
“Yeah. Thank you, Mrs. Royse,” Seung says, and I piggyback the gratitude. Seung knuckle punches me under the table. I swear his fingers linger on my thigh. My stomach goes weak, and electric pulses shoot up my leg. I playfully jab at him with my fork, then let my finger graze his knee.
We scarf dinner like it’s our last meal, and it could quite possibly be mine until tomorrow evening, unless I count the pack of fruit snacks I found as breakfast. I grab a second roll from a platter passing by and tuck it into my napkin.
“Do you think you’ll win tonight, Franklin?” Mr. Royse asks.
Ham’s mouth is crammed with pineapple-glazed ham, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Win? As in football? Sorry, Jarrell, but who the hell cares? You know I hate football, Dad.”
Ham’s hardly acting nervous now. Is he trying to impress Jarrell?
Ham’s dad nods. “No. You’ve never been much into sports.” He turns toward Seung. “How about you, Seung? You a football buff?”
Seung wipes his lips with his cloth napkin. “No, sir. I’m not really into sports I can’t play online. Sorry, Jarrell.”
Jarrell laughs and picks a crumb from Ham’s cheek. Am I the only one watching a budding romance unfold? I glance at Seung again, but he’s back to babying his green beans.
“When Franklin was little, he and Seung used to pretend they were brothers. Told everyone they were family.” Ham’s ears perk at his mom’s nostalgic biography. “They’ve always had so much in common, those two boys.”
“Still do,” I say, and Mrs. Royse sits up and begs for more tales about her son. “Ham, I mean Franklin, and Seung, are really into mob movies,” I say. “You know, the Mafia? They spend hours critiquing mob movies together. Are you into mob movies, Jarrell?”
Jarrell gulps his milk and says, “Nope. Too much violence.”
Ham looks like someone slapped his face. I hold my breath for Jarrell. Nobody insults Ham’s mob movies, even if unintentionally.
Ham dabs at the corners of his mouth before unleashing on Jarrell. “Excuse me. You play football. Could there be any more violence?”
Jarrell smiles and says, “And you don’t play.” He drops his chin and I swear he’s giving Ham puppy-dog eyes. I squint. Are those puppy eyes?
Ham scoffs and says flatly, “We should go.”
“Yes. Go.” Seung scoots his chair back. “Wouldn’t want to miss a minute of that real-life game.”
The sarcasm in Seung’s voice is obvious, but I don’t have time to joke back. Instead, I decide to turn on my journalism skills and confirm what I think I already know.
“I hear there’s a possibility of two homecoming kings this year.” I wait for Ham’s ears to perk like his corgis’, but he’s busy putting Jarrell in a headlock.
Mr. Royse pops his head over my shoulder. “That’s wonderful, Linden. Especially for a town trapped in a time warp.”
I nod and Mrs. Royse interrupts. “Let’s snap photos by the fireplace before the kids leave.”
Seung wedges between Ham and Jarrell like a third wheel, straightening Ham’s floral bow tie. Jarrell picks lint from Ham’s tuxedoed chest, and Seung sweeps Ham’s shoulders with his hand. They’re a pack of grooming birds.
We file into the living room, white from mantel to carpet. I plop into a silvery velvet chair and absorb the only color in the room. All eyes are on the boys, including mine.
“Linden, get in there!” Mr. Royse shouts.
I spring to my feet and link arms with the boys. We smile big for the five million cameras.
Ham steers Jarrell toward the chair I was sitting in, pushing at his chest until he falls onto the seat. “Take one of the Triangle, Mom. Sorry, Jarrell.”
We link arms. Me in the middle. My eyes sting for a moment, all this family and friendship. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smothered by love. I squeeze my arms, drawing Ham and Seung closer to my sides. I want to hold them tight, never let them go. Neither knows it, perhaps never will, but they’ve supported me like a buttress, held me up when I neared collapse. Seung’s more than a crush and Ham’s more than a best friend. They’ve given me hope in spite of the darkness. They’re my brightest stars, shining even when the lights go out.
“Now a couple pictures of Jarrell and me,” Ham says, shoving me out of the way. I mean, he pushes me so hard, I practically stumble. I shake my head, settling my sentimental thoughts, and shoot a look at Seung that says, Ham and Jarrell? He blows me a kiss. Ohmygod, pay attention, Seung. But please, blow me another kiss. First.
“Done,” Mr. Royse says, waving his hand. “Now go. Have fun. Stay out all night.” He pats Jarrell’s back as he walks us to the door. “And good luck to you, son. Hope you and the team kick ass tonight.”
Jarrell smiles. “Thank you again for dinner.”
Ham waves his arms. “Yes. Good luck with the violence.”
Jarrell ruffles Ham’s hair and Ham stiffens like a soldier.
We exchange good-byes and fall back against the door when it shuts behind us.
Jarrell leans against the wrought iron railing and says, “Man, your parents—”
“Are fucking weird!” Ham blurts.
“Love you,” I say. “Consider yourself lucky.” And even though I believe luck is made, perhaps there’s an exception to my rule. When you’re born into a loving family, shouldn’t there be a slight advantage?
“If I don’t leave now, Coach won’t let me play,” Jarrell says.
In unison, Ham and I snap, “Fuck Coach Jenkins.” We burst out laughing.
Jarrell jogs toward his car and shouts, “I’ll see you at the dance.” He’s pointing at Ham while patting his chest . . . or heart? We all wave and trot off toward Gold Nugget.
Ham calls shotgun and mocks my feeble attempt at pulling the ladies-first card. “When you find a lady,” he says, and winks, “let us know.”
Seung’s mouth twitches, but words are nonexistent.
“I’m in a freaking dress,” I say, waving my arms in protest.
Ham shakes his head. “No go.”
A horn beeps and Kristen rolls alongside the curb in her mom’s minivan.
“Oh, no!” Ham shouts. “What is that lady doing here?”
I sigh. “Remember when you made me promise I’d find your one true love?”
Ham winces and scrunches his face. “Not who I had in mind.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure you really had a date.”
“She’s not my date,” Ham insists. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
I pat Ham’s back. “I’m sorry. Truly I am.”
Kristen rolls her window down and shouts, “I’ll follow you there!”
I shoot a thumbs-up. It’s not like Kristen knew she was Ham’s date for the dance. I just didn’t want Ham to be alone. And I’m still not one hundred percent sure he’s with Jarrell tonight.
I flop into the backseat of Seung’s car like a mermaid and wiggle my shoes until the borrowed heels hit the floorboard. I rummage through my backpack for sneakers and slide my feet into them like a runner at home plate, flipping my body on the side and using the hump in the backseat to dig my heels deep. I wiggle the cramp free from my toes. Ah, home.
“Any chance you can drive slightly above the speed limit and lose Kristen?” Ham snaps.
Seung shakes his head. “No chance.”
Ham sighs. “Well, I’m going to need a slushie before the game.”
Seung makes a sharp left in the direction of the convenience store. I glance in the rear window to make sure Kristen’s still behind us.
“I am not, I repeat not, slurping a slushie in this dress.”
Ham flips around in his seat. “I meant to tell you, Linden. You clean up well.” He punches Seung’s arm. “Doesn’t she, Seung?”
Seung’s eyes flicker in the rearview mirror each time he steals a glance. I’ve counted eight so far.
I fondle Seung’s grandmother’s necklace. My fingers dance along the stone petals. Everyone’s been so good to me. Mrs. Rhee, the Royses, the ladies at the nursing home. And what do I do for them? Keep secrets and steal food. I’m even lying to my friends, lying to their parents. The only real thing is my love for them all.
I straighten the dress wrapped tight around my thighs. I shouldn’t be thinking about my past now. But that image of my mom and Mrs. Rhee sticks. Tonight I plan to live in the moment, forget my worries and uncertainties or how my future will unfold. I don’t want to think about anything but the here, the now. It’s the moments I’ve truly lived that I’ll remember. Tonight isn’t about homecoming or this beautiful damn dress. Tonight is symbolic. Just like Mrs. Rhee said. If I live in this moment, it could chisel and carve out my future. Maybe, just maybe, when the sun rises, I’ll rise, too. Out of the muck, unaffected by my past. The only way to survive the unknown, the tomorrows that haven’t arrived, is to appreciate where I am today, experience the moment, and live within it.
Seung parks in front of the convenience store, and Ham rattles off his order like we’re at a drive-up window. Large suicide slush, three packs of M&M’s, and mints.
“Get ’em yourself,” Seung says, climbing out of the car.
Ham lifts a paper bag to his lap and says, “But I’m getting the elixir ready.”
I lean over the seat and witness an oversized glass bottle emerging from Ham’s bag. “What’s that?” I ask, knowing full well what that is.
“Why, that,” Ham says, “is Mr. Royse’s premium bottle of scotch.”
Seung falls onto the seat with his hands. “There is no way in hell you’re drinking tonight, Ham. You know my rule.”
“Ham is not allowed to drink in the presence of Seung Rhee,” I say on behalf of Seung, and on behalf of Seung’s Rule.
“Ham is not allowed to drink in the presence of me,” Seung repeats, tapping his chest.
“It’s been a year, guys,” Ham says. “A lot happens in a year. A man grows up. A man matures. A man grows hair on his chest, his balls. A boy becomes a man. Besides, that episode you’re thinking of didn’t even involve alcohol.”
I fake gag as Kristen walks over to the car and says, “Hey, everyone.”
Ham tucks the bottle back into the bag and kicks it under the seat. “Revenge plot, Linden, remember? No need to worry your pretty faces.” He bumps into Kristen as he climbs out of the car, leaving the door open. “I guess you’re my date, huh?” Ham winks and marches into the store.
Kristen ignores Ham and asks if she should meet us at the dance.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing into the store window as Ham zigzags between candy baskets. “He could be a while.”
“I’m sure I’m needed for setup,” Kristen says, “but text me when you get there.”
She heads toward her van, and I shout, “Why don’t you come to the game with us?”
She stops, pivots on her heel, and marches back to the car.
“Are you inviting me to hang out?”
“Um. Yeah,” I say. “I think I already did.”
Kristen grins. “I want to. I do. But I’m always needed inside for last-minute preparations.”
“Give yourself a rest, Kristen,” Seung says, tapping his phone screen and checking the time. “Haven’t you delegated enough?”
I smile at Kristen. “He’s right. Have fun! You deserve it, especially tonight.”
Kristen shifts her hips once, twice. “You’re right.” She snaps her fingers.
“Time to enjoy your hard work.” I smile and glance over at Ham, who is now juggling mints.
Kristen skips toward the van, shouting, “I’ll find you at the game! I promise!”
When she drives off, Seung says, “You and Kristen are becoming close?”
“Yeah. Might be nice to have another girl around.”
We watch Ham through the glass as he meanders up and down the four store aisles. He lingers at the slushie machine, working his cup like a potter at the wheel, oscillating back and forth, crafting the perfect swirl. Once he’s added every available flavor, he smiles at his cup and scoops some slush from the spoon-straw. He pours the icy mess into his mouth and flashes us a grin. We wave.
“Did you notice Ham and Jarrell?” I ask.
“He did say he was making new friends.”
Headlights beam from behind the car as I’m about to scold Seung for his inability to detect details. The blinding glare and sound of a revving engine sink my stomach. I lean forward, over the seat, but I can’t reach Ham’s door quick enough to shut it. The truck bumper hits the door and bends it backward until the hinges creak.
“What the hell?” Seung shouts.
Toby climbs out of his truck like a monkey, first hopping onto the step and swinging off the mirror. He’s parked so close, he has to circle around the back of his truck to get to the store.
“Watch where you fucking park!” T.P. shouts at Seung, although he’s looking at me. Hey, Asswipe. I’m not the one behind the wheel.
I slink lower in my seat when I hear the soprano giggles of Bea and Beth. They scurry toward the door, Beth’s hand against Bea’s back. They pause in front of Gold Nugget and Bea whispers something to Beth. They both wave, at Seung, not me. Seung nods and my stomach sinks a second time.
Toby whips around, probably making sure his concubines are in tow. He points two fingers in our direction until he reaches the store doors.
“He wants us to know he’s watching,” I say. “He’s sending a message.”
“Yeah,” Seung says. “And the message reads, ‘I’m Toby Patters. Town’s colossal asswipe.’”
Ham walks to the counter, taking his own sweet time. His head bobs when he moves, while he looks for Bea. His obsession since ninth grade. Her hair. Her clothes. Her flawless skin. But I wonder if it’s Toby he’s really searching for.
Ham backs away from the counter when Bea flounces from the aisle. Ham says something, Bea says something back. Beth joins the duo, then Toby walks up and they form a square. Ham jabs T.P.’s chest and I hold my breath. Then he patty-cakes Toby’s triceps and laughs. There’s a whole lot of patting and laughing and turning and jabbing.
“Shouldn’t Toby be at the game?” I ask.
“Suspended for fighting,” Seung says.
“So he has nothing to lose tonight,” I mumble, biting my lip, wishing I had more details surrounding Ham’s revenge plot.
We stare at the window. It’s impossible not to be bothered by Toby’s towering trunk shading Ham’s stumpy one.
On cue, Ham shoots his thumb toward the car, and my nerves settle.
“What could they possibly be talking about?” Seung asks.
“This is the closest Ham’s been to Toby in years,” I say.
Ham steps to the counter with his slushie, candy, and five packs of mints. He holds up a finger to the cashier and jogs to the back of the store, returning with several rolls of duct tape.
“I’m extremely concerned about Ham’s revenge plot. You?”
Seung scrunches his nose and hugs the steering wheel for a closer look.
Bea dumps her gum and soda on the counter and Toby pushes a dozen meat sticks at the cashier. Ham pays for everything and they walk out of the store together, looking chummier than they should. Ham shouts something to Toby and jogs over to the car. He reaches beneath the seat and grabs his duffel bag and his dad’s scotch.
“Ham, explain yourself,” I say.
He digs into the duffel and I spy a roll of twine and what appears to be hair dye—orange.
“All part of the plan, Linden.” Ham stuffs the booze into the duffel bag.
“Not good,” I say. “Not a good idea for Ham.” I whack Seung’s chest. “Tell him this isn’t a good idea.”
Toby revs his engine and shouts, “You got the booze, or what?”
Ham hikes his bag over his shoulder and says, “I’ll be drinking with my new friend tonight.” He winks and races for the truck, which suddenly looks like the most monstrous of monster trucks I’ve ever seen.
“Ham! Wait. . . .” My voice is muffled by the engine. Toby points his two fingers at us as he backs up. His stupid stage direction is getting old, fast. The door of Gold Nugget springs back, then snaps shut. I lean out the window and watch my best friend ride away with his enemy.
“What was it again that Abe Lincoln said?”
Seung sighs. “Ham’s made his enemy his friend.”
We sit quietly and replay what happened in our minds. After a couple of minutes, I break the silence. “So, I guess this means I’m riding shotgun.”
Seung smiles, but a worried look swathes his face. “I guess this means you are.”