“Mallory, have you been properly introduced to my good friends Kent and Stephen?” Simone asks.
Before Mallory can say anything, her phone pings, so she steps away to answer a text without even looking at us.
“Imma take that as a no,” Stephen snorts.
Stephen and I keep Simone company as she places her order. “Mallory... Um, she seems like a very busy person,” Simone says.
“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about her,” Stephen replies. “By the way, our boy here’s in love with her.”
“Really?” Simone says. “You’re into...frenetic?”
I shrug and try to play off my embarrassment at this private crush being made public. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
(Mental note: kick Stephen’s weenie-ass later.)
(Again, metaphorically.)
Before I even realize what he’s doing, Stephen treats us both to my favorite coffee cart offering—triple shot cappuccinos with extra Splenda and a side of almond croissants. Then I feel bad about ragging on him.
He and I tear into our pastries, leaving a trail of powdered sugar and stray slivers of nuts as we move over to the open bench next to the cart. I had a massive plate of bacon and eggs and half a cantaloupe at home less than an hour ago, but somehow I’m still famished. My mom says this is because I have a growth spurt coming on. God, I hope so. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being barred from the big rollercoasters because I’m not as tall as the frigging alligator at the entrance.
Simone sips her coffee thoughtfully. “Mallory’s tour was exceptionally thorough. Yet I’m surprised to have held her attention for so long. Suspect she’d benefit from some mindfulness.”
Stephen laughs, which sends little flakes flying. “Mindful, please, this is ’Murrica. Bitch needs ADHD meds.”
Mallory returns and Simone hands her a cup and a brown paper bag. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?” Mallory asks.
“A tip,” Simone replies.
“What?”
“Kidding, sort of. This is a white chocolate mocha and a banana nut muffin to say thanks for your time.”
Mallory waves her off. “Totally unnecessary. Keep them.”
Simone gently presses the cup and bag into Mallory’s hands. “Come on, I can’t manage two mochas and two muffins, and the boys have already eaten. Please enjoy them. Cheers and thanks again!”
Mallory stalks off without a word—so rude, yet so hot—and Simone returns her attention to us.
“Have a great first day of class, Mallory!” Stephen says, his voice oozing with sarcasm. He hates Mallory. Which would prove awkward if we got married and he was my best man. We have time to figure that out, though.
Simone says, “Explain this to me—is initial gift refusal another American thing?”
“I don’t follow,” I say, brushing thousands of tiny crumbs off my shirt. Croissants don’t crumble; they detonate.
She replies, “What is and isn’t culturally appropriate here? I truly don’t want to offend. What I mean is, every country has its small proclivities. Like when we visit Mum’s extended family in India, we don’t wave ‘hello’ because to them, the gesture means ‘no’ or ‘go away.’ So I didn’t know if here you say no to a gift before you say yes.”
“Like how you’re not supposed to write in red ink in Korea because it’s considered a bad omen?” I ask.
“My mother always throws away my red pens. I have to hide them, like they’re part of a porn stash or something,” Stephen says. “Otherwise, we have, like, zero ties to our culture. We’re the least Asian people you’ll meet in North Shore. The only time she ever pulls the South Korean card is with my stupid school supplies.”
“Yeah, the pen thing is not weird at all,” I say. Every time I think my mother is a challenge with her relentless nagging and endless micromanagement, I remember Mrs. Cho and I feel better. For all her opinions, at least my mom keeps her paws off my writing utensils. Fortunately, my dad’s pretty normal. But, like all the other fathers in the consulting business up here, he’s away on assignment all week, every week, so he’s not here to be the day-to-day buffer. Stephen’s in the same boat as his dad’s a road warrior, too.
“That’s really sad,” Simone says.
“Eh, it’s just pens.” Stephen shrugs.
“No, that you guys don’t connect with your Korean heritage. I mean, I’m only a quarter Indian and I can’t get enough. I love every aspect, from wearing saris to cooking chapattis, and, my God, an Indian wedding? You’ve never seen anything like it.”
After she tells us the story of some distant cousin’s wedding in Mumbai—with elephants and everything!—the first bell rings.
“Do we go now?” she asks.
“No, that’s the initial warning. We have ten minutes,” Stephen says.
“Anyway, are you ready for today?” I ask Simone.
She knits her brow. “Hmm, well, I’m worried that my courses might be difficult. I mean, I have Forensic Science, 3D Animation, 9/11 and Its Impact on the Modern Middle East, just to name a few. Honestly, I didn’t know classes like this existed outside of university.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Stephen says, with great reassurance in his voice.
Simone brightens. “Because they won’t be terribly hard?”
Without a whit of sarcasm, he replies, “Oh, no, they’ll be hard as shit. Frigging killer. You’ll be doing homework six hours a night and you’ll barely keep your head above water. But now you know, so at least you don’t have to worry.”
I shake my head. Here I was thinking that I had zero game.
The five-minute bell rings, so Simone and Stephen head off toward the liberal arts building and I make my way over to the science hall.
Right before I open the heavy wooden door, I take one more look at Mallory on the other side of all that neatly clipped grass. She’s been standing there talking to Braden, who’s totally making sausage eyes at her. Her face is all relaxed and radiant, like he’s the sun shining down on her. She’s not blatantly flirting with him, but their chemistry’s obvious. I can practically smell their pheromones from here.
Great, him, too?
Like Perfect Mr. Soccer Star Liam isn’t already enough competition. Yeah, let’s definitely add the funniest, nicest, handsomest guy to her list of admirers. I can’t even legit hate on him, because he’s such a good dude.
They say a couple more things to each other and he takes off, but I notice he keeps glancing back at her until he’s swallowed up by the crowd going into the math and science building.
Now that she’s alone, she dives into the paper bag Simone gave her.
Mallory holds up the muffin and takes a deep whiff, burying her nose in its still-warm center. The bakery that stocks the coffee cart is here in town, so everything’s always right from the oven. She practically gets to second base with it before stuffing it back into the sack.
How pathetic is it that I’m jealous of a fucking carbohydrate right now?