When we finish the next run, applause rings out. The double doors are crowded with hotel staff in checkered shirts and a women’s tour group from Holland—I hadn’t realized we’d gathered an audience.
“Did you come up with that on your own?” asks a honey-blond woman in yoga pants.
Sophie points to me. “She did.”
“It’s fantastic.” Lena’s eyes shine. “This is what I mean, Ever. Not everyone can pull something like this together.”
I blush. A shutter on the burglar’s lantern has cracked. Rays of the supernova are escaping. “It’s still hard to believe this is happening.” Or that it’s mine.
Sophie passes around a box of green-tea cookies, then I check the hallway for counselors, and the team leaves two by two.
“You ready, Rick?” Spencer slides his dolly under his drum.
“Yep.” Rick draws me into a quick hug. When he pulls away, a letter is tucked into my hand, and Sophie is gazing at us over her clipboard, her face speculative.
As he and Spencer head out, I gather up a few stray cups from our snack break. Then I grab the last cookie and set out with Sophie.
We are passing a housekeeping cart of blankets and sheets when Mei-Hwa brushes by, her skirt swishing red, green, and yellow about her. She gives me a small smile.
“Wǎn’ ān.” Good night. Then she glides ahead, graceful in her own right. For a moment, I want to call after her—tell her we’re dancing to “Orchid Grass,” her favorite song. The one she introduced me to the night I hit bottom. But Mei-Hwa has a job, and if she found out what we’re up to, she would be obligated to tell the Dragon, just as she did about Matteo.
“Did she see you dancing with us?” Sophie whispers as we hurry up the stairs to the lobby. We’re already a few minutes past my curfew.
“No, of course not,” I say with more certainty than I feel.
At the elevators, Sophie presses the button. She touches Rick’s letter in my hand. “What exactly happened with Jenna?”
I choke on a bite of cookie. “He didn’t tell you? They broke up.”
“And she accepted it? Just like that?”
I blink. “I assume so. I mean, what else—”
“I have a hard time believing she’d let him go just like that.”
I frown. He’d tried before to break up with her. Sophie knows that. But she doesn’t know what really happened then. “Why were you so hard on Rick and her?”
“Where even to start?” She purses her lips. “Jenna’s a smart girl. She likes science. She headed up the chemistry club at school, and she’s in the knitting club, too. Shelly worships her. You’d think with her looks and brains and money, she’d be more confident. But even with Rick telling her over and over that she was beautiful, she had surgery to make her eyes bigger. She dropped volunteering at the children’s clinic because some guy cracked a joke about it.”
“Really?” I understand how she feels. My own eyelids, like Sophie’s, are single-lined instead of double with an upper crease. I used to avoid looking in the mirror with my Caucasian friends, because my eyes seemed small by comparison. If I’d had the money and the chance to stop Cindy Sanders from pulling the corners of her eyes at me through elementary school, would I have taken it? Maybe half a year ago. But now, here among beautiful eyes like Sophie’s, I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.
“I know, who am I to judge, right?” Sophie says. “But I was fed up with him carrying her around like an invalid. She clung to him like he was her life preserver.”
That’s because he was. “He worries about her—”
“She’s eighteen. Grow up already.” She jabs repeatedly at the button. “This is the slowest elevator on the island.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. To Sophie, to Rick’s whole family, Jenna was the over-possessive girlfriend. Not someone in trouble.
I want them to know the truth. But her secret isn’t mine to tell.
“I never imagined Rick joining a dance,” Sophie continues. “I haven’t heard him laugh like this since we were eleven, when I almost set my aunt’s closet on fire.”
“What? How?”
“I was checking price tags. In the dark, with a candle. Rick’s never let me live it down.” I smile at the image of Rick and Sophie, like Felix and Fannie, making mischief. Then my smile fades. I clutch Rick’s letter to my chest.
“What was Rick like with Jenna?”
“You mean did he buy her presents? Touch her every time he breathed? Walk around like he’s been crowned king?”
My heart sinks. “Yeah.”
“No. She was more like his little sister, you know?”
I choke on a laugh. “No, I don’t know.”
“She asked me once if he liked boys because he barely kissed her.” Sophie’s smile fades. “She was always so insecure about him. A month ago, I’d have told her not to worry. He’d never let down someone who depends on him.”
I love that about Rick. But I feel a twinge of worry, too—is he letting her down now?
“Hey, where’s your bo?” Sophie asks suddenly.
“Oh, no.” I swivel toward the stairwell. A few guests are emerging, laughing and talking. My stomach clenches. “I left it in the ballroom.”
“We should get it.” Sophie wrings her hands, eying the clock. “Or the hotel staff will give it to the Dragon and it has your name on it. They’ll tell her we were dancing. She’ll put two and two together and we’re through.”
The elevator dings. On cue, the Dragon emerges, heels clicking a staccato warning. Her dark eyes swing to us.
“Ai-Mei, it’s past curfew,” she says in Mandarin. Sophie curses under her breath. We’re too late.
“Ever, you forgot this.” Mei-Hwa appears out of nowhere, skirt swishing. The Dragon frowns, maybe at my American name, but Mei-Hwa just presses a blanket-wrapped bundle into my arms. It’s stiff and bulky, like an overflowing coat rack.
“Oh!” It’s my bo staff, disguised.
“Off to bed. You’re late.” Mei-Hwa shoves me toward the open elevator before I can speak. Then she takes the Dragon’s arm, asking about tomorrow’s schedule. The Dragon’s gaze strays to the bundle in my arms. Thanking Mei-Hwa with my eyes, I grab Sophie’s hand and drag her into the elevator out of fire-breathing range.
Dear Ever,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to your question about homework. I must have missed your letter when it arrived seven years ago. If I hadn’t, perhaps the course of my life would have changed much sooner.
I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of wisdom to offer you about homework except that I work my ass off. And picked classes I wouldn’t mind spending hours on. I guess I am a bit of a perfectionist, which my favorite physics teacher said is good for school, but sucks for me. I hope you find a more efficient way to get it done.
I am needing some advice as well. I’m hoping you can help. I’m not the best at expressing what I feel. Not in words. But there’s this girl. When I first met her, I felt this weird shock, like recognition. Like I’d dreamed her face a hundred times before, but now was the first time I could see it clearly.
When I think back to all the qualities I’ve admired in people I’ve met, I find them all in her. She is fearless. Strong and kind. She loves her family so much she struggles with letting them down, even for her own happiness. When I had a problem, she jumped in headfirst to help me. She makes me question the truth of mathematics. 1 + 1 was always 2. With her, 1+1 is exponential.
And when I dance with her, I finally understand. Dancing has to be between two people in balance to work. I’ve teetered on edges my entire life. Now, I’m still walking those crazy pathways, but I’m no longer off-balance. For the first time, I can look up at the sky. And it’s filled with stars.
~
Ever, when I started writing you this letter, I thought my question would be, how do I convince you of what you mean to me? But now, I realize that’s the wrong question. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as
long as you want me to.
Yours,
Rick
I fold his letter down and do a Google search: How do you know when you’re falling in love?
31
The typhoons grow in severity, sheeting rain against our bus windows and blurring my view of the passing countryside. Our bus quiets as we drive by an entire Puyuma village submerged: tin roof peaks poking up through muddy water like islands swept clean of life. Debris floats everywhere: the spinning wheel of an inverted rickshaw, dead fish flashing silvery underbellies, a muddy doll with her hair and red-, yellow-, and green-striped skirt fanned out around her.
“Was anyone hurt?” Debra asks up front. Our tour guide tells her no, and conversations pick up again.
On the last full day of tour, we arrive at the hot springs resort Sophie has raved about since summer began. A wooden gate leads into a lush grove of trees. Lán Huā Cǎo plays from hidden speakers, setting my feet dancing as Rick and I pick our way down a stone path ankle-deep in flood waters, under dripping palm fronds that hang like curved combs, and through a grove of bamboo to the flat-roofed resort beyond. I’m hand in hand with Rick as we’ve been since his letter, though we haven’t kissed again, as though we know that once we do, there will be no holding back that flood.
“I’m a sucker for Jacuzzis,” I tell him as we move through the hallways toward my room. After six days of walking the entire southern shore of Taiwan, Love River in Kaohsiung, not to mention dance practice, my sore body is eager to sink into the heated pools.
“Alas, hot springs are separated between men and women.” At my door, he hands me my bag, which he insists on carrying.
“Seems kind of old-fashioned.”
“Those darn rules.” He gives me that sly grin of his that brings to mind naughty things in the dark. His hand grasps the small of my back and he pulls me close, rubs his nose against mine. I close my eyes, anticipating, wanting the touch of his lips on mine.
Then he pulls away. Flashes a teasing smile.
I frown. “You know something I don’t and want to lord it over me?”
“Rules are rules.” He heads down the hallway, refusing to say more.
“And I’m still breaking them,” I call.
Sophie and I tie on pale green yukata robes and set out for the women’s hot springs on the ground floor. In a small reception room, a chubby-faced attendant hands us fluffy towels, then gestures with both hands up and down his body. He’s about our age, and reminds me of my cousin George. He speaks rapid Mandarin.
“Sorry?” I lean in, not wanting to miss important instructions.
“Naked!” He gestures with alarming enthusiasm.
“Japanese-style.” Sophie laughs as we duck through a pair of linen curtains printed with blue cranes in flight. “These hot springs are used nude. He has the key word for tourists.”
“Rick told me they’re separated by gender. ‘Alas.’” I laugh. That sly tone of his. “Naked. No wonder.”
Debra and Laura are disrobing in the bathroom already. Wall-to-wall mirrors reflect rows of cabinets where we store our robes and slippers. A teapot of red oolong tea steeps among a garden of porcelain cups. Warm air wafts from beyond a curtained doorway, along with the seductive gurgle of water and scent of minerals.
“I’m in heaven,” Sophie sighs.
“Me, too.” I wrap my towel around myself as the Dragon enters, stout in her own yukata robe, salt-and-pepper hair hidden in a plastic shower cap. My locker key drops with a clatter as her eyes fall on me.
“Ai-Mei,” she scolds. “Did Mei-Hwa forget to tell you? No hot springs for you.”
My own worries about my last nude photo isn’t punishment enough. My parents have struck again.
“Oh, please let her stay,” Sophie begins. “It was my fault—”
“It’s fine, Soph.” I’m already pulling my robe from my locker. For all I know, the Dragon has spies watching our dance, and the last thing I want to hear is, “No talent show for you.” I hope Mei-Hwa isn’t in trouble now, too.
Debra and Laura shoot me sympathetic glances; Sophie a guilty one. But underlying my disappointment runs a deeper undercurrent of sadness. My parents are trying to rein me in the only ways they know how.
But they can’t undo the ways this summer is changing me.
“See you later,” I say.
“Ever.”
Xavier’s voice makes me jump and nearly knock over a vase on a stand holding a purple orchid. He steps from a guest room door and leans against its frame, a sardonic smile twisting his lips like it did in the early days of summer. His T-shirt is paint-smeared and his long box of paintings is under his arm.
“Xavier. Hey.” I take hold of my sash, needing something to hold on to myself.
“I was right, wasn’t I? The jocks of the world get what they want, don’t they?”
I flush. But at least he’s speaking to me. “That’s not why I like him.”
“Then what is it? Those broad shoulders? Yale? The ass-kissing fan club?”
“That’s unfair and you of all people should know that. Rick’s—” I try to boil it down, what it is, when there’s so much, his generosity, his humility, his kindness, his devotion, all the while feeling I shouldn’t have to justify myself. “Sometimes we don’t have reasons. We just love who we love.”
Xavier’s eyes flicker. I brace for a laugh.
“I know.”
“Know what?”
“We can’t help who we love.”
He crosses his arms over his box, dark eyes brooding. I wish we could recapture that friendly comfort, but it’s gone, elusive as sunlight during this typhoon season.
I let go of my sash. “Thank you for helping with Matteo that other night.” It’s a long overdue thanks.
He grunts. “Any decent guy would have.”
And that’s exactly what he is. A decent guy.
“I owe you an apology,” I say. “For what happened the night after Aunty Claire’s.”
“Don’t apologize.” His jaw works. “You said it yourself. We were both in on it.” He pulls the box from under his arm and pulls out a rolled sketch. “You forgot to take this.”
The three old men. I hold the stiff, curling paper, trace my fingers around its border, admiring the detail in their beards, the patches on an elbow, the wistfulness he’s captured.
“I love it. But I can’t accept this.”
He unbends a bent corner. “Why not?”
“It’s too valuable. You can do so much more with it than give it to me.”
He gazes at it helplessly. “Like what?”
My throat tightens. “You’ll just—know. When the time comes.”
“You’re so fatalistic.” His voice is rough as he rolls the sketch back into a tube. “Well, maybe I am, too. If I’d met you first.”
“Xavier . . .” My hand falls helplessly. Was there a reason Xavier and I came together this summer? Outwardly, we’re on the same journey—fighting to do our art despite our parents’ opposition. And he made me feel attractive when I didn’t believe I was. We could have kept it there, but I let it go too far.
“We have to reset.” Is that even possible? “I want us to be friends. I want us to stay friends.”
He slouches against his doorpost. Then he says, “Wait a sec?”
He disappears into his room. When he reemerges, he takes my hand and presses a small photo into my palm. He closes my fingers over it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It was wrong not to give it back.”
My photo. My hand trembles. “You had the last one.”
“I dated a girl last year who told me I’d pay some day for all the girls I ran over. I guess she was right.”
“Xavier, please. Don’t—”
“Reset. I’m trying, okay?” His eyes are on his toe, scuffing the carpet. “I’m working on a mural. Maybe I’ll even take your advice and stick it to the talent show.” With a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he slips back inside his room an
d closes the door.
“You can’t miss the hot springs. They’re the best part of Taiwan.” Rick’s hand on my elbow guides me ahead of him into the buffet line of the resort restaurant. A row of silver chafing dishes, warmed by tiny blue flames, gives off a mouthwatering aroma.
“You said Snake Alley was the best of Taiwan,” I mock-complain. “And the shaved ice. And beer gardens. And night markets.” Back with Rick, I feel better already about the sting of the ban, about Xavier. I scoop eggplant onto my plate and pass on the black-bean clams, he loads a dozen onto his plate.
“They’re all the best.” His warmth nestles against my back, magnet to my iron, as we wait for the line to move. “Marc and I found a bathhouse out on our run today. I’ll sneak you in after lights out.”
“Naked?”
“Those are the rules.”
I’d quipped back before I could censure myself, but I feel a thrill. Yes, breaking rules has consequences, and sometimes they’re in place for a good reason. But sneaking out is no longer about rebelling. It’s going after things I want.
And I want this night alone with him.
“Which way to the onsee?” An over-enunciated male voice, a British or maybe South African accent, breaks through the low rumble of conversation in the restaurant. A tourist and his brunette wife walk through the double doors. Beside them, a balding hotel clerk spreads his hands helplessly, speaking Mandarin. The tourist fusses with his white hat, like he’s headed into the Australian outback. His wife pulls a Chinese silk shawl tight around her shoulders.
“Which way to the onsee?” The man turns to Mei-Hwa as she sails in, bird-like in a red blouse. She tugs her earphones from her ear.
“Sorry?”
He repeats his question with exaggerated loudness.
Mei-Hwa’s brow wrinkles with confusion and she flips her long braid over her shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
His voice rises with impatience. “We’re looking for the outdoor onsee.”
“She doesn’t understand either. Let’s go.” The wife tugs on her husband’s arm.
“Can’t speak English properly,” he says, loud enough to be heard in Taipei. “No one here speaks a damn word of English.”
Loveboat, Taipei Page 25