by Taylor Dean
“Okay, this time around, you have to tell us your deepest, darkest secret.”
What? Is anyone really going to admit a dark secret in front of everyone? I doubt it.
Stalling, I say, “Wait, you didn’t tell us anything about yourself, Jul . . . Mr. Pow Pow.” Yep, calling him Mr. Pow Pow alleviates the giddy feelings caused by sitting next to a handsome man with perceptive blue eyes.
He sighs. “Thanks for that,” he says to me. Then to the group at large, he says, “I live in China.”
Everyone moans and rolls their eyes. Mr. Pow Pow points at me using both hands, rolling them in the air as if he’s executing a dance move. He’s smooth. Real smooth.
I admit, I like his confidence.
“Deepest and darkest. Let’s hear it,” he says.
I look around the table as all eyes are on me, anxiously waiting for me to speak. Actually sharing my deepest and darkest secret is out of the question. I add the bell pepper to the pot and say, “Well . . . I think I’ve found the love of my life.” It isn’t much of a secret since everyone knows I’m dating my elevator hero—and that I’m crazy for him. But I feel the need to clarify my dating status while sitting next to Julian. I mean Mr. Pow Pow. I feel like I’m betraying Paul while simply sitting next to him.
Hunter whoops loudly and Jason lets out a “woohoo,” while the girls clap and whistle. Stacy has a genuine smile on her face, I note, perhaps the first one I’ve ever seen.
A waitress delivers drinks to our table and with everyone distracted, Mr. Pow Pow questions, “How do you know?”
“How do I know?” I parrot, facing him. Once again we study one another for a heartbeat too long. The nose trick doesn’t work and a hot blush climbs up my face and stains my cheeks.
Because his name is Paul.
No way will I share the truth. “Something like that can’t be explained. It’s a feeling and you just . . . know.”
“Well said.”
“You agree?”
Our private conversation continues. “Yes. Is he into yoga?”
“What?”
“Do you know if he’s into yoga?”
Ruffled, I say, “I have no idea. What does it matter?”
“Could be important. Does he like health food?”
“I have no idea. It’s trivial. He can eat whatever he wants.”
“Does he like the feel of the ocean?”
“I haven’t asked him that yet. Quit teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing. I have it on good authority that these are important questions. Does he like getting caught in the rain?”
“Getting caught in the rain? What . . .” I trail off as the music on the jukebox registers.
“Does he like making love at midnight?” Julian . . . Mr. Pow Pow can’t hide his smile, although he’s desperately trying to keep a straight face.
I would’ve felt offended by the question had it not been part of the song playing over the airwaves. This time, I literally feel the heat rise to my face and know I must be as red as an apple. I playfully sock him on the shoulder and he laughs as he pretends as though my punch nearly knocks him over. The main chorus of the “Piña Colada” song plays in the background and he starts to sing along with it.
“Hunter, your turn,” he announces as if he hasn’t just made me blush horribly.
Feeling all hot and bothered after the exchange with Mr. Pow Pow, I concentrate on Hunter. Mr. Pow Pow continues to quietly sing along with the song. The sound of his soft voice distracts me. He actually has a very pleasant singing voice, deep, yet soothing—and just as silky as his speaking voice.
No, not silky, velvety. I shake my head and berate myself for having . . . thoughts about Mr. Pow Pow.
Hunter adds the bean sprouts and everyone grimaces. “I met someone the other day,” he announces.
“Who?” Dakota asks.
“A Chinese girl. We had lunch together and she promised to meet with me again.” He grins like a schoolboy. “I really like her. No, I take that back. I really, really like her.”
“Lunch today, marriage tomorrow. Look out, my friend.” Mr. Pow Pow tips back in his chair and I seriously consider giving him a little push.
“The funny thing is, I just might be okay with that.” Hunter runs one hand through his blond hair.
“Does she like . . .” Mr. Pow Pow starts and I nudge him with my shoulder, effectively cutting him off. His right hand grabs the table as he stops himself from falling over. I feel contrite. I didn’t really want to make him fall. “I was just gonna ask if she likes piña coladas. That’s all.”
“I don’t think they have those here.”
We both laugh under our breath as the song comes to an end. Stacy shoots daggers at me, with good reason. Mr. Pow Pow and I are laughing at private jokes and not including the rest of the table. If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit that I enjoy his company.
Dakota hesitantly adds the shrimp and shrugs her shoulders. “It’s bound to be good now, right?”
“Fess up, Dakota. Tell us your deepest and darkest,” Mr. Pow Pow coaxes.
“Okay, here it goes. I once smoked oregano.”
“Oregano?” Hunter guffaws loudly. “What on earth?”
Dakota shrugs again. “I was in fifth grade. My friend snatched the spice bottle from her mom’s cupboard and rolled it up like a cigarette and we each tried to take a few puffs. The next day she said she’d heard it can cause brain damage and we never did it again. I’ve never told anyone because I’ve always been scared to death that I somehow damaged myself. I’ve never even told my mom.”
“You rebel you,” Mr. Pow Pow says and the entire table bursts out laughing.
Dakota turns as red as her hair, mimicking how I must have looked earlier. “Stressful stuff, guys. I seriously thought I’d ruined my life.”
“Hey, I can hook you up when you need a fix.” Mr. Pow Pow winks.
Placing her head in her hands, Dakota moans. “I’m never gonna live this down.”
Stacy begins her turn by dumping green onions in the pot. I have to admit, our creation looks and smells delicious.
“I hate my mother,” Stacy announces without preamble.
“What are you talking about?” Lori asks, looking and sounding shocked at her best friend’s admission.
“You don’t understand, Lori. She never listens to me, she blows me off whenever I want to do something, and she likes my older sister better than me. Before I left, she bought her new clothes and not me, even though I was the one leaving for China. I hate her.”
Mr. Pow Pow whispers, “Don’t give her any gum, she’ll blow up into a blueberry.”
Stacy looks as though she’s about to cry, so I bite my lip to keep from giggling. I make a mental note to never sit by Mr. Pow Pow again. He’s out-and-out irreverent, the scoundrel. I find myself fighting the urge to laugh uncontrollably for no reason whatsoever, just like my sisters often do when something is humorous. One joke can set them off and a giggle-fest always ensues, even when nothing’s particularly funny anymore. I feel dangerously close to that delirious state of mind, all thanks to a man who goes by Mr. Pow Pow. His name alone could render countless jokes. Although something tells me he’ll have a quick comeback to whatever comes his way.
An awkward silence encompasses the table and Mr. Pow Pow bumps my foot with his own. Unable to hold in my erupting laughter, I feign a coughing attack and grab a sip of Sprite.
“Good recovery,” Mr. Pow Pow whispers without moving his lips.
Lori goes ahead with her turn, clearly disturbed by Stacy’s words. She adds the yam noodles and regains her composure quickly, obviously excited about sharing her deepest and darkest secret. “I’m going to be a mother,” she squeals.
“You’re pregnant?” Stacy asks.
“Well, no, not yet. But after this trip, we’re gonna start trying. I’ll be a mother very soon.”
Jason hugs her, kissing the top of her head over and over.
I feel my breath hitch in my thro
at. Jason and Lori might be a little over the top—okay, maybe a lot—but they have everything I wish I could have.
Mr. Pow Pow bumps me with his shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. You look upset all of a sudden.”
I think back to that moment when he’d held his fingers in a V shape, pointing to his eyes and then my eyes, back and forth.
He notices me. And it’s a little unsettling.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t believe you.”
Jason adds the thinly shaved chicken to the pot as he says, “Okay, here’s my confession: I would rather spend my evening cuddled up on the couch with Lori watching a cheesy chick flick than play a game of football with the guys.”
He grabs Lori, his hands on either side of her face, and kisses her on the lips.
When the kiss doesn’t end, Mr. Pow Pow says quietly, so that only I can hear, “They shouldn’t be allowed to leave their home.”
“I know, right?”
We laugh again and the connection I feel with him makes me feel a little tingly. To be honest, I’m not sure what to make of him.
All eyes turn to Mr. Pow Pow. It’s his turn. He stands and tosses the bok choy into our new creation. Once again, he carefully adds several different spices and stirs the pot. He doesn’t say “pow” this time. Instead he tastes it, and adds a few more spices until he seems satisfied. The aroma is heavenly. He sits down, ready to reveal his deepest and darkest. “I think I’ve found the love of my life.”
He mimics my secret perfectly and I object. My face feels hot again and I curse whatever bodily mechanism that’s responsible for blushing. Is he mocking me? “That’s not funny,” I tell him.
“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m completely serious.”
“Can you tell us who it is?” Stacy asks, her eyes bright.
“Nope. She doesn’t know it yet.” He doesn’t expound.
“So secretive,” Stacy remarks with a sly grin.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” Hunter spoons a huge helping into his bowl and the others follow. No one questions Mr. Pow Pow any further.
Amazingly enough, our Hot Pot creation is even more delicious the second time around.
“So tell me, Mr. Pow Pow,” I say, looking him squarely in the nose, “Does she have half a brain?” I mean it as a joke, a continuation of the “Piña Colada” song.
His eyes light up and he knows exactly what I mean. However, he’s dead serious as he answers. “Call me Julian,” he says first, while studying the top of my head. “And I’m pretty sure she has a fully functioning brain inside that beautiful head.” With that, he winks, picks up his bowl and leaves the table.
Speechless, I watch him leave.
Wait. Does he mean me?
Chapter Ten
September
“LET’S DO IT, it’ll be fun,” Hunter says with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, if we don’t get killed. I really don’t want to be scraped up off the roadway.” Dakota looks dubious.
I feel ready to take a chance. My sisters would kill me if they knew what I was about to do. The traffic in the city can only be described as crazy. If my sisters were here, they’d call it deadly. I would have to agree, but I decide to do it anyway. “I say, let’s go for it. We’ll be careful.”
The array of used bikes displayed across the sidewalk are old and rickety. But the temptation to ride through the city to get back to Zhongshan Academy prevails over the fear of a wobbly bike.
Hunter had the crazy idea to “get on that random bus and see where it takes us” and Dakota and I had gone along with his outlandish idea. We’d been walking and exploring the city ever since. Despite an impromptu afternoon massage for a shamefully cheap price, my feet ache. For lunch, we’d eaten a cheeseburger at McDonalds. The burger was oddly stuffed with bits of corn. It came with cucumbers, lettuce, and a spicy mustard sauce, along with a green pea pie. GREEN PEA. Apple pies were not offered. I learned something about myself today. I hate peas.
It’s now dinner time and the idea of a crowded bus in traffic sounds dreadful.
A thrilling bike ride, however, sounds invigorating. “We’ll stay on the sidewalks with the other cyclists, Dakota.” Really, I’m trying to convince myself this is a safe idea, as well as Dakota.
“That doesn’t comfort me. It’s just as scary on the sidewalks as it is on the streets.” Dakota shifts from foot to foot and finally gives in. “Oh, all right.”
Hunter offers a fist bump and Dakota responds in kind, although there’s no conviction in her actions and I can sense her hesitancy.
The bikes on the sidewalk only cost twenty American dollars. The owner of the quaint little shop tries to lure us inside where he has newer, more expensive bikes. But we insist on buying the cheap, sidewalk bikes instead.
At first I think the shop owner is trying to swindle the presumably rich Americans. But I couldn’t be more wrong. I quickly realize he wants us to purchase the other bikes because the sidewalk bikes aren’t fully assembled. Some don’t have pedals or working brakes and some don’t even have chains—something we hadn’t noticed as we’d been enticed by the cheap price. Regardless, we each choose our bike and wait for almost an hour as the shop owner assembles them.
“All right, guys,” Hunter says as he straddles his unstable contraption. “What shall we name our bike gang?”
“Gang?” Dakota tentatively sits on her bike seat, clearly wondering if it will collapse from under her.
My shimmery gold bike has undoubtedly once been a beautiful piece of sleek machinery. But those days are over. Now it’s tired and worn with peeling paint. I promptly name my prized bike, “Dulcinea.” It’s a little shout out to Man of La Mancha, a musical I love.
“C’mon, we need a name as we flash through the streets of China,” Hunter insists.
“How about, ‘The Flash?’” I suggest, even though I have no intention of “flashing” anywhere.
“Perfect! Let’s go.”
Hunter flashes. Dakota and I try to keep up. I see my life “flash” before my eyes several times during the harrowing ride and decide we’ve named our “bike gang” appropriately. The moments when we’re forced to leave the sidewalk and cross streets are terrifying. It’s definitely the adventure of a lifetime packed into a forty-five minute ride.
Instead of going straight to Zhongshan Academy, we stop at Burger, Burger for dinner. Julian is standing outside, carrying a bag of groceries, while talking with Stacy, Lori, and Jason.
“Where did you guys buy those pieces of junk?” Stacy yells, with her hands on her hips.
“Hey, don’t call Dulcinea a piece of junk,” I tell her, even as my kickstand flies off when I try to engage it.
“Dulcinea? I love it,” Julian says as he throws his head back and laughs. “It’s really an Aldonza.”
“But a Dulcinea to me.” I love that he knows the meaning behind the name. My heart warms in my chest and my stomach flutters in a not-uncomfortable way.
“I’ve never heard of a name like that.” Stacy huffs and enters the restaurant followed by Jason and Lori.
“Hey, I can put that kickstand back on for you. C’mon.” Julian motions with his hand.
“Don’t you need to get inside?” I ask. Surely he’s needed for dinner service.
“They’ll live without me for a few.” Then to Hunter, he says, “Would you mind?” He hands over the bag of groceries.
“No problem.”
“Just hand it to the kitchen staff. They’ll know what to do with it.” Julian lifts my bike onto his shoulder and heads toward the side of the building. “Grab that kickstand, will ya?”
Dakota casts me a funny face and follows Hunter into the restaurant, leaving me alone with Julian. I grab the errant kickstand and match Julian’s footsteps, feeling self-conscious at the prospect of being alone with him. Julian marches up the stairs and opens the door at the top.
When I jo
in him, he’s digging through a toolbox, and my bike is propped up in the middle of the living room.
“A bad workman always blames his tools,” he says without looking up.
“Is that a Chinese saying?”
“Yep. You’ll probably hear them quite often during your stay.”
“They’re very wise.”
“Yep,” he says, tossing a screwdriver in the air and catching it perfectly by the handle. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
His apartment is small, but homey. An end table sits next to the front window, a lone lamp illuminating the entryway. The living room boasts one couch, a recliner, a coffee table, and a braided rug—very American. From where I stand I can see into the kitchen and the one and only bedroom. Certainly sufficient for one man.
Julian tinkers with my bike. He’s wearing his backwards baseball cap today. I suppose it keeps his hair out of the way as he cooks. It’s not a look I normally care for, but it suits him. His usual jeans and slide sandals are also present. But he’s upped his game a little with a button up plaid dress shirt. As if in rebellion the shirt is untucked and the sleeves rolled up. The look matches his easy nature.
“Ah,” he says. “I’ll just tighten up a few more things while I’m at it.” He kneels next to my bike, engrossed in his endeavor.
“Thank you. You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He pauses, studying me for a split second. “I know. I want to.”
My magic cloak wraps around me like the tentacles of an octopus and I have no idea what to say. Last night he’d inferred I was the love of his life, hadn’t he? Maybe I’d misunderstood him.
Of course I had. He has a rather unique sense of humor. He’d simply been joking around. I stand just inside the doorway, my hands clasped in front of me.
“Have a seat. This won’t take too long.”
“I’m good.”
He pauses again and looks at me. “Your hovering is making me nervous. Please sit.”
He’s nervous? “Sorry.” I creep in and sit on the edge of his couch.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Great.” Think of something to say, Savannah.
“What did you do?”