by Maurene Goo
“Do you sleep before midnight? Like, ever?” Hamlet asked.
“Literally never.”
He bounced from one foot to the other—I would have thought he had to go pee, except that he was doing it in this jock-ish way that I’d often seen him do at the office park. “Yeah, even when I had morning sparring last year, I managed to go to sleep at one a.m. every single night. Drives Nainai crazy.”
“I feel you on everything but the physical activity part.” My phone buzzed, and I looked down at it, surprised. I’d forgotten to check it all night.
How’s it going??? Rose.
We had dinner with his grandparents
WHAT?
Hamlet was looking at me with that polite but kind of annoyed expression people make when you pull out your phone mid-hangout. I dropped my phone back into my purse and made a mental note to text her later. “It’s Rose.”
“Oh cool! Are you guys best friends?”
What a question. “Best friends. Er.” I swished the skirt of my dress around a bit. “We don’t actually know each other that well. We only started hanging out because of the KoBra.” Our fraught history could be explained another day.
We moved forward in line so that we were standing inside the brightly lit shop. The walls were white and light blue, painted with cartoon foxes who were wearing scarves and making snowmen. A strange juxtaposition with everyone wearing shorts and flip-flops.
“So, if Rose isn’t your best friend, who do you hang with at school?” Hamlet asked.
I surveyed the toppings. Mm, taro. “A few friends. These guys Felix and Patrick.”
“Oh. Cool. You hang out with guys? That’s awesome.”
Hamlet was also studying the toppings, as if his life depended on it. I smiled. “They’re just my friends. Felix has a girlfriend, and Patrick’s gay.”
His expression brightened considerably. “Oh, that’s cool. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“If you say so.” I admit, jealous Hamlet was kind of cute. Only because it was still the nicest, least gross male-possessive jealousy I had ever witnessed.
We ordered our shaved ice, which was served in huge tubs. Mine was flavored with cranberry syrup and topped with red bean, taro, and sesame balls. Hamlet’s was plain with grass jelly. I made a face at it. “So healthy.”
He shrugged. “I like it!” Then happily ate a spoonful. I got the feeling Hamlet never did anything if it wasn’t out of a genuine desire to do it. Unlike most of the guys I had dated in the past, he was completely devoid of pretense.
“So who do you hang out with at school? A bunch of hot girls?” I asked as we sat down on the curb outside.
He guffawed. “Yeah, right. All guys. Mostly my D and D—” He stopped talking. “Um, these guys who I like to play basketball with.”
“That’s not what you were about to say.”
“It was!”
I pointed my plastic spoon at him. “Dude, I know what Dungeons and Dragons is. Patrick and Felix used to be obsessed with it.”
He laughed. “Okay, fine! Yeah, I mostly hang out with the D and D crew. They were the only ones who wanted to be friends with me when I first moved here. We’ve stuck together since.”
“Were kids mean to you?” I asked, surprised. How anyone could be mean to Hamlet was beyond me. Did they also enjoy kicking bunny rabbits?
He shrugged. “Not exactly. But the Chinese American kids didn’t connect with me; they had no interest in a FOB.”
Fresh off the boat. A protective instinct came over me. Imagining Hamlet isolated in a totally different country made me want to walk over to his school and wreak some havoc.
“You’re frowning.” Hamlet interrupted my detailed revenge fantasy.
“Oh, sorry. Just … annoyed for you,” I admitted.
His eyes met mine over his cup. “That’s nice of you.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear, to have something to do while he looked at me like that. “I’m just being a decent human.” Hamlet had a way of making me self-conscious—at the earnestness of this conversation, at how much I found myself having to say.
But I was with King Earnest. And King Earnest was licking the ice dripping off the side of his cup, being meticulous and hot at the same time. I tore my eyes away. Yeesh.
“Yeah, you’re decent,” he said with a smile, teasing me.
I flushed but a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Are you going to go back to China after you go to college here?”
He scraped up the last of the shaved ice in his cup. “I don’t know. I like America! A lot. But I also miss a lot of things back home. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully American like you guys who were born here.”
A car’s headlights beamed directly into my eyes, and I turned away from them, leaning in closer to Hamlet. “I get that. My dad’s kind of like you … he’s pretty Americanized now, but he also has mad Brazil and Korea pride.”
“Who does he root for during the World Cup?” Hamlet asked, serious as he leaned in toward me, too. Our foreheads were almost touching.
“Oh! In this order: Korea, Brazil, then the US.”
Hamlet pulled back and laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
I finished my shaved ice, and Hamlet took my empty cup and spoon to toss into the recycle bin. That gesture, these little things Hamlet did—they really got to me. So much so that when he walked back to me, I reached for his hand. He looked down at me in surprise as I slipped my fingers through his. The warm air blew through the parking lot, stirring up litter and dust, and we stood there for a second in the glow of neon signs. Everything felt right. I squeezed his hand. “Ready?”
We headed to his car, his steps buoyant as he kept my hand firmly clasped into his. “Thanks for the nice talk,” he said, unlocking the car.
I let go of his hand, reluctantly, and smiled. “You’re welcome?”
He opened my door, and when I slid into the seat, he leaned over, his arm draped on top of the door. “I just want to know everything about you.” Astonished, I didn’t answer, and he closed the door before I could react.
When Hamlet pulled up to the front of my apartment building, I hesitated in my seat, wondering if we should hug or something. But he put the car in Park and walked over to my side, opening the door. The little things.
“Thanks.” We walked across the crunchy lawn, past the jasmine hedge. I could smell the fragrant jasmine blooms as we climbed up the stairs.
We reached my door, and I paused, the bag of leftovers bonking my leg. “Thanks for the ride and letting me meet your grandparents.”
The corners of his eyes did that crinkly thing as he smiled. “Yeah, that’s a rare privilege for only the most special of dates.” His hands were in his pockets again. Everything about him right now was shy and unsure.
But I was sure about one thing. I wanted Hamlet Wong to kiss me.
“Have a good night, Clara.” His voice was quiet. Low and sweet and real.
I glanced up from his hands to his face. That expressive, open face. “Good night,” I replied.
He took a step backward but kept looking at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to go inside.
So I dropped the bag of food, took a step forward, and tugged him by his shirt until our hips bumped. “I want to kiss you. Is that okay?” I asked, my face tilted up toward his.
His eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. Then he placed a warm hand on my waist. “Okay,” he murmured.
I got up on my tippy-toes to reach his lips, and brushed them over his. My eyes closed, I took in the scent of him—grass jelly. His lips were soft, but they were quick to meet mine. He drew me in closer until our bodies were pressed against each other, one of my hands still clutching his shirt, the other wrapped around his neck, curled into his hair.
When we pulled apart, the blood rushed from my head into my toes.
Hamlet looked stunned. And adorable—his hair mussed and shirt wrinkled.
“Good night, for reals,” I sa
id as I grabbed the leftovers bag and unlocked my door.
I caught a glimpse of his face before I closed the door. Pink cheeks and a huge smile. “Good night!” he shouted.
“Oh my God!” I closed the door with a smile. It stayed on my face until I fell asleep that night.
CHAPTER 19
A persistent knocking woke me up the next morning.
“What?” I yelled from under my blanket.
“I’m coming in!” my dad said before opening the door a crack. “Are you decent?”
“No, I’m in my lace negligee,” I muttered. “Since when do you care if I’m ‘decent’?”
My dad stepped inside. “I don’t know, you were on a date last night so…”
I moved the blanket off my face. “Are you implying that Hamlet might have slept over?”
He shrugged as he leaned against the doorway.
“Okay, I’m not you in high school, so…” I sputtered.
“Burn, Shorty,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was it?”
“Pai. Seriously?”
“What!”
“I don’t wanna talk to you about my date!”
“Ooh, so it was a date date. So there’s something to talk about.”
I buried myself in my blanket again. “CAN WE NOT?”
“So it went well?”
Suddenly the memory of last night’s kiss came flooding back. Night air laced with jasmine. The glow of the apartment lights throwing half of Hamlet’s face into shadow. The taste of grass jelly. I giggled involuntarily.
My dad gaped at me. “Whoa.”
“Can you leave?” I yelled, tossing my stuffed sriracha bottle pillow at him.
He caught it swiftly. “All right, all right. Have a good day, Shorty.”
I dragged myself out of bed to give him a hug. “You too.”
He made a face. “Get out of here, Morning Breath.”
“You get out!” I pushed him to the door.
* * *
“Clara, can you slather me?”
I squinted up at Patrick. “Can you not say ‘slather,’ though?”
He handed me a giant bottle of generic brand sunblock. “That’s what it is. Would you rather I say ‘rub’?”
I got up and tugged on my baseball cap and sunglasses. “I’d rather not have to do this task.” Patrick turned his freckled and bony back to me. His shoulder blades were sharp and delicate like bird wings.
The community pool was unusually crowded today. It was in the high nineties and scorching hot on the concrete. We had spread out layers of towels, but the heat still managed to seep through and I got the distinct feeling that, from space, we looked like little rotisserie hens gathered around a blue rectangle.
“Babe! Get in the water!” Felix shouted from the edge of the pool.
Cynthia made a face from under her giant umbrella. She had alabaster skin that turned into a third-degree burn upon contact with the sun. Between that and her inability to walk more than half a mile without complaining, I was pretty sure she was meant to live in a Victorian attic.
“I just showered this morning,” she said with a sniff.
“So did I—who cares?” Felix said, exasperated.
After I finished smearing sunblock on Patrick, I put in my earbuds to avoid hearing the inevitable testy couple fight ahead.
When I swiped my screen to pick my music, I noticed a few missed texts.
Want to come over and hang out by the pool? Rose.
And then Hamlet:
I had fun last night. Hope you did, too.
What are you doing today?
I have the day off, too!
Didn’t even give me a chance to answer any questions. His texts were as enthusiastic and rapid-fire as real-life Hamlet.
I looked around at the kids screaming in the pool as sweat and sunblock mingled together in one delightful skin soup. Heard Felix and Cynthia shouting at each other. Saw Patrick already dozing off next to me.
Guilt about ditching these guys chipped away at me with each word I texted.
To Rose: Yeah sounds cool. Could I invite Hamlet?
She replied: O M G I’m gonna need the dirt later.
I sent her a thumbs-up emoji. Then I texted Hamlet: Hi. I had fun too … I’m going to Rose’s place to hang out at her pool. Want to come with?
COOL! Yes! For sure! And I just had practice in Chinatown, so I can be there like NOW.
I let out a bark of laughter at his enthusiasm and woke Patrick up.
“What’s up?” Patrick asked from his face-planted position as I typed away furiously on my phone, figuring out logistics with Rose and Hamlet.
I considered asking these guys if they wanted to come, but I couldn’t imagine all of us hanging out. Talk about motley.
“Gonna head home. Getting too much sun, I think.”
“Are you serious? We haven’t hung out in weeks.”
Stuffing my towel and book back into my tote, I frowned. “That’s not true. I hung out with you guys a few days ago, at Taco Bell.”
“Oh. Well, it’s just hard to see you lately, that’s all.”
He was right. Not only was I busy with the KoBra, but I didn’t feel like spending all my free time with them anymore. The fact that I was ditching them to hang out with Rose would be considered totally bizarre. Because what they knew about Rose was so limited and wrong. I should know, because that’s what I used to know about her, too. And now, well. I found myself wanting to hang out with her more and more each day. “I’ll see you guys soon, though. Text me this Thursday when it’s my day off, okay?”
He grunted in reply, his eyes already fluttering closed.
* * *
Hamlet picked me up at the pool, and we drove toward Rose’s house up in the hills, a historic neighborhood filled with old Craftsman houses.
“This place is so cool!” Hamlet exclaimed as we drove up the hilly streets. “I never knew it existed.”
“That happens to me all the time, and I was born here,” I said as we pulled up to Rose’s house, which had a huge porch, giant pine trees shading the property, and pretty bright green trim against the dark wood.
We were walking up the driveway when Hamlet stopped abruptly in his tracks.
“What’s up?” I asked.
His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, so I couldn’t read his expression right away. “So, I don’t want to be awkward, but the thing is, I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”
I stood there, feeling the heat rise off the concrete in warm waves onto my bare legs. How did we go from first date to girlfriend talk? I kind of felt like I was being cooked alive. “Girlfriend?” The question squeaked out of me.
He stuck his hands into his shorts pockets and then took them out. Then put them back in again. “Yeah. What I’m saying is, I’m not sure how this works?”
Hm. I fanned myself with my hand. “Well, uh, we don’t have to put a label on it or anything…”
“Oh. Okay. So you don’t want to date just me?” He was smiling, but I could hear the hurt.
“No, I didn’t say that,” I said in a rush. Wait, did I want to date other people? Did I want to be exclusive with Hamlet?
Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I just knew that the way he was looking at me right now was special, and I couldn’t really handle the idea of him looking at anyone else that way.
I walked up to him and poked his arm. “I like you.”
His smile transformed from forced to genuine, and I felt the wall of emotional defense so carefully constructed inside me start to chip away. “I like you, too,” he said before poking me back.
“Okay then,” I said, returning the smile. “Can we start from there?” Would he be all right with this? Something about Hamlet destabilized my usual assurance, which was built on my willingness to walk away. That willingness gave you power. With Hamlet, I wasn’t sure if I could walk away.
And to my relief, he said, “Sure.” Then he pulled me in quickly and kissed me on the tip of my nose. “S
orry, I’ve been distracted by your cute nose the entire car ride.”
Oof. My heart fluttered as we walked up to Rose’s front door.
She answered the door before we even knocked, wearing a long, gauzy, floral-pattern dress over a bathing suit. “Took you guys long enough to make it up the driveway.”
Hamlet’s telltale flush crept up his neck again, and I reached out for his hand instinctively. Rose glanced down at our clasped hands and smiled. “Well, well, well!”
I slipped past her, pulling Hamlet in behind me. “Calm down.”
She closed the door. “I am calm. I’m so calm that I’m a clam.”
Hamlet laughed, and I looked at him. “Are you going to encourage that kind of joke?”
“It’s funny,” he insisted.
I pointed at Rose and said, “Don’t get excited. He thinks everything I say is funny.”
We stood in her living room, which was bright and sunny—big windows; white walls; and soft, neutral-colored furniture set against gleaming hardwood floors. There was art everywhere, from oversize paintings with abstract shapes and bright color to little watercolors in delicate gold frames.
“Wow, your house looks like Pinterest,” said Hamlet.
Rose laughed as she handed us towels. “Thanks, I think? That’ll make my mom happy.”
She led us out of the living room into the kitchen, which had a big open floor plan and more windows. You could see the pool from in here, sparkling and surrounded by colorful chairs and lush native landscaping. “My dad works from home nowadays, so he’s upstairs. FYI, in case you guys were planning on doing it in the pool.”
“Are you ten years old?” I screeched while Hamlet chuckled nervously. The words “doing it” being said with both of us so fresh in our dating made me feel queasy. I glanced at Hamlet to make sure he hadn’t fainted. He was just the color of a tomato, was all.
My usual pool time consisted of dozing off and reading gossip rags, but with Rose and Hamlet, they wanted to be in the pool. Playing games.