He looks so genuinely sorry that I can’t help but laugh. “It’s okay. I’m not going to melt or anything.”
He gives me a grateful smile. There’s a little dimple on his left cheek that’s only just visible when he smiles. This boy, I swear.
“I didn’t think the school has student parking. Sam was telling me she parks her car at a private garage off campus.”
“Yeah, mine’s parked at my uncle’s place for now. He’s cool like that.”
“Are we thinking of the same uncle, ’cause I’m having a bit of a hard time seeing Mr. Werner as ‘cool.’”
He laughs again. “Okay, admittedly, Uncle James has his quirks, but once you get to know him, he’s really cool. Last Christmas, we built an actual drone from scratch and flew it all over the place until one of our neighbors got sick of it and shot it down.”
Wow, Mr. Werner. Who would’ve known he has it in him to be a public menace? The mention of him reminds me of Mandy and SiliconBrains and everything that is wrong in my life. I can’t bring myself to banter with Danny. I don’t know if he notices the shift in my mood, but he doesn’t say anything.
Before I know it, we’ve walked all the way to downtown Draycott. Built during the Gold Rush, the town’s maintained its Wild West charm. Most of the buildings on Main Street have these wooden balconies. I’ve watched Westworld; I know what those balconies are for. As we walk down Main, I can totally imagine hookers—ahem, sorry, ladies of the night—leaning over and flapping their boobs and catcalling customers. Now, the shop houses are mostly places that use the word artisanal a lot. There’s an artisanal bakery, an artisanal candle shop, an artisanal deli. Scattered in between the artisanal shops are candlelit restaurants featuring fusion food and hipster cafes where you can get iced coffee in Mason jars for ten dollars.
It’s all really pretty and also really, really expensive. Which is right about when I realize I have completely failed to think this whole “treating someone else to a meal” thing through.
As we walk, I sneak glances at the menus outside of the restaurants. The cheapest dish I can see is a side salad that costs fourteen dollars. Commence panic breathing.
“Um. Sorry, Danny. I don’t know if I can—”
“Uh-oh. Am I getting dumped before our date even starts?” He looks genuinely concerned.
He referred to this as a date! A date that is about to end prematurely because we’re both broke AF.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how expensive everything is here. I mean, that last restaurant we passed is selling roasted kale salad for twenty bucks!”
“Don’t worry about it, we’re not going to eat at any of these places. Where we’re going is a lot more affordable.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Your definition of affordable may be very different from mine.”
He grins. “So cynical. Trust me.”
And he leads me into a dark alleyway. Which is when I realize I don’t actually know this boy very well, and then I think maybe it’s time to reach for that pepper spray in my bag. But before I can do that, we come out of the other end of the alleyway, and it’s like we’ve stepped into a whole different world.
We’re in some sort of food market. There’s stall after stall selling all sorts of street food and drinks, and even though it must be close to ten by now, the place is full of people walking, eating, and generally just having a blast. Multicolored lights crisscross above our heads like stars on wires, and after weeks of being in Draycott, it’s like I’ve finally found something authentic.
“This is amazing.”
“Right? Come on, I’ll show you the best part of this entire place.”
He takes my hand super casually and leads me past various stands. I’m torn between “Holy shit, we’re holding hands!” and “Wow, those tacos look good.” Finally, he stops at a stand selling—
“Nasi goreng!” I cry. Seriously? I haven’t had nasi goreng since, well, since coming to Draycott, and I haven’t even realized how much I’ve missed it until now.
“Not just any fried rice,” Danny says. “This is nasi goreng terasi cabai hijau. It’s bellisimo.” He kisses the tips of his fingers dramatically. “Halo, Om,” he says to the stall vendor. “Apa kabar?”
“Danny, sudah lama sekali tidak kesini,” the old man behind the stall says. His smile is missing a few teeth, but it doesn’t take away its warmth.
“Yeah, it’s been way too long, Om. This is Lia.”
“Orang Indo?” the man says, leaning forward and squinting at me.
“Yes. But I don’t really speak it well,” I add apologetically.
“Ah, no problem, no problem. You like fried rice?”
“Very much.”
“Good, good. I make you best fried rice.” With that promise, he gets to work, throwing all sorts of stuff into his wok. Shallots, green chili paste, complete with the terasi—fermented shrimp paste. The smell of terasi, in all its delicious cheesiness, is basically the smell of home. When he hands us our plates, I try to pay, but he just waves me off with a frown. “Cepat makan,” he says.
It’s something Ibu always says to me. Eat quickly. Now my eyes are wet, and it has nothing to do with the stinging smoke of frying shallots. The old man smiles and nods. He gets it.
“Terima kasih, Om,” I say.
He waves me off and I follow Danny to a nearby bench.
“Ready to have your mind blown?” Danny says.
I roll my eyes. And then I take a bite of my green chili fried rice, and WOW. I inhale the entire plate within minutes.
“Wow, you’re hungry,” Danny says.
I stare pointedly at his empty plate.
“I’ve been eating nothing but granola bars and muffins the past week,” he says, laughing.
This stuff is like crack. Om Ah Fei gives us seconds, and by the time we’re done, we’re both stuffed and happy. I leave his stall with a huge grin and a full heart.
I buy cups of freshly pressed cane juice, and we stroll around downtown Draycott. The trees lining Main are draped in lights, and there’s sugar in my mouth, and carbs in my belly, and a cute boy at my side. This night is pure magic.
“Did you like the fried rice?”
“It was so good. I wish my mom could try it. She’d love it.”
“You guys are really close, huh?”
I’m so relaxed, I don’t even consider how uncool it is to admit that I’m close to her. “She’s my best friend.”
“That’s so wholesome. Like, in the best way. I wish I were that close to my parents.”
“I thought Chinese-Indo families are super tight.” Or at least it’s always seemed like that to me. My 87,621,679 cousins back in Jakarta are all besties with one another. Their Instas are full of pics of them hanging out together. Without me, the mixed-race outcast. Not that I feel sorry for myself or anything.
“Well, my family’s really close, but we also have way too much drama. We’re like a real-life Korean drama. You don’t even know. Like, one of my cousins got engaged to this white guy last year, and my uncle and aunt went nuts, and the whole family intervened and broke them up.”
“Wow.”