A girl with magenta streaks in her hair leaned against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette while she waited for the bus. It was the same street corner she slouched at in the evenings while she waited for men she probably didn’t know to pick her up. We gave each other tight awkward smiles, like we sort of knew each other, both of us probably grateful we didn’t.
TJ looked at the ground when I walked by. He sat on the edge of the rusted weight bench that was chained to the axel under his uncle’s trailer, his knee brace dangled over his lap. A stack of free weights was padlocked to the bench, and he kicked it with the toe of his sneaker. As usual, neither of us acknowledged the other. Maybe it was too much like looking in a mirror, seeing another version of ourselves stuck where we didn’t want to be. As soon as Vince’s Camaro blew around the corner, windows down and music blaring, TJ threw on his backpack, scooped up his brace, and bolted off the bench. Vince reached across the passenger seat and threw open the door, and TJ jumped inside like he couldn’t get out of the park fast enough. I couldn’t blame him.
I waved away the gravel dust kicked up by Vince’s car and made my way to the towers of knickknacks and boxes of mismatched trinkets. Nothing on Mrs. Moates’s sticky lopsided table was my idea of a treasure, but I paused at a collection of mugs, lingering over one with a kitten dangling by his claws from a tree. A thought bubble from his head said Hang in There, and my heart squeezed a little.
“How much for the mug?” I asked. A mangy cat curled around Mrs. Moates’s ankles.
“The one with the busted handle?” she lisped.
“No, the other one.”
“Fitty cents.” I gave her seventy-five. Not that a quarter could replace the cat who’d lived under her home. But the thing had been stuffed in a box with my name on it, and I felt responsible. The gesture, small as it was, made me feel better.
With the mug safely inside my backpack, I went to the Bui Mart. The bells jingled when I opened the door, and a 1980s hair band wailed from the overhead speakers. Bao looked up from the counter and smiled.
Everyone called Ahn’s older brother “Bo”—though I’m pretty sure that’s not the way Bao was supposed to be pronounced—the same way we all called Anh “Ann.”
“Morning, Leigh.” He already had my newspaper and chocolate milk laid out for me. I fished a chocolate donut from the day old bin. “Heard my little sister is kicking your ass in chem lab.” Bao snickered. “Maybe all the crap you eat rots your brain.”
“That crap is the breakfast of champions.” I took a bite of the donut and headed for the cheap greeting card display, licked the frosting from my fingers, and picked a ninety-ninecent Happy-Mother’s-Day-and-thanks-for-putting-up-with-me card. I stacked it on the counter with the rest of my loot.
Bao keyed them in and counted out my change, without looking at the register or the coins. He had to be bored out of his mind, running the family store. Bao was wicked smart. Maybe smarter than Anh. It was one of the reasons I liked him so much. I could forgive him his music and the obnoxious skinny jeans he’d paired with his Bui Mart polo T, and the fact that he was an incessant flirt.
“You should come over for dinner with the family sometime. I’ll show you what you’re missing.” Bao looked me up and down like he was mentally removing my clothes. When he got to my baggy pant legs, he frowned. “You’re too skinny. You’re spending too much time with that country club kid. I know his parents don’t feed you.”
“Jeremy’s parents won’t even let me into their house. For that matter, neither would yours,” I snorted, stuffing my purchases into my backpack. “What’s your mom so afraid of, anyway? That I’ll take my clothes off and dance on her table?”
Bao blushed.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said before he forced himself to suffer through some bogus apology. We both remembered the look on his mother’s face when Anh brought me home after school in seventh grade. Anh had asked her mother what was so bad about being a waitress. Bao had kept his eyes on the floor. He’d understood more than I had back then. At least now we could joke about it. “Besides, I’m storing up all this fat and calories for my end of the semester sprint. Your sister will never see me coming.”
“Don’t make me poison your Yoo-hoo.” He leveled a finger at me. “She’s got her heart set on that scholarship. The whole family does. I might have to go all big-bad-ass brother on you.” His playful voice didn’t match the rest of him anymore. College had never been an option for Bao. He would work here for the rest of his parents’ lives because that’s what was expected of him.
He slapped the cash drawer shut. A wallet-size photo of Anh was taped to the register. He was as proud as any parent. Anh didn’t need that scholarship as much as she thought she did. She already had so much. I wondered what it would be like to have someone like Bao looking out for me. Someone proud and protective and strong. Someone who would sacrifice his own future for mine. I tucked my newspaper under my arm. It felt unusually light.