by Maurene Goo
“Right.”
He adjusted her arms so that her right fist was held up to her cheek and her left was in front of her face, positioned a little to the left of her nose. “Okay, keep your arms up like this at all times, protect that nice face.” His voice took on an authoritative tone, and I resisted the urge to fan myself.
Even in this awkward new pose, Rose looked graceful. Then he adjusted her stance a little bit. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
“So, strike out at my hand with your left fist,” he held up his right hand, palm facing out. “But take a small step with your left foot forward as you do it.”
In one pretty, fluid motion, Rose gently punched, her body moving toward him.
“Awesome! That was good, but you can really hit me, you know,” he said.
She made a face. “No way!” He assured her that it was fine, and while skeptical, she hit him harder the next time.
“Yes!” he cried out, giving her a high five. She was glowing. Brownie points via hot dude: a heady cocktail for Rose Carver, I’m sure.
I watched them go back and forth for a while, getting grumpier with every second, with every bit of physical contact between the two of them.
To squash down this unpleasant jealous feeling, I turned away and wiped down the griddle.
After a few minutes, Hamlet called my name. Argh. I looked out the window, and he motioned toward himself and Rose. “Do you wanna try?”
No. “No.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Come on! It’s fun! Plus, you get to punch a dude.”
Well. That was actually enticing. My hesitation was enough. Rose ran inside the truck and dragged me out. I stood in front of Hamlet, my arms crossed. He looked at me, head to toe, and I blushed. What the heck, Clara. Chill!
“So, you saw what I showed Rose, right?” He stepped forward but stopped, hesitating. “Um, do you need me to…”
Feeling extremely stupid, I held up my fists like Rose had. “Like this?” He nodded, and I was disappointed when he didn’t adjust them for me.
“Okay, Clara. Hit me.”
I looked at his face, so open, so encouraging. A sheen of sweat on his forehead, his high cheekbones. And I got incredibly self-conscious. My limbs felt clumsy and heavy, and I couldn’t figure out how to move my feet properly as I reached out to punch him. When my fist hit his open palm, it was weak and sloppy. It didn’t make the satisfying smacking noise that Rose’s punch had.
I dropped my arms to my sides. “Cool. That sucked.”
“No, it didn’t! It was good!” Hamlet exclaimed, walking over to me. “Here, just spread your legs out a little more…” His voice trailed off and he kept staring at my feet. But I saw a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Um, sorry, I mean…”
He was dying. I was dying.
Making a fool of myself in front of cute dudes was literally the opposite of my brand, and every molecule of my being was on fire right now. “Thanks, but we have to go anyway.” I ran inside and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Rose!” I barked as I started the engine.
She threw me an exasperated look, then shut the metal awnings that covered up the order and pickup windows. When she slipped into the passenger seat, I honked and yelled, “BYE, HAMLET!” Rose waved out the window. As we drove away, I saw Hamlet toss the sign up in the air in the rearview mirror, as if sending us off.
“What a total dork,” I said.
Rose scoffed. “Clara. Who do you think you’re kidding?” I opened my mouth, but she reached over and turned on the radio, cranking NPR. Loud. Then she sat back with her arms crossed. I was still so flustered by the whole boxing thing that I didn’t bother fighting her.
We stopped by the commissary for prep and a little break as usual, then headed toward our next destination, a farmers market in Echo Park that was one of our weekly stops. The market was tucked behind a row of historic buildings, and it was starting to bustle. I parked the KoBra next to a few other trucks: a classic taco truck, an udon bowl truck, a grilled cheese truck, and a boba truck.
We parked and nervously started setting up—the air tense and both of us quiet in our own little corners. This would be the biggest crowd we’d served so far.
“Hey, are you Adrian’s girl?”
I glanced out the window and saw a young white woman sporting a bandana and blond pigtails. “Yeah, hi. Clara.”
She wiped her hands on her gingham-print apron before reaching out to shake mine. “Hi, Clara, I’m Kat, the owner of Gouda Done Worse.”
Oh my. No, Kat, you gouda NOT done worse.
Keeping a smile plastered on my face, I shook Kat’s hand. “Hi, Kat.”
Kat grinned at me, and her eyes swept over the truck. “Adrian told us that you’d be manning the KoBra today. Pretty impressive.”
Before I could respond, another blond girl who looked exactly like Kat stepped down from Gouda Done Worse. “Hi, Clara! I’m Kat’s sister, Sarah!” Twins.
And then a man-bun-sporting Middle Eastern guy popped his head out from the udon truck. “Oh heeeey, it’s the KoBra’s heir!” For Pete’s sake. Yet again, it was like Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood up in here.
After some introductions with Rose, I realized very quickly that my dad had prepped everyone beforehand—there was this forced oh-so-casual nature to how they were all checking up on us.
And it was nice, because it got busy, fast. The truck grew hotter as we hustled our orders for a while. Then a familiar voice called out, ringing through the noise in the truck.
“Surprise, Rosie!”
I turned around to see Rose’s parents and a little kid, who I could only assume was her brother, at the order window.
“Hey!” Rose said with a huge smile. “What are you guys doing here?”
Rose’s dad’s voice boomed into the truck, and to everyone within earshot. “We’re here to see our gorgeous daughter at her first real summer job!” I could hear Rose’s mom laugh.
Rose dropped her face into her hands, but she was still smiling when she looked up again. I wiped my hands on my apron and walked over to the window. “Hi,” I said with a wave.
“HI, CLARA!” The kid waved back. “I’m Jessie!” He was wearing a Pikachu hat. And was about two feet tall with a lisp and missing front tooth. Basically, the cutest kid alive.
“Hey, Jessie, what do you guys wanna order? This is usually Rose’s job, but she seems to have turned into a robot momentarily.”
Jessie’s eyes widened. “Wait … no, not really, right?”
I shrugged. “I dunno, we’ll have to see if she reboots.”
“Like when Grandma uses Windows.”
I burst out laughing and nodded my head. “Yes, exactly like that.”
Rose’s mom smiled at me from under her large, stylish straw hat. She was wearing a breezy caftan cinched at the waist and strappy gold sandals—like she belonged in a fashion magazine spread titled “Look chic during your farmers market run!”
“Hi there, Clara. May we please get one lombo, one picanha, and two pasteis? Also, two lime sugarcane juices?” she asked.
“I want my own juice!” Jessie pleaded.
Rose’s mom looked down at him. “Excuse me?”
He gulped. “I mean, please can I have my own juice?”
“Yes, you may. One for you, one for me. Daddy’s going to drink water,” Rose’s mom said while pulling some cash out of her wallet.
I gave her some change. “Thank you, it should be ready in a few minutes.”
Jessie came up to the window on tippy-toe, and Rose’s dad lifted him so that Jessie was eye level with me. “Nice to meet you, Clara.” Then he held out his hand.
I took the sticky little hand in mine and shook it solemnly. “Nice to meet you, too, Jessie.”
Rose stuck her head out the window. “I can’t hang out, unfortunately. I have to work.”
Rose’s dad winked. “Got it, Rosie. We’re here to support you in this new chapter of your life. Even if it is a punishment.”
It was almost farcical except it was sincere.
“Okay, okay,” Rose said before blowing her family a kiss and helping the next customer.
The Carvers sat at one of the picnic tables scattered at the market and eventually left with waves and cheerful good-byes.
I watched them walk away into the crowds, swinging large baskets full of produce. “Are you guys for real?” I asked Rose. We had a break from customers so I sat on the floor and took a swig from my water bottle. It was boiling in the truck.
Rose wiped her brow and adjusted the little oscillating fan so that it was aimed directly at her face. “Are you being a jerk?”
I pulled my shirt away from my chest, airing it out a little. “No, for once in my life, I’m being sincere. Your family is pretty cool to show up. Plus, Jessie’s rad.”
“Jessie can be ‘rad’ when he’s not being a little know-it-all.”
“Pardon me?” I held my hand up to my ear. “Did … did you call someone a know-it-all?”
Rose tossed an ice cube into her mouth and crunched it, making me cringe. “Believe it or not, I am not the worst in my family. Know-it-allness is a shared trait among the Carvers.”
“Well, you definitely seem like a family of total brains.”
She crunched the ice again, making my arm hairs stand on end. “Let me just say this one thing to explain the Carvers: we have a weekly dinner pop quiz.”
I stopped fanning myself with my shirt. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. About the week’s news, like Wait Wait … Don’t Tell Me!” She noticed my blank expression. “It’s a weekly quiz show on NPR.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, yeah. Every Friday evening, we invite some person over, like a city council member or teacher or something, and we do the quiz with my parents as the hosts.”
I snorted. “Wild Friday nights with the Carvers.”
She laughed. “I mean, I know how it sounds. But I actually like hanging out with my family.” Her fondness was apparent in how she perked up when talking about them. Again, I felt a pang of curious jealousy. Rose’s family kind of seemed like my worst nightmare. Or maybe it was the worst nightmare in some narrative about myself that I wasn’t sure was totally accurate.
Another ice cube crunched in her mouth and I pointed at her. “Don’t! That sound is the worst thing in the entire world.”
Rose rolled her eyes but tucked the ice cube into her cheek so that it bulged out. “Well, I’m sure my family seems super boring compared to your like, cool-dad life.”
I made a face and fanned myself with a napkin. “Cool-dad life, oh my God.”
“It’s true! Your dad is so awesome.”
“Please don’t get a crush on him.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly. “I won’t!”
“Good.” I took another sip of water.
Her eyes lit up. “Hey! Also, not to be a creep, but I found your mom online through the truck’s Instagram account. What is her life?”
Whenever people found out about my mom, I wasn’t sure what to feel—pride? Embarrassment? In most cases, I feigned ambivalence. So I shrugged. “Oh, she’s a social media influencer. Or something.”
Rose mulled that over. “That’s her job?”
“I guess.”
“How do you get a job doing … that?”
The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Extreme narcissism.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and I laughed loudly. “Just kidding. She’s really good at social media. And looking good in clothes. And…”
“Having good taste?” Rose ventured. I looked at her sharply for signs of sarcasm, but she seemed genuine. A sly expression crossed her face. “I mean, she must. She hooked up with your dad.”
“ROSE!”
She cackled and the awkwardness quickly dissipated. I fanned myself with a paper plate and asked, “Are both your parents lawyers? I forget.”
She nodded. “Yeah. My dad has his own law firm. My mom’s a prosecutor. She got kind of big a few years ago when—”
“That police-beating case.”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “Wow. You know about that?”
“It was all over the news, hello.”
“Says the girl who hates NPR.”
“I didn’t say I hated NPR. It just doesn’t exactly pump me up for work.”
She smiled. “Okay, whatever. Anyway. My mom became this community figure. She got to meet Michelle Obama.”
“I’m not even kidding, that’s a life dream of mine,” I said, my voice high with excitement.
“You and every human being who isn’t garbage,” she said. “Anyway, so that’s my mom. She was on the cover of magazines; people wanted to interview her. And then there’s me.”
I frowned. “What about you? You’re basically Joanne Jr.”
She shook her head firmly. “I wish.”
“Whoa. Rose Carver doesn’t think she’s good enough? What are the rest of us subpar humans supposed to do now? Might as well give up and jump off a cliff.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m serious.”
“So am I! You’re basically on track to become the president of the United States of America.”
I could tell she was pleased by that for a second. “The point is that there’s a lot of pressure on black girls to be better than everyone else anyway. And then add to that the fact that my mom is who she is. You don’t even know how aware I am of how I look and act all the time. I don’t have the luxury of rolling out of bed and acting like a little jerk like you do every day.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean. Like, I can’t just run errands wearing cruddy sweatpants and not do my hair.”
I squinted at her. “I understand what you mean, but you would still look like a celebrity doing a coffee run in Us magazine.”
Someone rapped on the window. “Hey, are you guys open?”
Rose hopped off the counter and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Hi there, what would you like to order?”
Reluctantly, I dragged myself back up to the griddle, but before I turned it on, I made a sugarcane juice with less sugar and more lime, and filled it with ice until the plastic cup frosted over.
“Here,” I said, holding it out to Rose.
She startled, then took it from me. “Oh. Thanks, Clara.”
“And keep doing what you do. The first woman president has to happen in my lifetime, or I’m going to light this entire planet on fire.”
Rose laughed, her teeth straight and perfect, and I turned back to the griddle to hide my own smile.
CHAPTER 13
“Today’s tea has a little something extra for you. To celebrate your last day of manning up.”
I took the mug from my dad. “You mean womaning up. But thanks.” When I took a sip, my eyes widened. “Oh yum, horchata hybrid?”
My dad tapped the tip of my nose. “Bingo, Shorty.”
Horchata was my favorite, and my dad usually added it to chai on my birthday. Today was the last day of me and Rose running the KoBra together, so I suppose he thought a celebration was in order.
But the difference between how I felt today and how I felt a week ago was so drastic that I myself couldn’t really understand it. Instead of dragging myself out of bed and being filled with dread on my walk to the commissary, I was actually—excited? Looking forward to it?
Maybe it was because I knew we had passed the test with flying colors. My dad would definitely cave and let me go to Tulum, I was sure of it. I was in such a good mood that I cheerfully waved at two surly middle school girls walking by me. “What’s her freaking problem?” one of them bitched to the other. I laughed.
As always, Rose was waiting for me at the truck, already prepping.
“Morning,” I said as I climbed in. Rose glanced up from where she was wiping down the oven.
“Morning!” she greeted back. Then she stood up and wiped her hands on her apron nervou
sly. “Um.”
I kept looking at her when she wouldn’t go on. “Yeah?”
She turned around and grabbed something off the counter and shoved it at me. “Here. In case you’re hungry.”
It was a small plastic bag filled with fresh fruit tossed with chili powder. “I know you really like that one fruit cart,” she said nonchalantly.
Aw, Rose. So awkward at gestures of friendship. Taking it from her, I said, “Thanks. Do you wanna share? This is a lot of fruit.”
She shrugged and tugged at one of her delicate gold heart studs. “Sure.” I grabbed a couple of forks and handed one to her.
We ate the fruit in silence—one mango slice and melon piece at a time. Finally, I spoke up. “So, my dad says that since we did better than he thought we would, he wants us to keep going with limited supervision. So, three days out of the week we’ll be working alone.” I glanced at her, gauging her reaction. Maybe she’d hate it?
But her face remained relaxed and she nodded. “Cool.”
“So you’re okay with it?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, even if it means our reward for surviving our punishment is the extension of that punishment.”
I laughed. “True. Well, I think he’s been excited to have some more time off the truck. He’s taking this business course at the community college, and he wants to focus on the business side and getting his restaurant started. Finding investors and space and stuff. We can handle more of the day-to-day in the truck.”
“Oh cool! I didn’t know he wanted to open a restaurant?”
I nodded, wiping some chili powder from the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, it’s his big dream. The KoBra is the first step toward it.”
“That’s so awesome!”
“Calm down, future Mrs. Shin.”
Normally, that would have pissed Rose off—normally, that would have been my intention. But she snort-laughed instead, then coughed and looked down at the fruit. “Wow, that’s spicy.”
“Oh, you probably got a pocket of chili powder.” I moved some of the fruit around until I found an area without too much of it. “Here.”
“There’s only coconut left?” She made a face as she poked around.
“Stop complaining, you ingrate.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. Before she could react, I said, “Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, actually it came out how I meant it. But I guess I don’t need to say exactly what I feel all the time.”
