Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Fourteen Years Ago
M
ore than anyone I knew, Mia was motivated by food. Specifically, free food, offered at organization and club meetings around campus. In one night, we had stopped by the Pre-Law Group, Anime Society, Christian Fellowship, and Irish Dance Troupe—chatting, mingling, grazing—and then left these get-togethers with our Tupperware containers and gallon-size Ziploc bags filled with enough snacks and pizza slices to last a full week, maybe even two. And that was the point: to supplement our meals so we didn’t need to pay extra food expenses outside of the dining plan.
She looked at her notes on her phone. “One more to go. This way.” Mia adjusted the shoulder straps on her overstuffed backpack and nodded toward the walkway, signaling me to follow her.
My messenger bag weighed down my right shoulder. I switched it over to the left one. “Don’t you think we have enough? This two-liter you took from the LSAT study break
session is taking up so much space. And the doctor at the Student Health Clinic says for me to lay off soda or anything acidic; he thinks that can help calm some of my stomach pain.”
She stopped and looked at me. “They still don’t know what it is?”
I waved my hand like I was shooing a fly. “The doctor basically said it could be an ulcer. Or GI distress from stress.”
She asked, “Is that serious? Ulcers sound pretty bad.”
“He said to pop antacids if it happens again, and to lay off coffee and alcohol. That sounds shitty, but manageable. Oh, and he told me to stop drinking my two Cokes a day.” I pulled out the bottle and held it in my arms like a two-liter newborn. “I miss my baby.”
Mia bit her lip. “Okay then, I’ll carry it.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Unless you have urgent plans to drop Mentos in a perfectly good bottle of soda to make it explode in all your spare time? Yes, give it to me. I’ll hold it, so you won’t be tempted to drink any. We can use your bag for the ASA snacks. They’re the best ones anyway. I heard they get their chips and candy from legit Asian markets. One of the parents drives them in once a month from New Jersey.”
It was true, the Asian Student Association had the best snacks. Shrimp chips and soy sauce rice crackers were my favorites. The ski team met only once a month, but they had the next best, with their high-end baked goods and heated, snackable hors d’oeuvres.
She pointed to her right. “Peabody Hall. We’re here. And we’re a little early.”
Mia took off her jacket and covered the bottle of Coke, which she cradled in her left arm. “Let’s be quick with this one . . . sneak in and out so we can get back soon. I need to turn in some classwork tonight.”
Fine with me. It was always Mia who was the one lingering longer than we needed to: maybe deep down she wanted to be a member of all of these clubs but didn’t have the time to commit or the membership dues to join.
Because we had arrived before the meeting began, we were obligated to chat with other students and the nominated board members. Mia and I eyed the table in the back where they were just setting up refreshments.
“Hi, Mia. Lily. Glad you could join us today! We’re kicking off the culture show planning. Would love for you to participate this year.” Emily Chin, the ASA president, was a year above us but looked and acted ten years older. Or maybe Mia and I acted ten years younger, the way we smuggled snacks like two elementary school pranksters.
A hand reached over mine to grab the unopened cuttlefish chips at the same time I touched the bag. We both tugged. Neither party would let go. Cuttlefish chips were the ultimate prize snack, and there was only one package. That meant one winner of this tug-of-war.
I responded to the stare of my opponent with a glower. “Should we do rock paper scissors then?”
He laughed. “Can I declare a thumb war instead?”
I pursed my lips to suppress a smile. “I prefer a dance-off.”
Though we were joking around, neither of us were loosening our grip. This standoff might last all night.
Mia came by with a roll of kimbap and fried mandu on a paper napkin in one hand. The two-liter was still in the crook of her left arm. “Want some?” she asked me.
I shook my head no. Other ASA members were stopping by the snack table, opening bags of chips and crackers and pouring small portions on their plates.
“We could share,” he said. “If you let go, I promise to pour only a few on my plate. You can have the rest.”
I made eye contact with Mia. She shrugged. Apparently she wasn’t as dead set on getting these snacks into my messenger bag as we’d originally planned. She’d gotten sidetracked by the prepared food. Understandable. But cuttlefish chips were my favorite, and I hadn’t had them in a few months.
“I’m Jake Cho by the way. Originally from Dallas, but grew up in New Haven. A first-year student.” The way he was speaking to me reminded me of how people try to talk to serial killers to humanize themselves so they don’t become the next murder victim.
I answered softly. “I’m Lily Lee. I’m a first-year too.”
It worked. Maybe it was his calm words. Or his lopsided smile, which paired really well with his boyish face. I eased my grip and Jake pulled, or rather yanked, the bag from my hand. After quickly tearing open the package, he poured a handful of chips into a paper bowl.
“Lily Lee, the rest are yours. As promised.” He grinned and handed me the bag of approximately five remaining servings. “I’m a man of my word.”
I happily ate my chips straight from the bag as the meeting came to order. “Should we leave now?” I asked Mia.
She wadded up her napkin and opened the bottle of room-temp Coke. As it expelled a long, menacing hiss, I winced and hid behind her.
“Want a small sip? Are you allowed?”
“Nah.” We stayed through the meeting and after it ended, she and I looked at the sign-up form for the culture show. We weren’t involved in many campus life activities—we were too busy floating by numerous organizations and clubs in our limited spare time, but for dietary and culinary reasons only. When I saw the list of volunteers and noticed Jake Cho’s name on it, something inside me changed. A pull. A tug. Then a gentle easing of the tight grip around my heart. I pulled out a pen and added my name and email address to the form.
Mia skimmed the sign-up sheet and smiled at me. “Ah. I gotcha. You can add me too if you want.”