Chapter Eleven: Bảo

CHAPTER ELEVEN BẢO

“Infestation.” The word is usually negative, referring to bugs or something else that causes illnesses, but it accurately describes how thoughts of Linh swarm my mind lately. Yesterday after school, as I was wiping down tables, my thoughts drifted to Linh and last week’s encounter. Then, noticing I wasn’t doing any work, Mẹ whacked me good on the head, propelling the image of Linh—hair tied up like that night and that damned smile—from me. Việt laughed, watching me recover. He knew what was distracting me because I’d already given him a recap in our forensic science class together, waiting for our teacher to get here.

“Linh Mai.”

“Yes.”

“You talked to Linh Mai.”

“Yes.”

“Linh—”

“Okay, you can stop saying her name like that.”

“It’s just hard to believe. You actually helped the enemy.”

“Do you see her as an enemy?”

“Yes, but that’s what I know your mom would want me to say.” A slow smirk began to form on his face. “The question is: Do you see Linh as the enemy?”

“I never did,” I answered quickly, almost marveling at the truth of it. Việt arched an eyebrow, which I’d never seen him do.

“I still can’t believe you actually talked to her. I never thought that’d happen. I mean, way to go!” I was somewhat amazed and bolstered by his enthusiastic reaction… like he was cheering me on.

“You’re strangely happy about this. Meanwhile, I’m dead if my mom ever finds out about this.”

“I don’t know. It’s just… you’re taking a risk. Going out of your comfort zone. And you don’t usually do that.”

All of this was true, but it was something I’d never heard coming from my best friend.

Now, I’m debating the possibility that my school schedule is conspiring to keep me and Linh separated. When I do “see” her, it’s just the usual flash of her hair as she turns the corner. I can never seem to find her during passing time or lunchtime.

A nagging thought comes to mind: What if Linh’s actually dodging me? Did something happen after I left her? Maybe her mother did see us and told her off. Maybe Linh agreed not to speak to me because of that. It’s not hard to imagine what she’s heard about me and my family over the years.

A few minutes before sixth period—journalism class—I reach into my locker to exchange books. Allison basically said she was “a bit” disappointed by the quality of our recent articles, so there’s going to be a long lesson on how to write. Is Rowan ever going to step up and remind Allison that she’s still a student? I mentally and emotionally prepare myself, when I sense someone next to me. I close my locker.

My day hasn’t completely gone to shit. “Linh. Hey.”

Linh leans her shoulder against the lockers. “Here.” She hands me a carton of chocolate milk.

Her hair’s down past her shoulders, longer than I remember, and she looks like the Linh post-Phở Day instead of the one I’d checked in on in that alley. My throat feels dry. “What’s this for?”

“I didn’t get to it at lunch but didn’t want to throw it away. Consider it a small token for helping me out last week.”

“You really know the way to a guy’s heart.” Okay, Bảo, okay! That was smooth… maybe? We start walking. I try to remember if I’m actually going the right way. “How’s it going?” That’s the question I ask after a WEEK of thinking about her?

“Good, I’m glad it’s almost over. I feel like it’s been one assignment after another.” Linh then grimaces. “APs especially.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three.”

My stomach clenches. Three? And she’s still alive?

“Plus I have to work tonight.”

“I do too. Maybe we’ll see each other?” I say this as casually as possible, not wanting to seem like I’m suggesting anything other than, well, just seeing each other.

“Sure, maybe I can help out this time,” she says conspiratorially, adding a smile. I’m feeling the effects of it—maybe it’s because she’s so much clearer under the lights—a nice faintness that I’ve only felt after waking from a long, good nap.

“There’s no chance we can get away with that again,” I say weakly, half as a joke, until it registers that isn’t a joke. It’s the truth. Things just worked out over at Linh’s, but he can’t ever expect that to repeat.

Some of the laughter leaves Linh’s eyes, and we walk in quiet silence, our bodies remembering to feel unaccustomed to each other’s company. That feeling, back when I thought she’d rejected my help, takes over again, until she says, so quietly that I might have imagined it:

“That’s sad to think about… because we worked great together. Like we were meant to be partners.”

Partners.

Yeah, it sounds right to me.

Eager to just keep talking until we can’t anymore, I ask more about her classes. She asks if Allison is still attending our classes instead of using her study hall time to go home. She seems to talk about Allison with a teasing smile, so I don’t tell her that I’m truly terrified of her in certain moments.

We make it to journalism class, where—no surprise—Allison sits in Rowan’s seat, next to her the biggest Blue Bottle cup of iced coffee I’ve ever seen. In a disorienting move, she smiles at Linh. She looks different when she does that.

“Hey, lady!” Her eyes fall to me, then flicker over to Linh. If possible, her lips widen. “Didn’t think I’d see you two together.”

Linh clears her throat. “Ali, I told you about how he helped me out last week? Right?”

“Rightttt. That was sweet of him. Well, good timing that you’re here. Because I have an idea.” Ali spins in her chair before rising like a villain who finally settled on a plan for world domination.

“Oh no,” Linh says, earning a glance that is both withering and playful from Ali.

“So, in one of my classes, some girls were complaining that their boyfriends are taking them to all the wrong places. Boring vibe. Expensive, etcetera, etcetera. So what if we created a whole new beat for the newspaper? Assign a reporter to visit new places that any high school student can go to and actually afford, and tell the real deal about it.”

“Will restaurants let us do that?” We’re not exactly the Los Angeles Times. Who cares about what someone from La Quinta says about their establishment?

“I’m sure I can spin something,” she tells me confidently. “It’s basically free publicity for the restaurants.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s not a bad idea,” Linh says. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Good question.” She points both fingers at me. “Bảo, I’d want you on this beat.”

In what way does any of this sound good or helpful to the newspaper? Me who’s been delegated to proofreading duties. Me who consistently gets Bs on his English Lit essays.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re better than you think you are, as much as it pains me to say.” Ali watches me closely; there’s a gleam in her eyes telling me she likes that she can shock—and disturb—me with her compliments. “And Linh, you can help, too.”

Her eyes shift to me. “Um…”

“Hear me out: Bảo puts words to the scene, rates the food, describes it. Since he grew up in restaurants like you and knows food, he should hypothetically be capable of doing this—”

“Hey!” I interject.

“—and you can sketch the environment. Or paint it. I’ve watched you sketch for years, Linh. You’d be perfect for this. The newspaper desperately needs your talent. It needs something entirely new.” Her voice has taken on a tone I’ve never heard from Ali before—something more earnest. She’s turning a bit softer, gifting me a glimpse of her normal self, and of their friendship.

Linh looks away, deep in thought. She said she was taking three APs just earlier, not to mention juggling after-school work at the restaurant. I’m brought back to last week, seeing her in that alley alone, looking overwhelmed, looking lost. Something inside had pulled me toward her then. I just knew I needed to see if she was all right.

That feeling rises again, and the words are out before I can stop them. “I’ll do it.”

The girls look at me—Ali, triumphantly and maybe even a little approvingly; Linh just confused.

I know there’s a lot against me. It’ll take away some of my weekends, most likely. But as long as my parents don’t find out who I’m working with, this project might work. “And for what it’s worth, Linh, I know you’d be awesome for this, too.”

“I don’t know if I can do this. It’s not just the workload—it’s the fact that I haven’t done something like this, let alone had my work published in a newspaper. What if I just think I’m good and it turns out I’m not?” Her question comes out quietly, laced with uncertainty.

“Yeah, no,” Ali counters immediately. “I don’t think anyone could think that. I’ve seen what you’ve done ever since we were twelve.”

“And the flyers. They’re great!” I interject. “If anything, it’s another chance to show just how good you are.”

“Linh,” Ali says. “You have two people here saying you can do this!”

“How—” She pauses. She’s aiming that half-said question at me. I read her mind like that night. We’re part of a long history; we might not be directly involved like our parents, but nothing can change the fact that our families and our restaurants are considered rivals.

So I keep my answer simple. “We can make it work.” We have worked together and it turned out great. Because it wasn’t anyone’s family against someone. It was just me and Linh then. I want to believe that can happen again.

After a few beats, Linh looks away. “Let me think about it some more.”

“That’s not a no, so yay!” Ali claps her hands together and hugs her, then turns to do the same to me before remembering herself. Linh still appears unsure, maybe a bit exhausted in her thoughts, but she still musters a smile.

When we’re alone, Linh says, “Ali only asks for help when she absolutely needs it. So you’ve earned some Ali points.”

“That’s good, because I was in the negative for a while.”

Linh heads off to her art class. When the last of my classmates walks in, Ali closes the door, game face on. The lights dim abruptly, freaking some kids out, but it’s only Rowan being complicit in whatever torture Allison has cooked up for today. Turns out I don’t really care about that. Linh and I might get to be partners.

I open the chocolate milk carton and sip from it. Partners.