Page 1 of The Other Side of Together

CHAPTER 1

The cable car squeals to a stop, and I hurry up its steps to an outdoor seat facing the city, just as someone calls my name.

“Mei Li!” Chef Marco rushes up to the car and smiles, out of breath from running. “I just wanted to let you know…” He takes a quick breath. “You’re going places. It has been a pleasure having you in my class.”

My heart trips over itself and I manage a “thank you” as the car rocks forward. He waves and turns back toward the sidewalk. So much of my life has been dictated by others, but not this one thing. Mama and Baba don’t even know I’ve been taking cooking classes, and I’ll never tell them. I did it on my own. It’s probably the last thing I’ll be able to do on my own. No culinary school will accept me if they find out who I am. Or who I’m not.

But Nick told me he’s sure I’ll get an internship. Only eight more weeks and I could be in L.A. meeting famous chefs. Eight more weeks and my life will finally begin. Thanks to Nick. The more miracles he works in my life, the more I see us working. Someday. Eventually.

I settle into the corner of the bench and pull the elastic from my ponytail so my hair falls down my neck to block the breeze coming off the bay. The light rail clunks along the tracks and people dot the streets, headed into bars or nightclubs, some going home late from work. Laughter punctuates the crisp night, and car horns blare. My worries and fears slide toward me when the cable car climbs the hills toward Chinatown. Graduation. Possible internship with a top chef. Chance of culinary school in the fall. Nick’s frequent mention of “our” future together. Getting out of a house that shrinks as Baba’s anger grows.

Eight more weeks to figure this out.

The cable car grinds to a stop, and a group fills the spaces around me. Their chatter vibrates through the car and I wonder what it would be like to have so many friends you don’t know which conversation to join. But I have Lin who talks enough for a hundred people. My world will be too quiet without her.

The cable car rocks forward again and the girl beside me talks to her friend about a guy she met in a club and thought he wasthe one, but he never called her back. Then she makes her friend promise she won’t let her fall for someone new tonight since guys in clubs only want one thing.

I’ll probably never step inside a club, and Baba wants me with Nick. But still. What would it be like to have options? I’ve kissed Nick maybe ten times, and he’ll probably be my first and last. But I guess people marry friends they’ve known since childhood all the time. I’ll think about it when I’m 25. Not 18.

The car stops and the group hops off, headed into the night that could hold someone new for that girl. I grab my bag and pull out my lip gloss when another passenger jumps on as the car lurches forward. My hand freezes, watermelon lip gloss hovering over my lips as Marcus Miller slips downthe aisle, grabbing each pole along the way. His charter high school hoodie stretches across his shoulders and his overgrown, sun-streaked hair ripples in the wind. And the legs. Lin has worshipped them since Marcus hit puberty. I’ve always been more into his smile.

Nick is handsome in so many ways, but I’ve known him forever, and he’s so predictable. Expected. Marcus Miller? Completely intriguing.

We’ve lived on the same block since I moved here ten years ago. He spends time in the same places I do, but rarely at the same time. Which is so, so unfortunate for me. Not that I’d ever have anything to say to him. Or dare. We have nothing in common but a trolley stop.

He shifts, his profile outlined by yellow streetlamps and neon lights, and I hope my thoughts don’t float toward him on the breeze.

When he pulls his phone from his pocket, the screen lights his face. Whatever he’s looking at makes him smile, and it spreads all the way up the car to me. For the love of all that’s hot and holy. It’s like the warm rain I used to run through in Taiwan, drenching every part of me. I squint into it, like the night exploded. If only the person who made him smile like that could see what they’ve done. It’s probably a girl. An equally beautiful girl—tall and wispy and completely unaware of how lucky she is because she’s used to getting guys like him.

I skim the lip gloss across my lips, then slip my phone from my bag and pull up Lin’s last text, pretending to type as I angle the camera toward Marcus. I double check that the flash is off, then slide my finger over the button. He’s still smiling, and I bite my lip as I send the picture to Lin. It needs no explanation.

Two seconds later, my phone chimes.

Lin: WHAT?????????????????

HOW??????????????????

YOU ARE BREATHING MARCUS MILLER AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He leans his hip into the railing while he responds to a text, hair falling into his face as he looks at the screen. Dark eyebrows. Darker lashes. Golden skin. Smile lines like parentheses around his mouth. When he glances up, I jerk my focus to my phone, staring so hard at the screen my eyes burn. I shift sideways on the bench and pull my knees against my chest, texting Lin a real-time description of every move Marcus makes until the trolley rings for my stop. I grab my bag, hop off the car, and walk up the street, mentally rewinding the past ten minutes so I can tell Lin every detail from the beginning.

My phone buzzes and I sidestep construction cones on the sidewalk, glancing at the screen.

Lin: BE ON YOUR FIRE ESCAPE ASAP!

I shove my phone in my back pocket and take bigger strides up the hill, my calves burning. But as I glance over passing cars, my eyes collide with Marcus’s across the street. I look away, narrowly missing someone stepping out of a shop. Apologizing, I hurry past them, my face and neck hot. Marcus caught me looking. But it’s not like I’m stalking him. We live across the street from each other. He got on the cable car after me. I’m just walking home, scanning the street. If anyone’s a stalker, it’s him. Except I could only wish.

I’m focusing so hard on keeping my attention from leaping to the other side of the street that I don’t notice the uneven section of sidewalk before my shoe does. I stumble and yelp, throwing my arms out for balance. When I’m steady on my feet, I straighten and grip my shoulder strap,cursing every earthquake that ever cracked the sidewalk. Marcus probably saw the whole thing. But my eyes aren’t leaving this sidewalk to find out.

I round the corner onto my street, relieved to be out of his sight, but my fire escape is empty, and the restaurant’s neon sign is off, so I veer toward Guo Mama’s shop to wait for Lin and avoid Baba who’s probably counting the till. But when I reach for the door, someone steps behind me and grabs it above my head. I look over my shoulder and my eyes climb a bulldog logo on a chest until they reach a face and my heart dives into my stomach.

“Looks like we had the same idea.” Marcus smiles and I make a sound that’s supposed to be a polite laugh but sounds gorilla-ish.

I hurry inside the shop, my ears practically relocating on my head to listen to Marcus behind me, his Adidas squeaking on the freshly mopped terra cotta. One footstep to every two of mine. My nose joins my overactive ears and catches the breeze coming off him, crisp and flowy. Fabric softener. Spearmint.

“Guo!” His voice rumbles over my head, through my limbs, and vibrates in my chest like I sucked it in and it’s rattling my insides.

“Marcus Miller!” Her shrill voice skids around the corner before she shuffles into sight, her purple shirt billowing around the edges of her apron. Her gray hair is flat after a long day, the bobby pins giving up. “And Mei Li!” She stops when she sees me. “What luck!” She holds up the glass cleaner bottle like she’s making a toast.

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