Page 16 of The Other Side of Together

“No, I’m close to home.”

“Anything you came in for tonight? It’s kind of slow. Perfect time to get some ink.” He grabs a book on the counter and opens to a page of designs.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Thanks.”

He nods and smiles. “I was scared my first time too. But look at me now.” He pulls up his shirt sleeves to show arms completely hidden by colorful ink.

The same determination and pride I felt taking the culinary class by myself rises in me. Chef Marco said I was going places. Me. Mei Li Zhang. “Can I get my name tattooed?” I look at my wrist, my ankle, then remember the birds tattooed on that street performer’s neck outside our restaurant a few months ago. No matter how she moved, the birds didn’t budge. I lift my hair, exposing the back of my neck. “Maybe here?”

The guy rubs his hands together. “Absolutely. Show me what you want.” He ducks behind the counter and slides a pen and notepad across the counter toward me.

I clench the pen and draw the characters of my name:

?

?

?

My name, not Nick’s. A forever reminder that he may be in control of my life, but he’ll never own me.

I slip through the kitchen entrance and tiptoe toward the staircase that smells like trapped fried noodles and fish, hesitating when Baba’s voice murmurs behind the closed office door.

“But where is she?” Mama replies, her voice timid as usual. “Do you know?”

I grip the railing. I should have been home an hour ago, and Baba’s going to—

“That’s not our concern,” Baba hisses. “Tell anyone who asks that Su Ling found a better job. Detective Miller’s come in already.”

The floorboard I’m standing on squeaks, and I race up thestairs and fling myself inside my room, closing the door softly behind me and backing against it. Su Ling didn’t quit, she’s missing. And Baba knows more than he’s saying.

I step to my window and shove it open, cool air swirling in around my frantic thoughts while I wait for my world to steady. But my eyes fall on a Magic 8 ball propped face up on the window ledge beside a note written in black Sharpie and familiar handwriting:Should Mei call Marcus?

My eyes skid to the Magic 8 ball’s answer and I suck in a breath:Signs Point To Yes!

CHAPTER 8

“Tavah Riggs was at the game for you tonight, Miller. Again.”

I finish my text to Meemaw about our insane win, slouched low, knees pressed into the train seat in front of me.

Johnny leans his head back and swivels it toward me. “‘Yay, Magic Miller’,” he whisper-screams in falsetto, waving his hands to imitate the girls at our game.

I laugh once and shake my head, still texting when Johnny goes on.

“Should’ve seen your dad’s face, dude. Had a pretty good view from my usual spot on the bench and, every time those girls yelled your name, he had his hand on his gun.”

I shrug, my mind replaying the game, wishing I’d scored one more goal as the train wobbles toward Chinatown.

“You blind and deaf, maybe? ‘Cause ain’t no one comes to our games but girls screaming your freaking name.” Johnny looks at his phone and laughs to himself, then responds to a text before swiveling his head back toward me, but my phone beeps and I read Meemaw’s response:

YOU’RE MY CHAMPION. Love you, my big ol’ grandbaby.

“You into guys?” Johnny asks, and when I don’t respond, he straightens in his seat and turns fully toward me.

I glance at him, clicking off my phone.

“Or maybe you aren’t into either. It’s cool. You can tell me anything.”

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