Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(19)

Because Brit came to The Store.

Because Dad told Mom, and Mom told the families.

This is some kind of roundabout, twisty-turny, circuitous intervention.

If only Brit were aware of the drama she inadvertently caused. If only she knew tonight’s Gathering was, in a way, all about her.

“I guess we should go upstairs and consummate,” I say.

Joy Song literally slaps my head.

“Fuck,” I say.

But it’s a good slap. Strong and dry like three rigid fingers on a batá drum.

“Ugh, let’s just play video games or something,” says Joy, and begins climbing the stairs. “Your parents are stupid.”

“Your parents are stupid.”

“Good comeback.”

“Your parents are stupid.”

We laugh because it’s funny but then stop because the funny doesn’t last.

We climb the rest of the stairs, and I notice she has a tiny tattoo on her ankle. I never knew she had a tattoo.

We reach Joy’s room, and it’s not at all what I expected. Actually, I had no idea what to expect. But it definitely wasn’t this technological garage lab. An entire wall is pegboard, holding coils of cable and solder and wire and tools. Six computer monitors dominate a vast desk made from what looks like a door resting on heavy-duty pipe parts. There is a 3D printer steadily extruding something into existence. There are bins of robotics parts and mini computer breadboards.

This isn’t Apey-level. This is something else.

“Damn,” I say.

“You’ve seen my room before, right?” Joy searches her memory. “I guess it’s been a while, huh.”

There’s a lot of hard science stuff here, but also a NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED poster done in luscious calligraphic swashes. The rug is bright orange and canary and lime, all clean and fluffy and fresh. The scent of sandalwood fills the air.

There’s a crystal chandelier, and below it a bed full of childhood stuffed animals, plus a single stray bra that I just kinda stare at.

Joy shoves the bra under a pillow.

I sit on the floor, and Joy’s eyes go big. “Frank Li, have you started smoking?”

“Huh?” I see where she’s looking: the little paper scroll, about the length and diameter of a cigarette, has fallen out of my pocket.

“Oh,” I say. I unscroll the paper. “This dude gave it to me at The Store.”

In a flash Joy is on the floor sitting close to me, looking at the paper with eager eyes.

“Go ahead, check it out,” I say helplessly. So much for showing this to Brit first.

“Oh my god,” says Joy, reading. “Vaginal Ouroboros? And look at the guy’s little pee-pee.”

“There’s a teeny-weeny vajayjay, too.”

“It’s like an insane version of that NASA Pioneer 10 plaque drawing.”

“Ha, it kinda is.”

“You need to frame this. No, wait—you should totally etch this into metal and sneak it into space like a message from humanity.”

“Like, troll the aliens.”

We laugh and wiggle our be-socked toes.

“Did you show this to Hanna?” says Joy. “She’d crack the hell up.”

“Not yet.” Joy has always liked Hanna. I suspect she wants to be like her, not with patent law but industrial design. I know I want to be like her.

“How is Hanna?”

“She’s good, still in Boston, stacking it up. Still with Miles.” My voice cuts in half. There’s an anger in my heart the color of dark red ready to paint the walls with curse words, but there’s no point in getting into all that. I could rage to the sky, but Mom-n-Dad would stay as silent and unmoving as those big stone heads on Easter Island. Joy knows all this without me having to explain it.

So I just say, “You know she married Miles?”

Joy gets quiet. She looks at me with big eyes.

“They went to city hall,” I say. “Took ten minutes and cost twenty-five bucks.”

Now we both get quiet.

“So,” I say.

“So,” says Joy. “Tell me more about Brit.”

“Welp,” I say, hooking my thumbs in my armpits like some kind of proud corn farmer, “she’s super great. You and Wu doing good?”

“You didn’t get all excited and tell your parents about her, did you?”

“You’re funny. You and Wu doing good?”

Joy flops up onto the bed. All the animals bounce. “Eh, we fought again.”

I find a tiny stray bolt in the sherbet-colored carpet. There are tiny nuts, too. I start trying to find one that fits. “What did you fight about this time?”

“The same shit. He wants to take things to the next level, but he doesn’t understand.”

“So, like, anal?”

Joy laughs. A stuffed animal hits me hard in the temple.

“I mean he doesn’t understand how I can’t just keep coming up with infinity number of excuses for my parents as fast as he wants. He wants to meet up almost every single night. It’s impossible. I can’t keep up with that kind of demand.”

“I feel you,” I say. “I’m in the same boat now.”

“Hop aboard,” says Joy to the ceiling.