Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(60)

They’ve willed the big moon of the spotlight to shine right on us, and now we stand in its crystalline light.





chapter 22


fire day




Monday comes.

Monday comes from the Old English monand?g and means moon day.

By the end of this moon day, I will have a black eye.

But let’s back up first.

The wedding.

Oh, the wedding.

We danced. We sat at the table and ate. The bride and groom had two more costume changes: traditional Korean formal, then Celebrity Dance-Off.

The Limbos all took turns punching us. You were faking that you were faking? said Ella Chang. You guys are so next-level, said Andrew Kim.

I guess things change, said me and Joy.

John Lim had a drink too many, liquid courage gone wrong, and wound up crying with his head in Ella Chang’s lap while she sat erect and stoic and unmoved.

Amore.

Ella heaved John’s head upright and slapped him into composure. They’re doing it right, Ella and John. They’re keeping their thing a secret from the parents, who would only get all up in their business and start planning the next Chang wedding.

We hung out with the super-Koreans. They were really cool and friendly. They’re no different from us Limbos, except that they’re 100 percent fluent in both languages and can electric-slide effortlessly between cultures while being perfectly confident in identifying as Korean first, American second, and are basically better at everything than I could ever be, so fuck them.

Joy and I snuck away a few more times during the night like smokers needing one more hit. Her hands did indeed feel cold against my bare arm, and my bare chest, and around my bare waist. I knew what was happening was wrong. In the great ledger of love, it no doubt counted as cheating.

There was one song during the night, a fist-pumper of a dance track that had me and Joy and everyone hopping up and down right until the words This could be the night / Wrong feels so right. Me and Joy landed on our heels and just stared at each other: a quiet island of guilt at the center of a raging ocean.

For the late-night part of the wedding all the Olds got up to sing noraebang for the exhausted audience. Mom-n-Dad crooned out an old duet ballad—something about a baby in a boat and a snowy tree—and just for a second I could see them as a couple and not my parents. During their long final note I worried that Dad’s injured lung would burst from the strain. But it didn’t. Everyone thundered with applause at his vocal heroism. Dad wasn’t just okay—he sounded great. I clapped hard, too, and Joy kissed my cheek.

I had this weird feeling. Like I was a boy who had everything. Dad was okay. I was in love—unequivocally, uncontrollably in love. Cleaved to Joy for all the world to see. The super-Koreans nodded at us with hipster approval.

But.

As the party began to dissolve, I found my jacket abandoned on a chair and checked my phone. I knew what I would find there.

How’s the party going?

Send pix if you can, dying to see you in action in that suit Can’t wait to hear all about it tomorrow I love you, good night zzz

Brit.

Brit alone in her room on a silent Saturday night, checking her fartphone for messages from me. Not bored, for Brit finds the world too fascinating to ever truly get bored. Not upset, for Brit knows how weddings can be.

But she has no idea how this particular wedding was.

The reception party ended. Mom-n-Dad and Joy’s mom-n-dad bowed and bowed in farewell. I gave Joy’s hand one last squeeze, as if to say, Goodbye, upside-down world. Time to bring it right side up again.

While I drove my tipsy parents home—Mom nodding off, Dad again with his to-go cup from hell—I gritted my teeth and accepted the hard fact that in order to remain a good human being, I would have to tell Brit at school. Monday.

Moon day.

At Calculus, Brit mouths I love you over her desk. I don’t have the black eye at this point. I smile a brittle smile, then pretend to get caught up in something Mr. Soft is saying. She doesn’t notice a thing. Neither does Q or any of the other Apeys. I feel like I’ve traded one huge secret for another one the same size, different shape.

Me and Brit—me-n-Brit, Frankenbrit, oh god—split up for classes with a quick hug, and then it’s back to AP Bio, AP English Lit, and CompSci Music. It all goes well. Everything goes well, as usual. Except for this bomb in my heart. I jump when the bell rings. I jump again when my phone buzzes.

Greenhouse, says Brit. Now!

And I walk the empty corridor with dread.

Outside, the light is orange and strange and tinged with a sour burning scent. I heard somewhere there’s a wildfire happening close by. I can’t possibly worry about wildfires right now.

When I round the corner, Brit ambushes me.

“Finally,” she says, and kisses me so long and hard I have to brace myself against the side of the greenhouse.

“Did you miss me?” she says.

She feels different. She feels like I’m about to leave her. And I feel different. Like a liar. I’ve been a liar for some time now, and the only way out of this razor-blade briar patch I’ve created is to plow straight through.

“Yeah, so, listen,” I say.

“Tell me all about this crazy Korean wedding,” she says with an eager wiggle.

The green nebula. The kiss. The fireworks. Joy’s cool fingertips.