Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(82)

Mr. Soft has foreseen the coming of this proverbial tortilla storm. Mr. Soft is prepared. He hauled in his outrageous 8K projector from home—apparently he’s an avid home theater product review blogger in his spare time—and is letting us watch whatever we can bring in on disc. He even brought in a little popcorn machine. Forget calculus. It’s popcorn and movies at seven o’clock in the morning.

“I’m so proud of you turkeys,” says Mr. Soft. “These last two months, all we’re gonna do is celebrate each and every one of you as those acceptance letters come rolling in.”

And roll in they do.

Naima Gupta got in to The Harvard. She found out during class and sent her laptop clattering to the floor. Extra popcorn for her.

Did I get into The Harvard? With my email notifications muted, only the mail sitting in the Bag of Holding can say.

Do my parents still care about The Harvard like they used to?

Amelie Shim got into the University of Chicago. Paul Olmo, University of California at Santa Cruz. Brit Means got into the University of California at Davis, as planned. I’m happy for her. I’ll never visit her, never see her dorm room, never see her favorite spot on campus to sit and daydream. It’s strange that I once wanted these things so bad.

Andrew Kim got into Yale, where his acting dreams will surely come true. John Lim and Ella Chang both got in to UCLA. They haven’t come out to their parents yet. Wu Tang got into USC and will join his family pantheon of strong-jawed Trojan grads.

I force Q to ditch fourth period to tell him all about the blowup at the Gathering, and how it sent me and Joy pinwheeling skyward, and how my dad has thousands of tiny-tiny time bombs throbbing inside him. Q listens. He can only frown at the ground: the surface of the planet Earth, such an unfair place, so messy and tragic all the time.

Then Q cries. He cries until the bottoms of his glasses fill up. I take them off, wipe the lenses clean with my tee shirt.

“I’m sorry I’m crying like an infant with gigantism and a poopy diaper,” says Q.

“It’s okay, abnormally huge baby,” I say, and reach out to hold his arm.

Students walk by and glance at us, probably wondering if we’re a couple who has just broken up in the last weeks of school. That sort of thing has been happening all over campus. End of Days.

“No,” says Q. “I mean I’m sorry I’m giving you yet another problem to deal with. You’ve got enough crying of your own. Last thing you need is me piling on more.”

“Pile away, old bean,” I say. “There’s room.”

“I just,” says Q with a mighty sniff, “what the fuck does any of this mean? You live, you work, you die? One day you fight with your friends from forever and then the next day you’re just strangers again? Is that what the universe is telling us here?”

“I know, right?”

Q pretends to push up his glasses, but I know he’s hiding his eyes with his hand. “Is that gonna happen to us?”

“Hey,” I bark. “No way. Stop that noise.”

Q blinks at the lockers, the shiny linoleum floor, the doors. “I’m gonna miss this infernal asylum,” he says. “My mom said the last of the envelopes arrived today.”

“Mine too. She’s putting them in the Bag of Holding, yeah?”

Q shoots me a look. “Is your mom?”

“Of course.”

“And Joy’s?”

I nod. “I guess our bags are finally complete.”

“And you haven’t peeked.”

“My boy, none of us know shit.”

Q lets his head fall on my shoulder. “I love you, man.”

“And I love you too, top chap.”

“I’m so, so sorry about your dad—”

I raise a hand to stop Q. Enough of this sobbing. “What did the nut say to the other nut it was chasing?” I say.

“Huh?”

“I’m a cashew.”

“What?”

I look straight into Q’s eyes. “What did one nut say to the other nut it was chasing?”

Q meets my gaze. His irises are so dark his pupils vanish into them.

“I’m a cash—” I say.

“Puhahahahahaha,” says Q. “Geehahahahakekekekek.”

“Say it,” I say. “Don’t spray it.”



* * *



? ? ?

An hour before school ends, me and Joy conspire to get to the somnolent Consta early to see how many kisses we can fit in before Q arrives to ride with us.

“Let’s go out to Mouse World Theme Park this Saturday,” I blurt.

Joy smiles, but gets cut short. “I can’t. I have a Gathering.”

I elevate my eyebrows as far as they will go: Huh.

She gives a sad shrug. “Just the Kims and the Changs.”

“So it’s true,” I say. “Everyone’s chosen sides.”

Now it’s Joy’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I have a Gathering on Sunday,” I say. “Just the Lims.”

“Wow,” says Joy with dismay.

“Whatever,” I say, and reel my beautiful girlfriend Joy in for a kiss. But it’s like kissing a ham.

“What’s wrong?” I say.