The Way You Make Me Feel(13)

Last were the pasteis. These had been my favorite, ever since I was a kid. They were deep-fried hand pies—half-moon shapes with crinkled edges for the KoBra’s version. Traditionally, in Brazil, they were stuffed with various meats like ground beef and chicken, or cheese and veggies, and sold on the street. My dad put a twist on tradition by stuffing them with kimchi and cheese. When my dad had first made them a few years ago, I was seriously grossed out. Kimchi and cheese? In a pastel? But once I had taken a bite of the melty, crispy goodness, I was a convert. And now, it was what the KoBra was known for.

The pastry dough had been premade by my dad. He put his hands on his hips. “Are you guys going to fight about who rolls out the dough?”

Rose and I looked at each other.

“You can do it,” I said magnanimously.

Rose smiled, tight-lipped with dead eyes. “No, after you.”

“No, you.”

My dad sighed and took off his cap. “You’re trying my patience here. Rose, your turn.”

Ha! I hated rolling out dough—whenever my dad made pies I skipped that step. It was always so hard to make it a nice circle shape without the delicate edges falling apart on you.

Rose drew a deep breath and took the rolling pin from my dad. He guided her a bit as she rolled out the dough on the metal countertop, then cut out circle shapes with a metal ring the size of a dessert plate. She messed up at first—the dough breaking off when she rolled it out. I could sense that she was keeping her immense frustration under wraps, but her teeth practically bit holes into her bottom lip. She eventually got it right, but you could tell it kept bothering her. Jeez.

My dad let me have the honor of tossing handfuls of shredded mozzarella into each circle. After that, I laid thin strips of kimchi on top of the cheese, adding a small cube of butter at the end before folding the dough over. My dad popped the pasteis into the oven, where they would bake for a bit before being deep-fried.

In an hour everything would be ready, fresh and piping hot for the customers.

“Not so bad, huh?” my dad asked with a grin, tossing a dish towel at me.

I shrugged, deliberately missing the towel and letting it fall to the floor by my feet. Rose picked it up with the end of her fingertips and tossed it into the sink.

“Butt-kisser,” I muttered. My dad shook his head and settled into the driver’s seat.





CHAPTER 7

Usually, the KoBra had two to three stops a day, and it was in business every day of the week. During the school year, when my dad had Vivian and other part-time workers, he would have days off. But this summer, it was just the three of us, and we’d each have to work at least five days out of every week.

On weekdays, the first stop was always from ten a.m. to two p.m. and, depending on the day, we’d either go to a coffee shop or some workplace, like an office park or movie studio. Our evening shift began at five p.m., and we usually stopped at various bars or events in the city, like farmers markets or festivals. Fridays and Saturdays were always coffee shops in the day and events at night. Sunday evening was the only time the KoBra took a break.

Although it was Monday, my dad decided to keep it to one stop because so much of today would be taken up by our training.

I rode with Pai in the truck and Rose met us at the location, a coffee shop called Wildfox, which was completely packed in the middle of a weekday. Everyone was on their laptops, and no one looked like they were over the age of thirty. “Does anyone in this town work anymore?” I grumbled as I pulled on my cap.

Rose almost elbowed me putting on her KoBra shirt over her body suit. “It’s called freelancing.”

“And it’s called sarcasm, you humorless bag,” I snapped.

“What?!” Rose yelped.

My dad stepped between us. “Are you two going to get your act together, or do I have to kick you guys to the curb?”

Rose immediately straightened, properly chastised. I snapped my gum. “Fine.”

Before we opened the order window, Pai pulled out his phone and took a photo of Rose and me for the truck’s Instagram account. He tried to make us smile, but we refused.

“You two,” he said, shaking his head. “By the way, we document every stop, so I’ll give you guys the passwords to our social media accounts.” The wheels started turning for all the weird stuff I could do with this power.

My dad pointed his phone at me. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll be reviewing every post and have the ability to delete at any given moment.”

“Do you have guidelines?” Rose said, pulling out her little notepad again.

I scoffed. “How complicated could it be to take a photo?”

He jabbed a finger into my temple. Very Korean. “Rose, I’ll e-mail you everything you need to know, no worries.”

She beamed and my dad rubbed his hands together. “All right, this is the real thing, you guys. Girls. Ladies. Whatever. Clara, we’re going to handle the food. Rose, you’ll handle the orders.”

“By myself?” Rose asked, her voice abnormally fearful.

He smiled at her, and her expression changed to adoration. Barf. “Don’t worry, I’ll come over and help,” he said, chucking her playfully under the chin. She floated off to the order window.

Before I could gloat about getting kitchen duty, my dad said, “After thirty minutes, you’ll switch.” Then he popped open the windows. Just like that, without any warning. Rose’s eyes grew wide, and I knew she was equally surprised.