The Way You Make Me Feel(42)

Hamlet was also studying the toppings, as if his life depended on it. I smiled. “They’re just my friends. Felix has a girlfriend, and Patrick’s gay.”

His expression brightened considerably. “Oh, that’s cool. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“If you say so.” I admit, jealous Hamlet was kind of cute. Only because it was still the nicest, least gross male-possessive jealousy I had ever witnessed.

We ordered our shaved ice, which was served in huge tubs. Mine was flavored with cranberry syrup and topped with red bean, taro, and sesame balls. Hamlet’s was plain with grass jelly. I made a face at it. “So healthy.”

He shrugged. “I like it!” Then happily ate a spoonful. I got the feeling Hamlet never did anything if it wasn’t out of a genuine desire to do it. Unlike most of the guys I had dated in the past, he was completely devoid of pretense.

“So who do you hang out with at school? A bunch of hot girls?” I asked as we sat down on the curb outside.

He guffawed. “Yeah, right. All guys. Mostly my D and D—” He stopped talking. “Um, these guys who I like to play basketball with.”

“That’s not what you were about to say.”

“It was!”

I pointed my plastic spoon at him. “Dude, I know what Dungeons and Dragons is. Patrick and Felix used to be obsessed with it.”

He laughed. “Okay, fine! Yeah, I mostly hang out with the D and D crew. They were the only ones who wanted to be friends with me when I first moved here. We’ve stuck together since.”

“Were kids mean to you?” I asked, surprised. How anyone could be mean to Hamlet was beyond me. Did they also enjoy kicking bunny rabbits?

He shrugged. “Not exactly. But the Chinese American kids didn’t connect with me; they had no interest in a FOB.”

Fresh off the boat. A protective instinct came over me. Imagining Hamlet isolated in a totally different country made me want to walk over to his school and wreak some havoc.

“You’re frowning.” Hamlet interrupted my detailed revenge fantasy.

“Oh, sorry. Just … annoyed for you,” I admitted.

His eyes met mine over his cup. “That’s nice of you.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear, to have something to do while he looked at me like that. “I’m just being a decent human.” Hamlet had a way of making me self-conscious—at the earnestness of this conversation, at how much I found myself having to say.

But I was with King Earnest. And King Earnest was licking the ice dripping off the side of his cup, being meticulous and hot at the same time. I tore my eyes away. Yeesh.

“Yeah, you’re decent,” he said with a smile, teasing me.

I flushed but a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Are you going to go back to China after you go to college here?”

He scraped up the last of the shaved ice in his cup. “I don’t know. I like America! A lot. But I also miss a lot of things back home. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully American like you guys who were born here.”

A car’s headlights beamed directly into my eyes, and I turned away from them, leaning in closer to Hamlet. “I get that. My dad’s kind of like you … he’s pretty Americanized now, but he also has mad Brazil and Korea pride.”

“Who does he root for during the World Cup?” Hamlet asked, serious as he leaned in toward me, too. Our foreheads were almost touching.

“Oh! In this order: Korea, Brazil, then the US.”

Hamlet pulled back and laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

I finished my shaved ice, and Hamlet took my empty cup and spoon to toss into the recycle bin. That gesture, these little things Hamlet did—they really got to me. So much so that when he walked back to me, I reached for his hand. He looked down at me in surprise as I slipped my fingers through his. The warm air blew through the parking lot, stirring up litter and dust, and we stood there for a second in the glow of neon signs. Everything felt right. I squeezed his hand. “Ready?”

We headed to his car, his steps buoyant as he kept my hand firmly clasped into his. “Thanks for the nice talk,” he said, unlocking the car.

I let go of his hand, reluctantly, and smiled. “You’re welcome?”

He opened my door, and when I slid into the seat, he leaned over, his arm draped on top of the door. “I just want to know everything about you.” Astonished, I didn’t answer, and he closed the door before I could react.

When Hamlet pulled up to the front of my apartment building, I hesitated in my seat, wondering if we should hug or something. But he put the car in Park and walked over to my side, opening the door. The little things.

“Thanks.” We walked across the crunchy lawn, past the jasmine hedge. I could smell the fragrant jasmine blooms as we climbed up the stairs.

We reached my door, and I paused, the bag of leftovers bonking my leg. “Thanks for the ride and letting me meet your grandparents.”

The corners of his eyes did that crinkly thing as he smiled. “Yeah, that’s a rare privilege for only the most special of dates.” His hands were in his pockets again. Everything about him right now was shy and unsure.

But I was sure about one thing. I wanted Hamlet Wong to kiss me.

“Have a good night, Clara.” His voice was quiet. Low and sweet and real.