Sheloweredherheadandquicklyfihelonelysmallfries.Thenshegrabbedanapkin,wipedherfingers,andswungtheheavybackpatohershoulders.
“Thankyou,Senior.”Shestood.Hervoiceheldlessofherusualchill,andmeitude.“I’llpayyoubackfortoday’sicfeesSundayatpractieedtogohomenow—ifmymomnoticesIdidn’tghthomeaftercramschool,she’llinterrogateme.”
Elianstayedseated,watghershoulderstenseagainthemomeioher.
He’dwaalkmore,nowthatshe’dfinallyletherguarddown—aboutherchildhood,orwhatmusittoher.Butlookingatherpaleface,stilldrainedfromthefever,stillfullofviginday,hedidn’twanthiscuriositytobethereasonthisstubbornpatiehomeandgotscoldedagain.
Heswallowedthewordsthathadrisentohislipsandnoddedlightly.
“Gotit.Go.”Heputawayhisusualcarelessattitudeandlookedatherseriously.“Whenyougethome,takeyourmediea.And…sinceIsaidI’dhelpyou—ifyouhavequestionsaboutschoolwork,youefindmeinCss3-8anytimeduringcsshours.”
Crapaused.Css3-8—thatwastheschool’sfamouslyelitesed-traorscss.
Shenodded,silentlyfilinghiswordsaway,thenturnedandpushedopenMald’sheavygssdoor,steppingbackoutintoTaipei’sOctoberafternoon—stillmuggyandhot.
EliansatbythewindowandtookaeofhisBigMac.Throughthegss,hewatchedthatsmallbutstubbornbackdisappearintothecrowdonNanyangStreet.
Andsuddenly,hefoundhimselflookingforwardtowhatkindofshockthisscestudentwouldbriherehearsalstudioaweekfromnow.
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