“What?”
Fiona kept talking. Sung told her that he used to be smart, like she was, before his mom threw the plate—he’d won the spelling bee one year, in junior high. He met Koala a couple years back at an Herbalife recruitment event, and they launched a campaign targeting LBCC students until they got banned from campus. Koala’s family owned the motel. Sometimes Sung lived there, or else he slept on the floor in Johnny’s room, at his aunt’s place. He had plans to save money and open up a bar of his own one day—Viet was going to help him, with his business degree and all.
“Was he mad when we left?” she asked.
“I told him our real age—”
“Why’d you do that?” she said. “Now he won’t ever call me. Thanks a lot, Jane . . .”
* * *
? ? ?
I found Won sitting downstairs, on the bottom step, smoking a cigarette. It was way past midnight, and Mah must be frantic by now. I knew I should get home as fast as I could, but one look at Won’s face, and I felt like crying. By the time I reached the bottom the tears were spilling out. I hiccupped, gasping for breath. Won wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned against his shoulder, letting my snot drip into his sweater like a slob.
He said he regretted taking us to the bar, meeting Sung. “None of this would’ve happened,” he said. “You all right?”
“She told me you guys—you know,” I said. “Not that I care—”
“Told you what?”
“The kiss,” I said. “Whatever.”
Won didn’t answer.
“You’re in love with her,” I said.
He made a sound with his mouth, forcing air out between his lips. “In love with Fiona?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I get it.”
“I’m trying to tell you,” he said. “I— We kissed because—” Won hesitated. “I had to test something out.”
“You’re not the only one,” I said. “Everyone’s in love with her.”
“Not me.” Won stared at the ground. After a moment he glanced up and held my gaze. “I don’t like Fiona. Not like that.”
“That’s why you got so pissed off earlier.”
“I don’t like any girls, like that—”
I thought of the motel room earlier. The sound of Johnny sighing, his face buried in Viet’s neck. Then, Viet turning to say, I’m not gay.
“You mean . . .”
Won nodded.
“Since when?” I said slowly. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
Won didn’t reply.
“Fiona thinks you—the kiss—”
“Jane,” he said quietly. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? You can’t tell Fiona. No one—”
“I won’t,” I said.
I asked him why he was telling me this now. I asked him again if he was sure of it.
“I trust you,” Won said. “You pay attention to shit other people don’t.” He hesitated a moment. “I thought maybe you knew it already.” He hesitated again, longer this time. “When that football player—Fetu—he kicked my ass—”
“Fuck him,” I said.
“I used to meet him in the park,” Won said. His voice was pinched in his throat. “Under the freeway, off Shoemaker.” He busied his hands, lighting up another cigarette.
“For what?”
“What you think?” he said. “I gave him football advice. We rode the swings.” Won jerked his fist back and forth in the air, a motion like shaking dice.
“Fetu?”
“Until his little cheerleader girlfriend followed him one night.”
“You and him?” I said. “Won, I didn’t know.”
“Now you do,” he said.
We were both silent for a while.
“You know that guy Sung’s, like, really, really old,” I said. “He’s twenty-six.”
Then we were quiet again, each in our own thoughts.
“You ever think about what’s going to happen after next year?” he said finally. “After bullshit high school.”
“I know she’s going away,” I said. “Some fancy college on the East Coast. Shit with ivy climbing up the brick walls.”
“And we’ll still be here, doing whatever we’re doing.”
The way he said it sounded depressing as hell. But when I caught his glance we both busted up laughing at how we were feeling sorry for ourselves, our pitiful futures, while Fiona—our Fiona, the destined one—was laid upstairs in Won’s room, passed out drunk in his bed.