This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,58

happy to tutor him.” He looks at me, and—God help me for this metaphor, which is so cheesy, why is my brain making me barf—it’s like staring into a well of love. “I’m happy to do anything I can.”

There’s not much I can protest about after that. The phone rings in the background, and my mother excuses herself to take the first order of the evening. My father picks up his copy of my report and puts it in the file folder we have next to the cubby where we put bills and kitchen catalogs.

So the only things left to do are to negotiate with Will when he’ll come in tomorrow and to pack up my stuff. As I go back to help put together our first order, I tell myself that I’ve won. That they’re going to go with my plan. But can you blame me if I can’t help marveling at how perfectly I was played?

This Is My Brain on Second Chances

WILL

The morning before the first day of my second life at A-Plus, I’m thrumming with nerves, ping-ponging back and forth between euphoria and anxiety. I’m going to do this. I’m going to prove myself worthy. Or, I’m going to screw up massively, and play the fool.

When I tell my sister that I’ll be working all summer and tutoring Alan, too, she gives me her patented boy-are-you-shitting-me stare. “Didn’t you say that they didn’t have enough money to pay you for more than a month?”

I hedge a little and tell her about the commissions from the online ordering.

“Little brother, that’s work you already did. They should have been paying you for that all along. Haven’t you heard Mom complain a gazillion times about how white people always expect brown people to do things for free?”

“Mr. Wu’s not white,” I say, trying to keep a level tone. I do not want to get into this argument with my sister.

Grace waves her arms. “White-adjacent. Same thing.”

“You did an unpaid internship with dad’s firm.”

“That was the summer after freshman year,” she scoffs. “Plus, that job paid for itself with the letters of recommendation and networking. Who’re you going to schmooze with at a Chinese restaurant? The guy who delivers the fortune cookie shipment?”

“It’s all research, remember?” I insist weakly. If I told Grace the real reason I was going back to A-Plus—for Jocelyn, plain and simple—she’d just tease me for being a desperate pushover schmuck who has no concept of self-worth when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex. And there’s part of me that would wonder if she was right.

When I call to ask Manny if I’m doing the right thing, he’s more direct in his assessment.

“I’m happy for you, man. That’s what you wanted, right? To be able to see her again?”

“Yeah,” I say. That is all I really wanted. And to be honest, I’d be willing to do a lot more to prove to her father that I’m datable.

The minute I walk into A-Plus, my nerves settle. I don’t know if it’s the underlying redolence of garlic, soy sauce, and sesame oil that’s so comforting, or if the slightly off-tune beepbeep of the electronic door sensor triggers my relaxation. It’s all familiar and associated with laughter and good food and a girl who is as sweet as she is sharp.

Jocelyn is waiting for me. So is her father.

“Hey,” Jocelyn breathes, standing up. She takes a step forward, then rocks back. Her hands spasm like she wants to reach out and hug me, then she glances over at her dad and lets her arms hang to her sides.

No hanky-panky.

“Hey,” I say, with a great big grin on my face like a big dork. “It’s great to be back.”

“Great to have you,” she says. Her answering smile is smaller, more cautious, but she’s still radiant. “We’ve got some good stuff planned.”

“I expect daily progress report,” Mr. Wu interjects sternly from where he’s filling the register. “And Xiao Jia still have no cell phone when she is not at work, so don’t be expecting any more secret meeting.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. When did you want me to work with Alan today?” I ask.

“He get back around three thirty. Will come straight here to be chaperone when I go for supply.”

“Got it.”

Mr. Wu goes back to his work, and I walk over to Jocelyn to drop my book bag at the booth that serves as her workstation. I sit down across from her, almost aching with the desire to instead be