Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,46

separated into a perfect midair split, I swung my arms forward and the ribbons broke free from the flowers I had folded them into. Twelve feet of silk exploded from each of my hands. The audience gasped. I spun. My arms zigged and zagged, up and down, to form waves with the ribbons. They encircled me as if I were spinning in the middle of rippling water. I had chosen blue silk just for this moment.

The wind swirled around me. The ribbons were extensions of me, moving like an arm or a leg, completely in my control. Hours had been spent snapping them left, right, up, down so that each swing now looked effortless despite the energy involved.

I faced stage right and swung my arms backward, forming two parallel circles on either side of my body. My signature move. The loops were supposed to be perfectly round, but once I learned the backstroke, they developed a bump, an extra flick of the wrist. My old flamingo teacher always yelled at me, but I kept the rebellious curl. She had wanted us to look exactly the same. Programmed robots. But I didn’t want to become invisible by conforming. That added ripple, though tiny, set me apart. Made me Mei.

The dance was over too soon, and I reluctantly returned to reality. I smiled at the audience as I took a bow, the adrenaline coursing through my veins—I could feel it in my fingertips, my toes, my brain.

As I exited the stage, my beloved ribbons bunched in my arms, I was swarmed. By guys. Their deep voices blended together, and my head swiveled left and right, trying to match words to faces.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Those stick-streamer thingamabobs are so cool!”

“Do you think you could teach me?”

“Smooth moves!”

If it weren’t for what they were saying, I might’ve thought they had mistaken me for someone else, but I was the only one with “stick-streamer thingamabobs” around here. Floundering, I started to respond to one person only to stop short and turn to the next. I sounded like a robot with a dying battery. Charming.

I flailed until I saw him, hanging back behind the group of guys, waiting. God, it had taken so much hemming and hawing for me to text him about tonight, and now, looking at him, I couldn’t remember why it had been so hard.

Even though the other guys were perfectly good-looking and seemed nice, I wasn’t interested. They weren’t Darren. Besides, they were mesmerized by my thingamabobs, not me.

As I worked my way toward Darren, I politely waved the other guys off with my sticks.

When just the two of us remained, he pointed to my ribbons. “Fighting them off with a stick, huh? Literally.”

I laughed, relaxing. “After I change, want to look around the night market together?”

“A chance to accompany the star of the hour? What do you think?” He winked.

I was in trouble. That one wink was enough to pierce me, melt me, and make me forget my parents.

In the public bathroom, I put on comfy jeans and a sweater, then dabbed hastily at my stage makeup. I managed to remove most of the bright colors, then peeled off the false eyelashes.

When I returned to Lobdell, I found Darren in the corner, a heaping bowl of Taiwanese shaved ice in front of him. It had been hard to spot him, but his long arms waving at me slightly awkwardly and completely adorably had helped me home in on the private spot. The pseudo-second level overhead gave the illusion of privacy but allowed just enough light in so that I could see the bàobīng in all its mouthwatering glory. The condensed milk dripped from one layer of fluffy snow to the next, flowing between strawberries, mango chunks, grass jelly, and gummy candy.

I scooted next to him—so we could share, of course. Perfectly innocent. “How’d you know this was my favorite?”

“I didn’t, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with deliciousness on top of deliciousness. Besides, it’s Taiwanese, like you, and I felt a little pull toward it.” He coughed into his hand, as if he hadn’t meant to go so far and was regretting it.

“Well, hopefully you’ll still like it even though it won’t talk to you about dog poo or Filial Exemplars.”

He laughed—loud, infectious, and from his belly—and my God, it made me fluttery in a way I didn’t know was possible from just a sound. All I wanted was to find a way to make it happen again.

His