Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,18

hall, whispering to Hop and Brianna about the immigration case and how we have an angle on getting to do something worthwhile this summer.

I walk into Jada’s territory, words rolling around in my head as I wonder how to get us in on some real legal action. The tension hangs in the air like San Francisco fog.

Well, here goes. “Good morning, Jada.”

She glances up from behind a mountain of boxes, her tiny diamond nose ring the only thing decorating her otherwise frustrated face.

“What?” I joke. “Are they trying to bring new meaning to the phrase buried in paperwork ?”

She glares.

I throw my hands up in the air in surrender. “Ai. Sorry. Really. It looks like a ridiculous amount of stuff to process and sort.”

Jada flicks a piece of lint off her skirt. “No shit, Sherlock.”

I pat one of the boxes. “Listen, I know we’re newbs, but we’re not at the top of our class for nothing. I swear we could help you tear through this pretty fast and we won’t screw up.” I turn around to Brianna and Hop. “Right?”

Brianna steps forward and says, “He’s right. Just tell us what to do and we’ll ace it for you.”

Jada scans the three of us like she’s trying to decide if we’re for real. Then she points to a box and says, “Some of those files still need to be stamped for receiving. Date’s on the Post-it. Screw it up and somebody gets the axe, and it won’t be me. Ford, you stamp. Brianna and Hop, I’m going to show you how to sort and label.”

Hop talks non-stop the entire drive to his apartment. Dude talks more than most girls. Good thing he’s funny.

Before turning into his lot, I ask, “So, do I need to park on the street? What’s the deal with guests Cl wface="Adob?”

Hop laughs. “Who said you were a guest? That kind of thinking might make me feel a little sorry when I take all your money.”

I snort. “Ha. Where do I park?”

“You can park in our spot, 1412 A. The neighbors might think we got a vehicle.”

I turn in and cut the engine. Esmerelda’s cough sputters.

Hop says, “Whoa, dude. We’ve got standards.” He pats the dash. “She might make us look bad with her crankiness.”

The apartment building is kind of a dump on the outside. Hop’s got a good sense of humor—my truck looks at home here. I step outside and enjoy the image of Hop struggling to open the passenger door.

When he finally barrels out, much like Grace does, he says, “What I lack in muscle, I make up for in cunning. How else do you think my skinny ass survived this part of town for sixteen years?”

I double-take. “Sixteen? I thought you were a senior.”

He shrugs, sheepish. “I am. Let’s go check out Mom’s latest and greatest.”

The key sticks when Hop tries to unlock his front door. He jiggles the key and lifts the door to get in. A little WD40 would fix that. I’ll bring some with me next poker night.

We walk into a small, immaculate apartment. The living and dining rooms are kind of combined into one. The perfect bachelor pad. You can see their kitchen from the front door. And the smells coming out of that oven make me want to cry.

I say, “Dude, this could be my second home.”

Hop grins appreciatively. “Wait until you taste it. Mom works at Bountiful Moon bakery.”

“I’m their newest customer.”

“Tell ’em Hop sent you.”

His mom walks in from the hallway.

“Hey,” Hop says. “These moon cakes for poker night?”

She nods and her eyes lighten. “Suzhou are on the counter. New recipe in oven. Chocolate nut fruit.”

Hop gives his mom a big squeeze. “You rock. Thanks.”

Her eyes widen. She nods at me. “You must be Hop’s friend from work.”

I step forward and shake the hair out of my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Ford. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am Mrs. Liang. Nice to meet you. You like moon cakes?”

I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. Then I open them. “I love them.”

“Good.” She looks at Hop. “Make sure your friend get enough to eat. Extra Suzhou. He growing boy.”

I like the way she thinks.

Hop says, “Yes ma’am.”

“You boys don’t get too loud this night. You know Mrs. Tan will complain rest of week at Laundromat.”

Hop rolls his eyes. “Mrs. Tan can—”

“Say what she like,” Mrs. Liang says. “Watch the noise.” Oh man. The Look is definitely universal.

Hop backs down fast. “Yes ma’am.”

Then Mrs. Liang goes back