Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,19
into her room and closes the door. A minute later, the sounds of a sewing machine fill the space she left.
I look at Hop. “Dude, your mom has you whipped.”
He shrugs. “And your mom doesn’t?”
I grin. “Ma’s from Mexico. What do you think?”
He grins. “Want a moon cake?”
“You know it. What’s Suzhou?”
He grabs some plates and stacks a few moon cakes on them. “My favorite. They’re made from pork. Mom adds some kick to hers. Hope you can handle the heat.”
I grab the plate out of his hands. “Handle the heat? Ma’s mole sauce will make a man beg for mercy. When do the guys get here?”
Hop’s face turns serious. “About that. One of my friends needs—”
The doorbell rings. Hop shouts, “We already started loading up on the moon cakes.”
The door flies open. A short Asian kid decked out like a pimp stands in the doorway, complete with dark glasses and gold chains. “What’s up, yo?”
Then he strides over to the bar and loads up a plate. He gives me a side glance and does the head nod.
I say, “’Sup?”
Hop balls up a paper towel and pegs Future Pimp in the head. “Leave some for the rest of the guys, Hien.”
Hien doesn’t blink an eye. He joins us at the table.
Hop says, “Nobody told Hien he’s Asian. He’s had an identity crisis since elementary when he moved here.”
Hien takes a big bite and says, “Yeah, and Hop’s sucked at poker since we started this weekly gig. You don’t see me complaining. He keeps me supplied with bling, yo.”
I shove a moon cake in my mouth so I don’t laugh at this little hip-hop dude.
Hop says, “Yeah, yeah. Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Ah dude, they be helping the latest FOB figure out the bus system. They’ll be here any minute.”
Hop nods.
“FOB?” I ask.
Hien tucks a large bite in his cheek. “Fresh Off the Boat. As in still not speaking the English well.”
“Oh.”
Hop says, “Our group … we take them in until they get things figured out. And Hien, here, he’s our non-example of how to fit in.”
I think about Jorge and ask, “Are these FOBs legal?”
Hien narrows his eyes. “You legal?”
I lean back. “Totally didn’t mean it that way dude. I just wondered if I could help, you know?”
Hop pelts Hien with the paper towel right between the eyes. “He wants to go into immigration law. Help people not get deported, yo.”
Hien wads the paper towel and throws it back at Hop. “Yeah, well, you never know.”
Jorge’s face floats through my mind. I can’t let it go. “They have a place to go? You know, like use computers. Learn English. Find a lawyer?”
“Yeah,” Little Hien says. “There’s an Asian American Cultural Center that helps FOBs. But their computers suck.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s better to go to the library. Lawyers? They’re for peeps with cash, bro.”
I nod, thinking I bet Ma could get the university to donate some old computers to them. Ones that are only a year or so old.
The door flies open and three guys come in talking smack. They head straight for the moon cakes and help themselves. If Hien is a Future Pimp, the rest of these guys have futures in the computer or gaming industry.
Soon the game of poker begins. Texas Hold’em. I’ve seen this game on TV and played it a few times on the Internet.
I arrange my cards, then ask, “What’s the ante?”
Hien says, “Twenty-five cents.”
And so we’re off. About halfway into the game, with most of my money gone, Hien looks up at me and asks, “So how do you and Hop know each other?”
I toss out a quarter. “From our internship at Bristol and Wentworth.”
“Internship?” Hien tugs his sunglasses down a bit and looks at Hop with one eyebrow raised.
Hop cracks his knuckles. Then he chimes back, “Hey, there are hot, styling babes where I work. Better than the catch at the lame-o movie theater.”
Sunglasses shoot back up and Hien slouches into his chair. “Hey. I get you into free movies, so show some respect.” He leans back into the table. “What kind of hot babes? You gonna hook a bro up?”
“You don’t need a girl,” Hop says. “You need status. The legal kind. I was thinking Ford and I might figure out a way to help.”
He looks across the table at me. Jorge flashes through my mind again. I glance at Hien, who’s sitting there tense behind his glasses, constantly rearranging his cards. My summer just took on a whole