The Popstar & Me

Chapter 4 - Cucumber Roll Meet Sea Cucumber

Chapter 4

Calvin and Andrew show up thirty minutes late, but it feels more like thirty hours. It's not just that Su and I aren't very good with the small talk. I'm also just about ready to doze off. My jet lag is killing me, and my eyelids can barely stay open even with the loud blaring music.

"I'm ordering a round of Stellas for the table!" Calvin hollers even before the two boys sit down. "No, don't shake your head at me, Sara. Bottoms up on that beer, Su. It's on me."

Su brightens up now that the boys are here. I can see the doctor's pronounced Adam's apple bob ever so slightly as he takes a polite sip of the beer. I notice that he's really skinny, just like the rest of the crowd here. Just about every eye on the bar should have been on Calvin's massive shoulders and he-man jawline. That wasn't the case. Instead, the girls are glancing at Andrew. I wanted to roll my eyes.

With his acne and thick glasses, Math Team Captain Andrew is a catch here just because he has stringy blond hair and green eyes. He was the type of guy who sent girls running off to the bathroom to wash their hands of (after holding his sweaty hands for five seconds in Square Dancing class).

Unfortunately, Andrew's all the company I have right now. Calvin goes off to the bar to place our orders. The club is happening now because it's a Friday night and the weather is breezy. The line at the bar looks at least three skimpily dressed single chicks deep.

"So, what's your story?" Andrew asks as he nervously balances his glass of water on his knee like his long, daddy-long-legs fingers can't balance it without support. "Dad pressuring you to go to med school too, like Calvin?"

"Nah," I mutter, wishing he would stop talking to me. Too bad. There's no chance of that. With every passing second, Andrew's leaning forward more and more. His glasses are practically poking into my temple. "My father hates doctors. He's a writer, or so he thinks."

"Oh, what does he write?"

"Nothing. The highlight of my dad's life was writing code for databases at the MET," I retort. "He wanted to be a writer. He got a Ph.D. from Columbia in Comparative Early American Literature. Then, he realized no one wants to publish some ramblings of a pig-farmer-turned-English teacher."

My father wasn't actually a pig farmer, but I call him that because he never remembers to call me, not even on my birthday. I know where he is physically because I know where he works, and he lives by himself in an apartment in Flushing ever since he and my mom separated, but that's about the extent of it.

"The MET? That's so cool!"

"He doesn't work there anymore. He was fired when I was ten for smoking pot in the break room. He didn't even know he was doing anything wrong. He thought his friend had given him a cigarette. Everyone smokes back in China."

"Oh, that's hilarious."

"My mom didn't think so. She's a nurse, and that was the last straw. He moved out, and he went to work for his best friend at a restaurant called Szechwan Supreme. It made my mom even angrier because it was with the same guy who gave him the pot. The two of them used to go hunting for crabs together on Long Beach. My dad used to love the idea of bringing home free crabs."

"Hey, who doesn't love free stuff?"

"He says he felt stifled doing coding the MET anyway. He says he needs to exercise his creativity."

"Oh, that's crazy," Andrew says and pushes his glasses up his nose again. "Calvin's dad owns a Dunkin' Donuts in Queens. I heard he makes bank. Also, he gives me free munchkins whenever we stop by. It must be great to have family in the food business."