Work Text:
"Come, my beloved,
consider the lilies.
We are of little faith.
We talk too much.
Put your mouthful of words away"
-Anne Sexton
--
It was the summer before college, the very day after graduation, and the streets were yawning and empty and brimming with possibility. Winwin’s bones hummed along to the tune of it all, the strange magic. It was familiar, this sparking electricity; it felt like coming home. He waited for the street racing tournament every summer (plus a few spontaneous races during the school year), and he was leaving after this. It was his last chance to win.
There was music playing on his stereo, but Winwin was barely registering the melody, only the vibrations of the bass. He was sitting in his silver Nissan GT-R, complete with a red leather interior, racing tires, a menacing spoiler, a growling engine, and a neon pink light under the car that illuminated the street as he drove. The Nissan was conspicuous, almost garish. Eye-catching, at the very least. Winwin liked it that way.
The good thing about living in a washed-up mining town in South Dakota was that there were endless stretches of empty road and empty fields, abandoned buildings from past failed enterprises dotting the countryside. The west side of town was full of these ghosts. It was perfect for street racing— vast and unoccupied roads that the police pretended to ignore because they were too lazy to arrest a bunch of teenagers and have to deal with their parents. When the police did come, which was rare, the organizer of the races paid them off easily. Taeyong Lee. His parents were big money, though Winwin always forgot where it came from.
There was a crowd gathering on the side of a road where people were sitting in their cars, similar to Winwin’s in their flashy fashion, that crushed the long yellow grass beneath their tires. Winwin came to a stop next to a Honda Civic with a flame decal on the side (tacky, but perhaps in a purposeful way). He stood from his seat and shut the car door behind him with a satisfying thunk.
“If it isn’t Dong Sicheng!” a voice called out from a few spaces down.
“Ten,” Winwin called back, walking over to his friend.
Ten was sitting on the hood of an Audi with a boy’s arm draped around his shoulders. Winwin recognized the boy from school, but couldn’t remember his name. “Howdy,” Ten said, smiling in that catlike way of his, like he knew something you didn't. “Thought you’d be off to Harvard or wherever by now.”
“Princeton,” Winwin said, even though Ten knew the name of the school. He was just messing with him.
Ten leaned closer to his boy and said in a stage whisper, “His parents bought his way in.” The boy didn't seem to know whether or not he should laugh at this. It was a trap.
“Shut up,” Winwin said, and sat next to Ten on the Audi. He scooched over a little to make room.
“Sicheng, this is Johnny. Johnny, this is Sicheng.”
That was right— Johnny from sophomore year orchestra. He was total shit at the violin. “Call me Winwin,” he said. “Ten just likes to show off that he can pronounce my Chinese name. This a date?”
Johnny, who Winwin had fully expected to turn very red, just smiled. “Fourth one. And I speak a little Chinese.”
Winwin’s eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead, searching for his hairline. “Fourth date?” he asked Ten, ignoring the statement about Chinese. “You marrying this one, or what?”
Ten combed through his bangs with his fingers, which was how Winwin knew he wasn’t as confident as he was appearing. “Very funny,” he said dryly, but didn't meet Winwin’s eyes. Winwin wondered why he hadn’t heard about this before. Ten was usually very loud about his boys, who were generally seen on a weekly to monthly basis. He collected gays in their area code like pokemon. Winwin was sure he’d run out someday, but as of yet, he didn't seem to be slowing down.
Winwin didn't say anything else on the topic, reading his best friend’s tone easily and knowing when to back off. Instead, he scanned Johnny up and down out of the corner of his eye. He was tall, he could tell even if he was sitting down. His face was sort of heart shaped, his lips pouty. His hair was floppy and chestnut brown. He wore skinny jeans, a band t-shirt (though Winwin couldn’t read the logo), and a leather jacket. Teenage heartthrob material— definitely Ten’s type.
Ten suddenly gasped, startling Winwin out of his scrutiny of Johnny. “Fucking hell. This should be interesting.”
Winwin looked in the direction Ten’s eyes were pointing. “What? I don’t—”
“Yukhei Wong.”
And just like summoning a demon, as soon as Ten invoked the name, the boy himself appeared. He was getting out of his black Mitsubishi the way some famous actor that suburban moms called “ruggedly handsome” would get out of a car in a commercial. His hair was slicked back like he knew people were watching him. He was wearing a silver chain around his neck, but it had to be plastic.
He’d been gone the whole of senior year. Rumor was his parents got divorced and his dad dragged him all the way to San Francisco and got rich, but here he was, right back in South Dakota.
He was tanner than Winwin remembered.
“Didn't he move to California?” Johnny asked.
“Fucking guess not,” Ten said.
Winwin leaned back against the hood of the car once more nonchalantly, ignoring the way his pulse jumped loudly in his throat. “I beat him last year. I can beat him again.”
In the meantime, Yukhei had sauntered over to the organizer of the races, Taeyong, and was talking to him with a grin on his face. And then he was pointing in Winwin’s direction. Taeyong looked over and made eye contact with Winwin, and then he smiled slightly and nodded at Yukhei. They shook hands. It was like watching a deal going down in a movie about the Italian mafia, but this time, they were Asian. And not fifty years old.
Winwin squinted. “The fuck does that mean?”
Ten shrugged.
Then it was midnight, and the first race of the summer officially started.
This was technically a practice round— a sort of trial run. It didn't count for your racing stats, but it would count (unofficially, of course) for those who bet on you. After this round, there would be the organized races—the ones that actually counted—in the same place every Saturday (though not everyone came to all of them). Those set up a bracket for all the racers, and the ones with a real chance at winning moved up quickly. The last weekend of the summer was for the finals, the best of the best.
Winwin had gotten second place overall last year, second only to a guy who had graduated and was now far gone. He’d been so close. And he wasn’t about to miss his chance at winning this year, the last year he would be here. It was the only worthwhile thing about this town.
The first race was between two college dropouts in souped up Hondas. Neither made especially good time, but it was a good warm-up for the audience, which was almost entirely made up of other racers. There were few exceptions to this trend— one of them being Johnny, who looked entirely transfixed by the whole process. Ten turned to watch him every once in a while, seeming satisfied that he’d picked a worthy fourth date. Winwin knew his best friend was thinking about how much better that starry-eyed expression would be once he saw Ten racing in the Audi they were currently sitting on.
Before it was Ten’s turn, though, it was Winwin’s. He pushed himself off the Audi and strolled over to his own car. The familiar leather of the seat molded easily to the shape of his body as he got in, maneuvering it easily onto the asphalt. The engine rumbled under his feet, poised to strike.
He turned his head to his left, fully expecting to see Hendery Wong’s recognizable white Subaru next to him. They were actually pretty good friends, and besides, Winwin could beat him easily. It was a good warm-up race for the start of the year.
Instead, he saw a black Mitsubishi, and through its window, the smug face of his rival from the previous year’s tournament.
Winwin set his jaw.
Yukhei had bribed someone just to race Winwin, replacing Hendery. He wanted to win, to soothe his ego from last summer. Winwin wouldn’t let him. There was too much riding on this.
Yukhei revved his engine. Winwin’s nostrils flared.
The whistle blew, and he stepped on the accelerator.
His engine was strong, a real force of nature. He’d spent so long looking for the perfect one, armed with the knowledge that his parents would buy whatever he wanted. He even got them to make it stick-shift, which Winwin preferred not because it was faster but because it was more fun. The Nissan shot forward with such power that Winwin’s torso was pressed back against his seat. He felt like an astronaut taking off in a rocket, shooting towards the moon. The steering wheel was cool and reassuring beneath his hands.
He shifted gears and revelled in the blur of the countryside lining the road.
But then the Mitsubishi’s nose was in his peripheral vision. Winwin changed gears again, knowing he had a while to go before he needed to brake, yet the car on his left continued to creep past him, inch by inch.
Winwin pressed down on the accelerator in disbelief, forcing the pedal to the floor. His engine was good. Yukhei’s car was old. He should’ve been winning easily. But the two of them were only halfway to the finish line, and if things kept going as they were, Yukhei would win. With the same car as last year.
In an attempt to scare the Mitsubishi into submission, Winwin swerved slightly toward the car. All it accomplished was allowing Yukhei to pull ahead, Winwin going off track. Yukhei’s tires kicked up a small pile of dust from the side of the road, and a determined piece of gravel embedded itself into his windshield. Winwin startled at the loud noise and cursed under his breath. He didn't have the patience to deal with a cracked windshield right now.
By the time he looked back at the stretch of pavement in front of him, the Mitsubishi had crossed the finish line. Winwin, scowling, let his car roll forward across the line and come to a stop.
Yukhei stood out of his car and shut the door behind him, his face lit up with a wide, cocky smile. He walked to the other side of the car and leaned against the passenger’s side door, facing Winwin. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Winwin knew he was waiting for a comradely handshake, as was customary after a fair race. Winwin just stared at him coolly from behind the tinted windows of the Nissan.
He kicked the car into gear and started driving home. The black Mitsubishi turned into a speck in his rearview mirror.
Home was on the east side of town. Where the west side was collapsing, the east side was growing, the office buildings standing taller each year. That side of the city was mostly populated with Chinese businessmen, including Winwin’s parents. The Dong family embodied the city, both the good and the bad. They’d been wealthy in China, but there was a business opportunity in New York, and the company had a big strand located in the Corn Belt. Yuyan and Baojing Dong took the opportunity. Now they split their time between South Dakota, New York, and Hong Kong. Wherever they went, they left Winwin at home.
It was 2 in the morning by the time he got home. The stars twinkled at him judgmentally from high above.
He slammed the Nissan’s door shut and stormed inside. He didn't bother to be quiet; his parents were more than likely still in their respective offices at the opposite end of the massive house from Winwin’s room. Every time he stayed out so late, which was almost every night, they either genuinely believed he was in bed or they didn't care. Whatever it was, it made it easier for Winwin to do what he wanted when he wanted.
He flicked the hallway lights on and rummaged through the fridge for something to eat. All he could find was boiled eggs and orange juice. He hated boiled eggs, so he drank the orange juice and then trudged down the hall to his room, taking the half-empty carton with him.
His little brother’s room was right across the hallway, and he was a deep sleeper. Winwin cracked the door open gently, checking to make sure Nathan Dong was asleep.
Unlike his older brother, Nathan didn't have a cool nickname. Just a Chinese name (though he didn't speak Chinese since he was born after they’d moved) and an English name their parents had chosen. Winwin had one, too, but he hated it. He was either Dong Sicheng, or he was Winwin. Originally, he was Winwin because it was easy to pronounce and it had already been his nickname when he lived in China. Now, he was Winwin because he didn't lose.
Usually.
Nate’s room was illuminated only by the blue glow of his nightlight, which was a plastic crescent moon that sat on his bedside table. Winwin tiptoed in, expertly avoiding the toys strewn haphazardly across the carpet.
He smoothed Nate’s hair up over his forehead. His skin was warm and damp in the way that small children’s skin generally was when sleeping. Nate smelled like vanilla milk and the sensitive shampoo their mother still used for him (he always complained other kinds made him itchy afterwards). He was wearing blue cotton pajamas patterned with trains even though Nate didn't particularly care about trains, because they were boys’ pajamas and boys liked trains. So there they were.
Nate’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as Winwin bent to kiss his forehead, but he stayed asleep.
Winwin tiptoed out of the room and closed the door gently behind him, making sure the doorknob didn't click too loudly.
“Did he wake up?” someone said in Chinese.
Winwin jumped, heart leaping in his chest, then turned to face his father, who was standing (tall, broad, suit-wearing) at the end of the hallway. “Jesus, Dad,” Winwin whispered. “Uh, yeah. He had a nightmare. S’all good.”
There was a pause in which the only sound perpetrating the silence was the static buzz of the air conditioning.
“Are you going to bed? It’s late,” Mr. Dong said.
Winwin nodded.
“Did you just get home?”
No point in lying more than he already had. “Graduation party,” Winwin said. Mr. Dong looked as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe his son. “No drinks. You can smell my breath if you want.”
“That’s okay, Sicheng. You get some rest, okay? First day of work tomorrow.”
Winwin had forgotten. He pretended he hadn’t. “Yep. Goodnight, Dad.”
His father shuffled back down the hallway to the other end of the house, where the master bedroom was located. Winwin slipped soundlessly into his room. He stripped off his clothes and burrowed under his blankets, barely remembering to set an alarm on his phone before passing out.
—
Work was at eight, and Winwin had Nathan strapped into a carseat by 7:45. Right on time. He wasn’t taking the Nissan; it needed gas, anyway. Instead, he settled into the driver’s seat of his dad’s Mercedes, which was a nicer car by anyone’s standards, but not at all suitable for racing. For racing, your car had to be crash-able and cool as shit. Winwin had installed a pink light fixture to his. The Mercedes did not have a pink light fixture. Or a spoiler.
It was suitable to drive to work, though. Winwin was in charge of a bunch of kids (Nate among them) and he had a feeling their parents wouldn’t trust his street racing car in the parking lot.
Winwin had been working at the town’s shitty nature museum, which doubled as a summer camp, for the past three years. Nathan had been going with him for just as long. Everyone benefited— Winwin got paid, Nate got to hold snakes, and their parents got free babysitting.
The museum was a ten minute drive from their house with only two stoplights on the way. Somehow, Yukhei’s Mitsubishi managed to catch him at the second.
Winwin resolutely did not look over, but he could see the shiny black paint job in the corner of his eye, and the identifier of the car— the bouncy plastic Buddha stuck on the dashboard. Winwin had no doubt Yukhei was looking at him. The engine growled in perfect congruence with the oppressive summer heat outside.
Green, Winwin told the light. Turn green. 3, 2, 1. The light stayed red.
Yukhei rolled down the window. Winwin’s was already down, since the air conditioning took a while to set in, but now he contemplated rolling it back up.
“Dong Sicheng!” Yukhei shouted through his window. “Traffic light race me in your daddy’s Jaguar!” He definitely knew the car was not a Jaguar.
Winwin stubbornly kept his foot on the brake. “My baby brother’s in the backseat, you fuck.”
Yukhei looked surprised for only a second before his face split back into a smile. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I’ll kiss your mother with this mouth,” Winwin muttered, unable to stop himself.
Yukhei didn't seem to hear. “We’re cool about last night, right?” he asked, still shouting a little over the noise of his radio, which was half top 40s hits, half static.
“What happened last night?” Nate asked from behind Winwin.
“Nothing. Play your pokemon.”
The light turned green. Winwin rolled the window up, deciding to suffer through the lukewarm air conditioning. He put his foot on the gas and stayed exactly at the speed limit for the rest of the drive. Yukhei’s Mitsubishi stayed at the side of his car the entire time. Where could he possibly be going? He must’ve been following Winwin just to annoy him. Asshole. He could practically feel Yukhei grinning at him from the left lane.
Winwin pulled into the nature museum’s parking lot, expecting the Mitsubishi to keep going. Yukhei had to be bored of following him. To his surprise, it pulled in right next to him. And the engine turned off. Winwin got out of the car to unbuckle Nathan from the backseat.
Yukhei’s door slammed, and he appeared on the sidewalk.
“Why are you here?” Winwin asked him.
“I work here,” Yukhei said.
Winwin’s mouth opened in shock. “No you don’t. I work here.”
“I think they might have more than one employee,” Yukhei remarked.
Lost for words, Winwin took Nathan’s hand and walked him inside the museum. The bell above the door chimed cheerfully as the door swung open. It would be another half hour until all the kids were dropped off for the day, but Winwin’s boss, Amy, was sitting at the front desk, squinting at something on her computer screen.
“You hired him?” Winwin asked, gesturing to Yukhei, who was right behind him.
Amy blinked and looked up at them. “A hello would be nice,” she said.
“Hello, Amy. Good morning,” Yukhei told her pleasantly.
“Good morning, Yukhei. Glad to see one of you has manners. And yes, Winwin, I recently hired Yukhei. Samantha can’t work this summer and I need an extra assistant for morning shifts. Why, do you two know each other?”
“We’re friends,” Yukhei said at the same time Winwin said, “Not really.” Winwin shot him a look. Yukhei didn't make eye contact, but he bit back a smile.
“He’s bitter because I won Monopoly last night,” Yukhei said.
Winwin bit his cheek. “I haven’t played Monopoly for awhile.”
“I’ve been playing a lot of Monopoly in California,” Yukhei informed him.
“Oh really?” Winwin asked, raising his eyebrows. “Fancy Monopoly in fancy California for fancy Yukhei. How nice is that.”
Amy glanced between the two of them. “Is this going to be a problem?” she asked.
Winwin deflated. “No, no problem.”
“I don’t want you two fighting, or whatever that was, in front of the kids. We’re professionals. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
Amy nodded. “Good. Winwin, will you get out the sign-in sheet and the arts and crafts supplies? They’re somewhere in the rolling closet. And Yukhei, just do a quick sweep and wipe off the tables, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Winwin said. Amy saluted him, smiling, before he walked off to find the organized plastic bins for arts and crafts. They’d been locked up in the closet for months, at least half the markers probably dry by now.
Amy had already gotten out all the tables and chairs, so all there was left to do was to put some finishing touches. Nate watched him work from his spot sitting on top of the counter, swinging his legs cheerfully. Winwin did his best to ignore Yukhei orbiting around him with the broom and dustpan.
“I didn't know you worked here,” Yukhei said once they’d finished setting up the space.
Winwin glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, showing only a few minutes until the kids would all arrive. “I do,” he replied.
“Do you like it?”
“No. It’s the worst job ever. You should quit, save yourself.”
Yukhei laughed. Winwin glared at him from under his hair, as he was ducking down to pick up a pencil that had rolled off the table and onto the linoleum floor. Yukhei opened his mouth, seeming to be gearing up to say something else, but at that moment various children's noises came from the front room (squealing, laughing, mysterious wet sounds). Winwin jogged out to the front desk.
There were about fifteen children total scattered around, each putting their shoes in their cubbies or clinging to their parents or saying hi to each other. Nate was among them, happily clutching his best friend Ryan’s arm amidst the melee of small goblins.
Amy was busy greeting all the parents, so Winwin started wading through and high fiving and/or hugging kids, depending on whether or not they were the hugging type. He recognized about half from various summer camps last year. The kids that knew him yelled his name and jumped up and down until they got his attention. The others obligingly gave him a high five, smiling shyly. He’d work on that.
Eventually, all the parents were gone. Amy and Winwin exchanged a look and then began to herd the kids into the big main room.
“Sit wherever you want for now!” Amy said over the ruckus. There was the brief, plastic clatter of chairs being pulled out to sit in, and then Winwin finally let himself breathe.
“Hi, everyone! My name is Amy, and I’m your head counselor this week!”
“Hi,” everyone chorused.
“And these are my two assistant counselors, Winwin and Yukhei. A lot of you probably already know Winwin, he was here last summer. He liked you guys so much he decided to come back!” Nathan looked doubtful. Amy continued, “I know you’re all super excited to do some fun stuff. We’re gonna do art projects, and science experiments, and see some really cool animals. Can anyone tell me what they’re most excited for?”
Yukhei leaned over to Winwin and whispered, “I’m excited to make a paper airplane.”
Winwin refused to smile.
The day went by in a blur. They played with legos, made paper airplanes, and ate popsicles. Winwin did his best to ignore Yukhei throughout the entire thing, which was surprisingly easy given that the kids demanded a lot of attention. By the end of the camp, Winwin had practically forgotten that Yukhei was even there. He was completely absorbed in his job (for better or for worse) until the last of the kids had left. Even Nate was gone, since he’d planned for a playdate with Ryan afterwards and Ryan’s mom had driven them both home.
He slipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time: 12:26. Time to break out the cleaning supplies and then head home.
Winwin opened the supply closet to take out the Clorox spray, but Yukhei beat him to it. He reached over his head and took the plastic bottle from the shelf, then spun away before Winwin could hit him. Winwin took the broom and dustpan from where they were leaning against the wall instead, not bothering to respond to Yukhei’s gleeful laughter. It was a pointless victory. The Clorox wipes always made Winwin’s hands a confusing type of sticky, anyway.
He was silent, just focusing on getting the floor clean of scraps of paper and popsicle wrappers, until Yukhei threw a rag at him. It landed smack dab in the middle of his face, and Winwin reached out with his hands in blind rage (literally). He had luck, his arms meeting Yukhei’s chest. The rag fell off his face, and Winwin saw that he had pushed Yukhei against a table. Yukhei was smiling.
“What?” Winwin asked.
“How long have you been working here?”
Winwin leaned back, still frowning. “Three years.”
“Who knew Winwin Dong was such a softie?”
“I’m not a ‘softie’. I need a job, and what kind of person doesn’t like kids?”
“Most people our age.”
Winwin grunted. He was going to respond, but Amy poked her head out from the office. “If you two are done,” she called, “you can clock out. I’m not paying you to mess up what you just finished cleaning.”
Winwin stepped back from Yukhei, who straightened up. “Sorry, Amy,” he said. Winwin stashed the broom back in its corner, and Yukhei put the Clorox and rags back in the closet.
“See you,” Yukhei yelled as Winwin walked out the door.
“Yeah, sure,” Winwin responded, and the door closed with a soft tingling of bells.
Yukhei only appeared to have shifts on Mondays and Wednesdays, so Winwin had to see him no more than twice a week. Which— well. Count your blessings. Three out of five of his work days were dickhead-free. The problem was: Yukhei didn't act at work like he did behind the wheel. He was nice. He would not stop smiling. But it wasn’t in a good way, it was like he was manipulating Winwin into softening so he could take out the competition. He kept asking Winwin how he was, and complimenting his little brother’s macaroni art. Winwin didn't trust it.
But he would suffer through it. For the kids. And the money.
—
It was Saturday night, the 30th of June, and Winwin couldn’t fall asleep.
He and Nathan were sleeping at their grandma’s house. Their parents were out of town and had been for the past week, but they still didn't let them stay home alone. They spent most of their time with Grandma Lijing.
He was alone in a room in a tiny house untouched by nary a paint brush or a hammer since the 80s. Winwin was probably breathing asbestos. The air conditioning was too loud, and the air was too hot and heavy even with the AC. Winwin had no idea why Grandma Lijing couldn’t just move into their parents’ house whenever they were gone, instead of him and Nate moving here, but she refused. And his parents didn't have any other options. Winwin’s parents were gone so often in Hong Kong or New York that they may as well have given legal custody to her.
Winwin hated lying in bed wide-awake when he could be doing anything else. Every time he closed his eyes, his head was filled with the sound of the air conditioning whirring around his room omnisciently. Background noise wasn’t so easy to tune out when it was the only sound there was to hear. Even the sweat on his forehead irritated him.
But he had a car in the driveway. Empty. Waiting. Ready to go.
He slipped on his shoes and tiptoed down the hall, trying not to wake Nate in the next room over. He didn't bother putting on clothes— his pajamas were just a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt (it had a logo on it, but it was too faded to read). The front door creaked when Winwin opened it, and he winced, waiting for Grandma to emerge and ask him where he was going. When no one came, he slipped out and closed the door behind him very, very slowly.
He hopped into the front seat of his car and turned the ignition key. The car started, and Winwin backed out of the driveway, hoping it wasn’t too loud.
Winwin’s go-to place for nights like this was the 7-Eleven. It was a short drive from Grandma’s neighborhood, and (most importantly) it had Ruffles Sour Cream and Onion chips.
The parking lot of the gas station was empty save for one car, so Winwin stole the spot closest to the entrance. An electronic chime sounded throughout the store when Winwin opened the door, and the employee who had been flipping through a magazine glanced up briefly before going back to her reading. Winwin squinted slightly because of the harsh lighting as he wandered into the chips aisle, looking for Ruffles. He ended up buying two bags. The clerk was ringing him up when the electronic chime came again, and both of them looked to the door. It was 2 a.m. Who would be coming to 7-Eleven? (Aside from Winwin).
It was Yukhei, of all people. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants almost identical to Winwin’s and a red sweatshirt that said “LACROSSE 2019 TCHS.”
Winwin was prepared to ignore him, but Yukhei said, “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Buying chips?”
“Uh.” Winwin handed his debit card to the clerk and waited as she swiped it. “Yeah.”
“It’s pretty late.”
“Yeah.” Winwin took his debit card back and tucked it into his wallet. Yukhei stood there. Winwin made to leave the store, and Yukhei followed him. Winwin looked at him. “You’re not gonna buy anything?”
“Oh. Can I have one of your bags of chips?”
Winwin clutched his chips tighter to his chest. “No.”
Yukhei shrugged. “Okay. I see you have your Nissan.”
Winwin glanced at his car. The Mitsubishi was parked next to it. “Yep.”
“Wanna race?”
Winwin laughed, and not in a nice way. “No.”
“Why?” Yukhei asked.
Winwin didn't respond, just went to his car and got in. He set his chips in the passenger’s seat. He still wasn’t tired, so he resolved to drive in circles for a little while until he wanted to go home. He pulled out of the gas station parking lot and turned onto the main road. He was waiting for the light to turn green when the Mitsubishi pulled up in the left lane. Winwin gave in and looked over to Yukhei. He grinned at Winwin and revved his engine.
So what did it matter, anyway? There would be no one around to see him lose, and he would have bragging rights if he won. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
Winwin put his best competition smirk on his face to signal that he was ready and curled his fingers around the stick shift.
The light turned green.
Both cars lurched forward.
This road was one that led directly out of town, to the highway. Without talking, the both of them decided the finish line would be the exit ramp.
The night grew darker the farther they got from the lights of town. The street lamps weren’t very bright, and the moon was covered by clouds. Still, Winwin could see the road in front of him and the shiny black surface of the car next to him. They were toe to toe, completely matched. Winwin wasn’t about to underestimate him this time. He wasn’t going to get distracted. He’d already lost the first practice match of the season, and he wasn’t about to let himself be humiliated again.
Winwin hadn’t bothered to turn music on, so the only noise was the whooshing of the night air surrounding him and the street rumbling under his tires. He couldn’t afford to glance at his speedometer, but it felt like he was going as fast as the car would allow. The semi-official track for the tournament wasn’t nearly this long, didn't allow for so much acceleration in the short time allotted for a race. This was different— the road felt endless. But the exit ramp was coming up faster than he’d thought.
So quickly that Winwin barely processed it, his car had passed the exit ramp. A moment after, his foot was pressing down on the brake. His body was pushed forward as the car fought against its own momentum, until he came to a halt at least fifty feet past the exit ramp.
Even though it was only the car that had been using energy, Winwin was breathing heavily. He finally glanced to his left, and saw the Mitsubishi close behind him in his side mirror. It was parked, and Yukhei was opening his door and walking around the front as he watched.
Winwin smiled slowly. He’d won.
He opened his door and met Yukhei in the middle of the road, the two of them standing right over the white dotted line. He extended his hand, and Yukhei took it. He was still smiling, like his face was stuck or something.
“So you’re not completely washed up yet,” were the first words out of Yukhei’s mouth.
“Dick,” Winwin said, too high on his victory to get worked up about it. “And for whatever it’s worth to you, I won. Don’t beat yourself up or anything.”
Yukhei shrugged. “We’re tied, in the grand scheme of things. Who knows what’ll happen next?”
Winwin humphed and began to saunter back to his car, but was stopped by Yukhei’s hand on his arm. “How about a victory celebration?” he asked. “You still have those chips. I have a fake ID. We could go back to the 7-Eleven and get a couple of beers.”
Winwin raised an eyebrow. “I’ve already come close enough to being arrested once today.”
“Prepare for trouble, make it double.”
Winwin allowed himself to laugh, then. Just because he’d won. Just because the clouds were beginning to part and he could see the stars scattered above him, and the night air was cool and still and full of opportunity. Just because Yukhei’s hair was tossed from the wind and his lips were still smiling at Winwin. And then he said: “Okay.”
They drove back to the 7-Eleven in their respective cars, mostly obeying the speed limit this time, and Winwin waited in his front seat while Yukhei dashed inside. He came back a minute later triumphantly with a six-pack of Bud Light, and slipped into the passenger’s seat of the Nissan. Winwin moved the two bags of Ruffles to make room.
“She definitely knew it was a fake ID,” Yukhei said.
Winwin laughed. “If we get arrested, I’m pinning all the blame on you.”
“Fair enough.” Yukhei reached for one of the Ruffles and pulled the bag open. The pungent smell of cheese and sour cream powder filled the air, and Winwin’s stomach growled. He took his own bag. They both sat in silence, chewing, for a moment.
Then Yukhei cracked open one of the beers and handed it to Winwin. It smelled only vaguely of alcohol, like someone who hadn’t drank in years had been asked to describe what beer was like. Winwin drank it anyway.
“Home sweet home,” Yukhei said. “Tastes like piss.”
“What’d you drink in California, champagne?”
“Avocado juice,” Yukhei deadpanned.
Winwin definitely wasn’t drunk from half a can of beer, but there was something about sitting in a car with his nemesis that was making him bolder than usual. He never would have done anything like this if the night hadn’t gone exactly right, but he leaned over the middle of the car and asked, “Why are you back?”
Yukhei took another sip of beer, maintaining full eye contact with Winwin the entire time. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Why are you here instead of California?”
Yukhei considered this, drumming his fingers on the top of his can. “My, uh. My dad can’t take me this summer, so I’m staying with my mom.”
So the rumors were true. “They’re not together anymore?”
“No,” Yukhei said, shaking his head. “No. For what it’s worth, I did want to stay in California. Dad wouldn’t let me.”
“Where’s he going?” Winwin said. He should really stop asking questions.
“China.”
Winwin settled back into his seat, realizing that he was still very close to Yukhei’s face. “My parents are in China right now. Hong Kong.”
“Yeah, well. He’s not there for business, he’s there to take care of my uncle.”
There was a pause. “Is he… okay?”
“He’s sick,” Yukhei said. He was looking at his lap.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve only met the guy a couple times. Just sucks that I’m stuck here for the summer.”
Winwin wasn’t sure what came over him, but he leaned over the center again and said, “If it’s any consolation, you have me.” Yukhei looked at him. “And, uh, a good job. It pays well. And Nate loves you, so I mean, clearly you’re not horrible with kids.”
“Aw, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Yukhei said, bringing his hand to his heart.
“Stop it,” Winwin said.
“No, I’m touched, really!” Yukhei laughed, and the spell was broken. Winwin stayed there, though, sideways in his seat, hovering over his armrest. When he didn't move, Yukhei said, “What?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Winwin breathed.
Yukhei blinked. “I— what?”
“You’ve always hated me. Why do you suddenly…”
“I never hated you.”
Winwin stared at him incredulously. “Yes, you do. You’re, like, my rival. Since forever. You pushed me off the fucking swing in second grade.”
“I did? I don’t even remember that.”
“Yeah, well, I got splinters from the wood chips.”
“Sorry. But I never hated you.”
“When we were twelve, you put salt in my Gatorade at lunch.”
“It was April fool’s day.”
“It was April third, Yukhei.”
Yukhei shrugged. “I’ve never been good with numbers.”
“Last year, when you lost to me, you came up to me and shook my hand and said, ‘You deserved it.’ I could hear it in your voice that you wanted to kill me. That’s the most sarcastic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Yukhei squinted. “I was upset at losing, but do you really think if I was that angry at you I would have come up and said, good game? What do you mean, sarcastic? Can’t a guy have good sportsmanship?”
“You— you— but.” Winwin’s mouth gaped like a fish. “You hit me in the face with a cleaning rag the first day of work.”
Yukhei was trying not to laugh now, Winwin could tell. “Uh, yeah, as a joke? Have you never had, like, a pillow fight with a friend or something? I don’t hate you, Winwin.”
“Then why did you push me off the swing in second grade?”
Yukhei laughed out loud this time. “I don’t know, I was eight!”
Winwin leaned back against his seat. Yukhei, surprisingly, leaned forward. “Look, I might be overstepping here,” he said. Winwin didn't interrupt him, so he kept going. “But… like, you don’t have to act like the whole world is against you. You’re so… closed off. Like some sort of brooding anime character. That whole shtick. I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel real? I think this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with you, and I still feel like there’s this bubble around you. You know? I think you make it hard for people to get close to you on purpose.”
Winwin stared at him for a moment. “Thanks for psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Phil.”
Yukhei wasn’t swayed by this. “Everyone’s life sucks in some way or another. You’re not, like, this tragic hero who’s bound to always be lonely and sarcastic. This isn’t a movie. Sadness is meant to be shared.”
“Who says I’m sad?” Winwin said.
“Everyone’s sad. That’s my point.”
Yukhei’s eyes were wide and earnest. It was the only reason Winwin wasn’t shoving him out of the car right now. “Why are you sad?” Winwin said.
Yukhei sighed. “You wanna know? Okay. Group therapy time. I’ll trade you my sob story for yours.”
Winwin chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He didn't feel like spilling his guts, but he suddenly had to know. “Okay,” he decided.
Yukhei sat back in his chair, facing forward so he was looking out the front windshield at the bright storefront of the 7-Eleven. The fluorescent lights reflected in his eyes. Through the glass door, Winwin could see the clerk with her face resting in her folded arms, hair falling over her eyes like a curtain. She was tired. Winwin wished he were tired.
“My parents got divorced two years ago. I think they’ve been wanting to since I was a kid, but they didn't for whatever reason until it got to be too much. But anyway, my dad went to California and my mom and I stayed here. And my mom’s never been, you know, the best parent ever. She never packed my school lunches when I was a kid, or kissed a booboo better, or read me books or sang me lullabies to go to bed, or any of those things moms are supposed to do. But she wasn’t, like, actively mean. But when my dad left to go to San Diego, she started drinking. And saying, um—”
Yukhei paused here to scratch his nose. “Saying mean things. That sounds so stupid, I’m sorry, I mean she would— I don’t know why I’m sugar-coating this. She started getting drunk all the time and being, like, abusive. In multiple ways. And I didn't want to tell my dad because he was already stressed out about whatever, so I just stayed there. But last year they finally got a divorce settlement and the judge decided I would go live with my dad in California. So I did. And that was fine, for a year. But then he had to go to China to take care of my uncle and it just didn't make sense to take me, for several reasons, so he sent me to live with my mom again.”
Winwin held his breath.
“So I’ve been here since May, just not going to school. And she was being normal, pretty much. She was still drinking, but she wasn’t as bad, I guess. But she’s started being… you know, again.”
Winwin waited before he spoke. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s actually—” Yukhei laughed, but it didn't sound happy. “That’s actually why I’m here. I live in your neighborhood now. I mean, my mom’s house is there. She locked me out of the house because I ate leftovers I wasn’t supposed to and I saw you leave and I didn't have anything else to do so I followed you. Sorry if that’s creepy.”
“No,” Winwin said. “I mean, maybe a little. But it turned out fine.” Yukhei laughed. “I don’t even live there most of the time. It’s actually my grandma’s house. Nate and I are just staying there ‘cause my parents are gone.”
Yukhei swiped beneath his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, and Winwin pretended he didn't see it.
“A deal’s a deal,” Yukhei told him. “Your turn.”
Winwin blew out a breath. “I’ll sound fucking stupid following that.”
“Problems are not relative,” Yukhei said.
“Where’d you learn that?”
“New York Times. Now tell me your sob story.”
“It’s not really a sob story, but okay. I don’t know. I guess my parents have never really been around much. Classic shit. They’re gone, maybe, seventy percent of the time, which is why Nate and I stay at Grandma Lijing’s. They know I’m upset about it, so they buy me shit to make up for it. Which doesn’t work, but it’s also the reason why I have a nice new car even though I crashed the old one and didn't tell them why, so I’m not complaining.”
There was a short silence. Winwin wondered if he should say the next part. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I think everybody’s kind of lonely, but I’m really lonely sometimes. Like, I made fun of you for psychoanalyzing me but you were kind of on the nose. I know I’m pushing people away from me. The only friends I have are Ten and Hendery, and Hendery’s more like a friendly acquaintance. So yeah, I’m aware I’m doing it. The problem is I don’t know how to stop.”
“That sucks,” Yukhei said.
Winwin laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it sucks. Cheers to mommy issues,” he said, and they raised their aluminum cans in a toast. Yukhei drank the rest of his can, and when he was done, Winwin said, “Not to be, like, the responsible one in the situation, but have you thought about reporting your mom? Or at least telling your dad about it?”
Yukhei shifted in his seat, and the leather made a creaking noise. “I’ve thought about it. Haven’t done it, but I’ve thought about it.” Winwin waited. “He’s in China. What’s he gonna do, right? And I don’t want my mom to get arrested.”
“They won’t necessarily arrest her,” Winwin said, and inside he was yelling, She deserves it.
“Won’t risk it. It sounds dumb, but she’s my mom. I know it’s a shitty situation, but I really don’t want to talk about it any more than I have to.”
“Okay,” Winwin said. He wanted so badly to tell someone about Yukhei’s mom, but it wasn’t his problem to deal with. “Just. Be careful, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
The store lights turned off as they watched, and a minute later, the clerk was coming out the door and locking it behind her. She got into her Kia and drove away. 7-Eleven was supposed to be open all night long, but Winwin couldn’t blame her for closing up. Just because he wasn’t tired didn't mean the world wasn’t sleeping—the corner of the world called South Dakota, anyway. And that corner of the world, however small it was, was all that mattered right then.
It was 3:23 a.m., and Winwin was stuck in his corner.
“Dong Sicheng,” Yukhei said, and Winwin turned to look at him. “You don’t have to be lonely.”
It took a moment for Winwin to process that Yukhei was speaking in Mandarin, and by the time he had realized, Yukhei was leaning towards him. It was dark now that the 7-Eleven’s lights were off, the only source of light coming from the neon numbers on Winwin’s dashboard. They didn't do much to illuminate Yukhei’s face, so all Winwin saw as he was coming toward him was an impression of a blurry face, a dark outline, like it was already a memory.
And then he was kissing him. Winwin’s eyes were closed, but he was still seeing stars.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that there was a hand on his waist, so hot it felt like it was branding him, and the cold tip of Yukhei’s nose was brushing against his cheek, and the ends of his hair were tickling Winwin’s face.
Somewhere, he could sense that Yukhei smelled like generic shampoo and mint and some sort of manly aftershave, that he tasted like cheese Ruffles and beer, which should have been a disgusting combination yet somehow wasn’t. Somewhere, he was noticing all of this, but his mind was mostly occupied by:
I AM BEING KISSED.
Winwin didn't realize he was so tense until Yukhei squeezed his shoulder with his giant, warm hand, and suddenly his entire body relaxed like he’d been shocked. Yukhei pulled back. Winwin chased the kiss for a moment before letting him go, but he didn't go far. He was too close for Winwin to see more than a blurry image of his lower lashes and nose. Winwin let out the breath he’d been holding against Yukhei’s lips, just centimeters from his own.
He didn't know what to say.
“You don’t have to be lonely,” Yukhei repeated, in English.
Winwin stared at his lips as they uttered the words, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. It was a revelation. His lips. Or maybe his words.
“Okay,” Winwin said.
“Okay,” Yukhei said. Neither of them moved.
“We have work tomorrow,” Winwin said.
“Then you’d better get some sleep.”
Winwin looked at him. “You can’t get in your house.”
“I’ll sleep in my car,” Yukhei said, biting his lip.
And this didn't seem fair, so before he could stop myself, Winwin said, “Come to my house.” Yukhei moved away a little more so he could look at him, and the distance made Winwin less brave. He could see Yukhei’s face, poorly lit as it was. “Really.”
“Fine,” Yukhei said. “But I don’t put out on the first date.”
Winwin shoved him back, laughing. “Asshole. You can sleep on the floor.”
Yukhei cracked a smile, seeming pleased with himself. “Okay.”
He got back in the Mitsubishi. Winwin started his engine. The two of them drove home, the Mitsubishi tailing the Nissan, and Winwin let the stereo stay quiet, let his heartbeat fill his ears, let himself drive slow back to his grandma’s house.
It was June 30th. Winwin let himself smile.