—3 years, 11 months, and 28 days ago—
I stare at the flyer in my hands.
Save the Date. Celebrate National Bacon Day with Lovejoy's!
The deals the cheap fast-food chain offers make my empty wallet scream for joy. But the mention of the only food I've ever hated drives away my hunger.
I guess I have to sit this one out. I fold the flyer and shove it into my pocket.
As I step into the studio's break room, the sight of the largest teeth I've ever seen sends me a few steps back.
Nessa stands before the coffee machine with a creepy grin on her face that reminds me of Pennywise's, her eyes fixed on the CD case in her left hand.
"What are you grinning about, Pennywise? Found a new kid to suck the life out of?" I stop next to her, but she seems to be lost in her own world.
Shaking my head, I pick up one of the cups of coffee from the tray next to the machine and take a sip. The moment the warm drink touches my tongue, I spit it back into the cup. If there's a competition for the worst coffee ever made on Earth, this would easily win—and there's only one person who can brew a coffee this bad.
I shift my gaze to Nessa and peek at the CD she's holding. Photographed on the cover is a seemingly sweet teenager with curly brown hair and an almost innocent smile.
Surprise and disbelief sweep through me when I see the singer's name. "Rayna . . . Sparks?"
Rayna Sparks is a former teen sitcom star famous for her bubblegum-pop music, strange fashion sense, and even weirder antics. Simply put, the twenty-something celebrity is the classic example of a child star gone crazy.
Once, she performed naked at American Music Awards, getting her banned for life from the major event. Yes, I say wearing two plastic stars to cover her nipples and a banana to cover her lady parts is categorized as naked.
Today, the singer—if you can call her that—is visiting our studio for a duet session with one of the artists signed to our label. I couldn't care less about it, and I thought Nessa would think the same way too.
But it seems like I was dead wrong.
"Yes!" Nessa suddenly spins to face me, causing me to jump backward. Her voice comes out higher in pitch than usual when she exclaims, "Look what I got!"
I narrow my eyes at the cover of the CD she's holding out for me to see. "What?"
"This!" she squeals, pointing at the tiny R drawn using a black marker at the bottom right of the CD.
"So what? She's just a—"
Something shiny on the center of Nessa's black hoodie catches my attention.
#Sparklie
I blink at the rainbow-colored, glittered letters, shocked. "You're a Sparklie?"
"Of course, I am!" Nessa's eyes sparkle with exuberance. "I've been the head of Rayna's fan base in Sunnyville ever since I was thirteen, Ol. She's the reason I got into the music business. Can you believe I actually met her?" She bursts into a squeal, making me flinch. "Oh my God! I can't believe I even shook her hands. I'm never gonna wash my hands ever again!"
As she starts jumping up and down with glee, I decide I should leave the room before I'm going deaf. "See ya at lunch, Ness."
But she's too busy squealing to hear a word I'm saying.
Right before the door, I glance over my shoulder and scan Nessa from head to toe. I can't believe I only realize this, but the combination of her youthful face, her small stature, and her clothes make her look more like a teenager on a school field trip than a 23-year-old adult. I swear if she was a secret agent, she'd be the perfect candidate to infiltrate a high school—as a student, of course.
As I leave the room, a burst of amused laughter kicks my throat. My best friend is a thirteen-year-old.
The clock has already struck twelve, but Nessa is nowhere to be found.
I've tried calling her a dozen times, but she's not picking up her damn phone. I strongly consider having lunch by myself, yet a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach prevents me from doing so.
She's not searching the dumpsters for free coupons at this time of the day, is she?
Nessa usually does that in the evening, after most people have left the building. After all, getting caught swimming in the dumpster can be embarrassing. Nevertheless, I try my luck and bolt to the back alley.
To my surprise and relief, I find Nessa crouching on the ground beside the dumpster. Her face is buried on her left arm that she rests across her upraised knees, while her free hand is stroking Kiki, the stray cat she's been feeding every day for the past one year, seven weeks, and three days.
Something feels wrong.
Nessa always brings some of her lunch for Kiki. That's why she usually feeds the cat after lunch. But right now, the saucer on the ground is already empty, and the black cat is busy licking her paws.
What's going on?
As I step out of the building, Nessa darts her gaze toward me, and I freeze in my tracks. Nessa's eyes are red-rimmed, her lips are puffy with weeping, and strands of her long, dark hair are stuck to her tear-stained face.
She gasps and looks away, rubbing her arms across her face.
What did those damn gossipers do to her this time? Anger seeps into my fingers. There's nothing I want more than to ask her who's responsible for this and teach them a lesson or two. But I stop myself from taking another step and give her some time to wipe her tears.
As I clench my hands into fists, something nudges my legs. My heart leaps into my throat when I find Kiki pushing her head against my legs.
Fuck.
Cold sweat dribbles down my temple as Kiki keeps rubbing herself against my legs, marking me as her lunch.
Calm down, Oliver. Kiki seems nice. She won't bite you like that little monster 23 years ago . . . right?
I swallow the lump of fear in my throat and shamble forward. Still, every step becomes heavier and heavier, and I can't help but wince in fear. Oh, God. She's going to eat me alive, isn't—
"Kiki, come!" Nessa's voice snaps me out of my terror.
I heave out a relieved sigh as Kiki turns around and strides back to Nessa's side.
"What are you doing here, Ol?" Nessa asks, her voice nasal from crying.
I crouch down and sit next to her on the ground. I'm about to open my mouth to answer her when Kiki gets up from Nessa's left side and sits between us. Terror pulsates through my veins, and I'm pretty sure my heart stops for a second there.
"T-the Lovejoy's coupon you found in the dumpster yesterday." I try to keep my voice steady. "We're supposed to have the free Loco Moco Burger today, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," she murmurs, a tinge of guilt in her voice. "Sorry."
For a while, we sit there in awkward silence. As Kiki grooms herself beside me, fear paralyzes me. It isn't until Kiki rests her head on her paws and closes her eyes that my pulse slows down to normal.
"So . . . wanna talk about it?" I ask.
Nessa doesn't answer right away, and my curiosity keeps gnawing at me. The silence between us suffocates me, but I remain quiet, knowing I shouldn't force the words out of her mouth.
"She called me a filthy Chinese."
"What?" I ball my fists, anger shot up my spine. "Who said that? It's that racist witch Taylor, isn't it?"
To my confusion, she lets out a tiny chuckle. "It's not her, Ol. Besides, that racist witch is called Nicole. Taylor's the old janitor on the fourth floor, and he's a guy. A pretty nice one too, actually."
"Oh." Embarrassment flushes my cheeks. At the same time, curiosity burns in my veins. Who else could it be?
"It's Rayna."
"What?"
"I overheard her in the ladies' room talking to her assistant earlier." Nessa bites her lower lip and lowers her head, her voice soft and trembling. "She asked her assistant to buy lots of antiseptics for her because . . . she's shaken hands with a . . ." As she breathes out a sad laugh, tears roll down her face. "Filthy Chinese."
My blood boils with a mixture of rage, grief, and helplessness. "How could she—"
Horror shoots through me as the black cat wakes up and tilts her head at me. Shit.
I haul myself sideways, away from the little monster. "N-Ness, you shouldn't . . . You shouldn't even . . ."
I want to say something that can build up her confidence or prove that the things that trainwreck said to her are utter nonsense. But I have no idea what to say.
"Just don't listen to her, okay?"
And that's all I can think of.
Ugh. I'm awful at this. I've never been good with words, especially when it comes to consoling someone—moreover, a woman. It certainly doesn't make things any easier when a cat is staring at me like I'm her lunch.
"I know," Nessa murmurs, forcing a smile.
Another loud silence hangs in the air. Nessa strokes Kiki along her back, and after a while, the cat curls up into a ball and sleeps.
As I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, the memories I've tried so hard to bury deep inside my mind start fighting their way to the surface. Even after years have passed, the cold fingers of my demons still grip my chest when I think about what happened in my teenage years. I open my eyes, trying to focus on the present, yet there's no stopping those painful memories from playing in my head like a broken video.
Then, the words spill out of me like a river.
"When I first moved to the States, the kids in my school used to make fun of me. My English was pretty awful, and according to them, my accent was . . . hilarious." I drop my gaze to the ground as my chest tightens into a hard knot. "I couldn't even spell tomorrow properly, so . . ."
"You never told me you're not from around here." There's something in Nessa's voice—warmth, empathy, or both—that somehow manages to alleviate the suffocating pain in my chest. "You don't exactly have an accent either."
"I worked hard to get rid of it. I had to. Or else they wouldn't stop making fun of me."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Ol."
Those simple words serve as a band-aid to the scars on my heart, even though it doesn't quite cover all of them. Maybe it's because it's the first time anybody ever said them to me, or maybe it's because of the profound sincerity in her voice. Either way, the knot in my chest begins to loosen.
"Where are you from?" Nessa tilts her head at me.
"Romania." I flash her a small smile. "I moved to New York when I was eleven, and . . . it wasn't easy to be different. It never is. Some people just don't respond well to things or other people who are different from them. It took me years to realize that there's nothing wrong with being different. The problem lies in them, not us."
"Yeah, I guess so." A note of doubt lingers in her voice, but the pain in her eyes fades. We stay in a calming silence for a while, before she blurts out, "Hey, say something in Romanian."
"What? You don't believe me? I didn't lie about Magic Mike, did I?"
She lets out a heartfelt laugh, and for some reason, my heart lightens up. "I just—I wanna hear something in Romanian, that's all."
It has been years since I spoke in my mother tongue to anyone outside my family, and to be honest, it scares me just a little. I've tried so hard to fit in—to change who I am—and I can't help but fear how she'll react if she sees the real me.
"Please?" She pleads like a lost bunny, her beautiful chocolate-brown eyes glassy with the remnants of her tears.
Oh, screw it. She won't understand a thing anyway.
"Fine." I lean towards her and gaze into her eyes. "Aveți cel mai frumos zâmbet din lume."
Dammit. Why did I say that?
I dart my eyes elsewhere, heat flushing my face. I've complimented women before, but saying it in my mother tongue feels different. Somehow, it feels much more . . . intimate.
"What does that mean?"
That you have the most beautiful smile in the world.
As creepy as it can be, I always think Nessa has the most beautiful smile I've ever seen in my entire life. Always so genuine, innocent, and contagious. Still, the last thing I want is to scare her off.
"I'm the most handsome man on the planet," I lie, struggling to keep my voice even.
She snorts before breaking into a full-throated guffaw. Tears spill over her lashes once more, but this time, they're the good kind of tears. "Geez, Ol! You're so vain!"
My shoulders tremble as a fit of chortles pushes its way out of my lips.
For the first time in years, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I no longer feel the need to hide who I really am or pretend to be someone I'm not. Well, I still have to hide a thing or two from her, but maybe there'll come a day when I don't have to anymore.
When our laughter recedes into a fit of teary chuckles, the once suffocating atmosphere has brightened up considerably.
"You know, the funny thing is," Nessa says, "I'm not even half-Chinese."
"You're not?"
She shakes her head. "My grandpa from my mom's side was a Hongkonger, and my grandma was a Chinese-Indonesian. So, basically, I'm only three-eighths Chinese. I don't even speak Cantonese, or Mandarin, or any other language besides English."
"See?" I allow a short pause. "That trainwreck is an idiot, okay? She doesn't even know you, Ness. How could you judge someone based on the color of their skin? That's just plain stupid."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," she murmurs, yet sorrow remains in her eyes. "But sometimes, I just wish I looked more like my dad. Maybe then people would see me more like their equals."
"Hey, don't say that. Being Asian, or half-Asian, or even a Martian—" She chuckles, and I can't help but do the same. "It doesn't diminish who you are. It doesn't make you less special."
A grin spreads across her face as she turns her head in my direction with a playful sparkle in her eyes. "You think I'm special?"
Dammit. I should've spoken in Romanian instead.
"Don't push your luck." I avoid her gaze, my cheeks still warm with a flush I can feel all the way to my chest. "But I meant what I said, okay? Just don't listen to her. She's just some pathetic has-been who thinks she's the most important person in the whole wide universe, while the truth is, she's not. And you know what? I bet she'll be arrested within the next few months. Mark my words."
Amusement tips up the corner of her mouth. "Arrested? For what?"
"I don't know." I shrug. "Flashing some kids or something?"
A bubble of laughter erupts from her, and I find myself smiling.
"I just feel so stupid for being a superfan of a girl like that in the first place." She brushes the tears from her eyes, still chuckling. "Her music helped me through a lot when I was younger, and at that time, she seemed like a total sweetheart."
"Maybe she was. It's just . . . fame changes people."
My chest constricts as memories of my childhood threaten to come out of that little black box I've kept buried for 24 years, 2 months, and 3 days. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, praying for those memories to stay hidden.
"Yeah." Nessa gazes up to the sky and exhales. "This city does that to people, I guess."
There's something soothing in her voice—no, in her presence—that allows me to lock that black box and throw it far, far away into the deepest, darkest part of my mind. We lean our heads back against the wall, and for a while, we just sit there in a calming silence.
"Maybe I should just go back to Sunnyville," Nessa says. "People are so much nicer there, and it's not like I'm making something of myself here anyway. I mean, I've worked here for over a year, and I'm still serving coffee to people."
"Hey, you graduated with a four-point-oh GPA from Sunnyville University, remember? You just need that one big break, that's all."
"Yeah, but . . ." Pulling her mouth into a tight line, she raises her shoulders. "I'm not sure if that big break is ever gonna come."
As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. It takes more than hard work and talent to make it in LA. Everyone needs a special ingredient called luck, and there's nothing I can do about it. What I can do is prove that this city is not that bad and give her a reason to stay.
After all, if she leaves, then no one will search the dumpsters for free coupons for me.
As I glance at the brochure peeking out of my pocket, a brilliant idea comes to me. "Tell you what. If I can give you one reason why you should stay in LA, will you stay?"
She narrows her eyes, curiosity twinkling in them. "It has to be a damn good reason."
"I know," I reply, confidence in my voice.
"What do you have in mind?"
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, imagining the reeking smell of something burning. Something smoky. The only food I've ever hated for the past twenty-eight years of my life. "You like bacon, right?"
"I don't like bacon." Her face splits into her signature Pennywise grin. "I looove bacon."
I chuckle. Ah. The things you do for your best friend.
Author's Note:
There ya go! The origin of Nessa and Ollie's National Bacon Day celebration! What do you think?
Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you do, please don't forget to tap that little star button! XD
Thank you for reading! :)
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