Would you fake-date a popstar to get into Harvard? Sara Wang travels from New York City to Shanghai before her senior year to take a class in Eastern Medicine. Her parents think she's there to buff up her college application, but she's actually ther...
When I arrive at the tea house on Thursday afternoon, Zhang is already there, but Lana is running late. Hanging with Zhang is awkward in all sorts of ways, but fortunately, I've been rehearsing my Mandarin inside my head all week.
I had planned out detailed replies regarding how my day at the hospital was (possibly too boring to talk about considering my job is repeatedly treating the knee arthritis of old ladies using acupuncture and moxibustion), how I'm liking Shanghai (I decided to tell him I love the food here, which is true, but I haven't met many people here outside my patients) and finally, what brought me here last time (I couldn't wait to talk his ear off with my drama with Calvin Suzuki and his ghosting of me. It's Thursday and he hasn't texted me about our Friday plans yet!).
Lana is running late because she's caught up at the office, so Zhang and I end up hanging out by the lake in the middle of Yuyuan's garden. It is just off to the side of the xiaolongbao restaurant I had dumplings with the boys two weeks ago. Zhang is the unsmiling, silent type, so I nervously chat him up about my boy drama.
"My boyfriend is on the swim team back home," I tell Zhang as we try to dodge out of the way of all the swarming tourists who are all angling for the best Instagram shot of the lake. I don't mean to call Calvin my boyfriend; he's just a boy who is my friend. But, my Chinese is not sufficient to make those types of nuanced distinctions. I'm just proud of myself for figuring out the word for a swimmer. I'm trying hard to pronounce the second half of yóuyǒng zhě, so that I don't accidentally pronounce it yóuyǒng chí and end up calling Calvin a swimming pool.
Zhang asks me about Calvin's body type. I think he asks me, "Is Calvin big-bodied like you?" I catch the words dà shēncái, and I'm not sure if he's saying that I'm fat or if he's noting that Americans tend to have larger hips and shoulders.
At this point, I'm well accustomed to being called "large" here in China even though I'm barely a size extra-small to small back in the United States. The last time I walked into a clothing store here, the sales associate told me to get out because there's nothing in my size. She told me she doesn't want me damaging their clothes by trying to "stuff everything in."
Wow, so much for fat positivity!
Either way, I decide to laugh Zhang's comment off because I've learned there's no point in getting offended about being called fat around here. I tell him yes, Calvin is quite the hunk with a ton of muscles, very much like a water buffalo.
"Do you like guys like that?" Zhang asks me while making a face. Zhang isn't as bulky as Calvin, but he's compact. He has a strong jawline and a sharp glimmer in his inquiring eyes.
"Everyone does," I respond without thinking. "Come on, if you were to ever make out with a boy, wouldn't you want one with a six-pack?"
Zhang scowls, and I could tell that my sense of humor is lost on him. He's old-fashioned, and I'm from New York, where everyone talks about sleeping with everyone else, regardless of gender.
"No, I would not," Zhang replies stiffly and shuts down the conversation. I feel like I've just made a terrible faux pas, so I offer to buy him a bubble tea while we wait. Zhang refuses at first, but then he agrees to accompany me in case I run into trouble ordering being the helpless wàiguó rén that I am.
That seems very nice of him, considering that I saw the muscles in his jaw tense a second ago like he's debating if he wanted to punch me in the face or immediately leave and ghost me just like my friends from school.
We get to the front of the line, and Zhang orders for me and pays. I'm flattered that he refuses to accept my offer of paying him back. We're not even on a date! Back at home, I'm impressed if a boy covers the tip on a bill that we split down the middle. I've never had anyone buy me a drink before. We wait for the bubble teas to be made, and I feel like we're practically best friends at this point.
"You're my guest here; I have to pay," Zhang assures me like this principle is evident to a two-year-old.
"Thank you," I say again, although he continues scowling while checking his phone. He's looking for Lana's whereabouts, no doubt. "So, it's nice to hang out with you again. Can I ask you a question? This might sound silly."
"Yes," he says with an exasperated sigh.
"Do you have a penguin among your things? It's one that I left here in Shanghai when I went away. I don't want it back or anything; I want to know what happened to it."
"A toy penguin?" Zhang says and raises his left eyebrow.
"Yes! It has a tag around its neck saying 'Central Park Zoo.' My father sent it to me from America back when I was just a few weeks old."
Zhang shakes his head.
"My parents threw all my old toys away when we went to live in Fujian when my grandparents got sick. Why in the world are you looking for something like that?"
"Silly, I know," I pretend to laugh it off. "I guess I just wanted to tie up loose ends. I told you the question was silly, so please forgive me."
"It's okay," Zhang replies and tries to stifle a chuckle under his fist. "For a girl your age, you're very immature."
"Yeah, I guess," I reply. "I am not always talking about the past; actually, I hardly ever do it. I'm not like that. I'm fun and cool if only you knew me back at home. I swear, I'm not lame."
"But I guess I don't," Zhang replies curtly. "And I never will. The two of us are too different."
Wow, that's rude, I think to myself as the shop owner finishes making my brown sugar bubble tea and hands it to me. I pop a straw into the cap, and we walk out of the store. If only I were here with Andrew and Calvin, I could finally feel at ease. I wish we could go back to New York City soon; I swear I will never leave ever again.
As Zhang and I walk out of the store, I stop dead in my tracks. I get my wish. I see a tall, handsome guy in a letterman jacket with his back turned to me. He sticks out not only because his shoulders are broader than the range of pan-Asian fusion dishes at PF Chang's but he's also standing a head above everyone else.
It's Calvin.
He's here.
I notice that under his jacket, he's wearing a collared shirt and a Burberry tie. He wore that tie in the pictures of him making out with Jessica underneath the school bleachers during the celebratory party for the swim team champions. Everyone, even those who hate Jessica and her queen bee ways, agrees that no one can rock a Burberry tie quite like Calvin Suzuki.
He never wore that tie for me.
Now he's wearing it for her.
Calvin is locking lips from the waitress at the bubble tea store who found his lost backpack.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
