Lucky

I worked in a Chinese restaurant. It wasn’t four-star quality, what with the squeaky vinyl chairs and the mismatched, crooked tables. There was even an old TV from the Disco Age that hung in the corner, always on mute, always on the same channel, always sporting subtitles. But I had fun there, with Miss Xiong as restaurant owner and manager, and her niece, my best friend Jenny, as my partner in crime.

I manned the cash register and the phone on most days. Jenny was usually there to suffer through her aunt’s lectures in Chinese on the proper way to run a real Chinese restaurant. Despite its homey and mismatched interior, business was always going with the local university only a few blocks away and a posh, new apartment complex next to it.

Yummi’s Egg Roll, known for its yummy egg rolls, was located in a strip mall, wedged between a Starbucks and a small loans bank. Across the lot was a run-down Kroger that had been there since I could remember with an old, asphalt lot that all the local skateboarders liked to skate during the summer. I had worked there since Jenny, my best friend since freshman year, convinced Miss Xiong to let me—not that I wanted to work there in the first place. But I couldn’t say no to Jenny’s puppy-dog face the summer after our sophomore year at All Saints’ when she begged me to work with her so she wouldn’t have to suffer through the Chinese restaurant lectures alone.

And after two years, I was still working at Yummi’s Egg Roll, still manning the phone and the cash register with Jenny, with Lenny the Cook still yelling from the back over grease fires, still during summer, all after my last year of high school.

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We called him Szechuan Beef Guy.

“He’s so hot,” Jenny mumbled into my ear behind me as I rang up another customer.

“He’s not,” I sang, punching away the numbers on the yellowed keys. After fifteen years at the same location and another Yummi’s across town, you’d think Miss Xiong would have saved up for a new register.

“Yeah, whatever,” she muttered, turning around and answering the phone with a robotic, “Nín hăo from Yummi’s Egg Roll! How can I help you today/this afternoon/this fine evening/tonight?”

We didn’t know his name. We had never asked. But he always ordered Szechuan beef, hence his nickname. Lenny the Cook first came up with it because pretty much the only time he prepared his lucky wok for Szechuan beef was when the blond, blue-eyed, diamond-studded Szechuan Beef Guy ordered it.

At least he knew how to pronounce it correctly.

Jenny had always thought he was hot, ever since he started coming to Yummi’s regularly around the beginning of the year. She even went so far as to call him the Hot Szechuan Beef Guy, which I thought was silly. I mean, fine, I guess he was okay looking, but the diamond studs he always wore threw me off. Now that it was summer, he usually came in wearing a flat-brimmed Phillies hat and cutoffs, along with those douchey earrings of his. So my interest in Szechuan Beef Guy only went so far as to asking what he’d order that day, only to have him routinely answer with, “Szechuan beef with fried rice, and put some soy sauce on the side. And add another egg roll.”

There were times when a couple of his tank top-clad friends would tag along with him, ordering sesame chicken and the like. Jenny would always fawn over them, shamelessly flirting with each one of his “bros” that came along. But she wouldn’t be caught dead flirting with Szechuan Beef Guy; she thought he and I were “meant to be.” Every time she brought that up, I’d just stick out my tongue in mock disgust, shake my head, and turn around to take the next person’s order.

It was one late Saturday afternoon, right after the lunch rush, that Jenny and I took our break. Lenny fried us up some rice and egg rolls and we snagged two bottles of Coke from the ice bin at the front. We camped out next to one of the whiteboards that had a slew of Chinese characters and the daily specials spelled out, each with their respective cartoon depictions as drawn by Jenny and me. Weekends were particularly long, as college students wanted cheap fast food (student IDs gave you 10% off) that was less than a five minute drive from campus and families wanted a fast sit-down meal that wasn’t as unhealthy as the number of local fast food chains scattered about.

“I’m surprised Hot Szechuan Beef Guy hasn’t come today,” Jenny said, dipping one of her egg rolls in the orange sauce. “Have you seen him this week?”

“Hmmm?” I mumbled behind a mouthful of fried rice drenched in soy sauce.

“Have you seen Szechuan Beef Guy this week?” she repeated, taking a sip of her Coke. “If he was here when I wasn’t, I think I’ll just off myself.”

I chuckled dryly, reaching for my Coke and unscrewing the cap. “Stop being so desperate, Jen.”

“I am no such thing,” she quipped, sending me a smirk. “So, please, please, please, please, please tell me he hasn’t dropped by this week.”

“No, he hasn’t,” I shrugged, tucking a few strands of my unruly dark red hair from my eyes as the humidifier blew them in front of my face. “Why do you even care so much?” I laughed when she pouted as I took the last egg roll. “Fine, here,” I chuckled, tossing it back on the Styrofoam plate.

“Because,” she shrugged. As if that was all the reasoning she needed.

Just then, the old, brass bell that hung on the door chimed, signaling a customer. Jenny and I both turned our heads.

“Hey,” he said, running his fingers through his newly cropped hair.

“Hey!” Jenny and I greeted back together. Jenny was smiling wildly as she got up from her chair. “Do you want to order something?” she asked, putting her unopened fortune cookie back down on the table.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, if you’re not on break or anything.” He smiled again, shooting me a glance. I quickly looked down at my lap, suddenly conscious of my grease-stained A Day To Remember shirt. I stood up and scooted my chair back with the backs of my knees, picking up the trash on our table as Jenny shot back to the kitchen through the swinging door to take Szechuan Beef Guy’s order. I dumped our crumpled napkins in the bin before making a beeline to the bathroom to check the stalls as part of the post-lunch routine.

When I came back out, making a mental note to go back before dinner rush to restock the hand towels, Szechuan Beef Guy was at the counter with the plastic spoons and forks and packets of duck sauce, soy sauce, and mustard. He had a small stack of quarter-page fliers in one hand and was straightening out a small pile that he set in front of the Coffee Readers with his other hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, walking up next to him. I never noticed it before because I was behind the counter, but Szechuan Beef Guy had only a few inches on me, maybe more.

“I was just setting up some fliers.” He smiled and pulled one from the stack in his hand. “Show’s next Saturday.” He handed it to me, but I ignored it.

“You have to ask the manager to put up fliers,” I said, folding my arms. “It’s policy.”

“Whoa, lower the guns.” He chuckled and waved the flier in his hand over to Jenny behind the counter. “Just asked your friend if I could leave a couple. She said it was okay.”

I turned to look at Jenny. She gave me an apologetic smile and slightly shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, alright then. It’s just, I thought that, um…”

“No, it’s okay.” He chuckled again and handed me another flier, sticking the others he had left over into his back pocket. I took it without thinking, a small blush creeping around my neck. He crossed his arms over his tank top, smiling down at me. “They’re for my band’s next show.”

I nodded as I scanned the flier. A list of bands was down the middle in white print over sky blue, green, and purple stripes. The fonts decreased in size down the list: Set It Off, Goldfish vs. Toilet, All In Showdown, Air Like Oceans. There were small pictures of barbeque grills, hot dogs, and ketchup bottles all around, and a huge script title on top depicted the obvious theme: Summer Kickoff Show!

“Which band is yours?” I asked, flipping it over to a blank back.

“Well, uh…” Szechuan Beef Guy hesitated, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Hey,” he cleared his throat and nodded at the flier in my hands, “why don’t you come and find out? It’s only five bucks at the door. Pretty cheap for a show. Granted, the drinks are, like, ten dollars, but—”

“I don’t think so,” I said, setting the flier on top of the stack next to the jar of mustard packets. “Saturdays are our busiest here, and—”

“Oh.”

That “oh” stopped me from my spiel of an excuse. It was so regressed and quiet, it took me a second to realize that it actually came from him, considering the smile on his face every time he ordered his usual or how excited he was when he brought one of his friends to Yummi’s for the first time.

“I mean, I guess we could try, but I don’t know how we’d get Miss Xiong to let us both off at the same time.”

I heard a few steps behind me on the linoleum floor, and both Szechuan Beef Guy and I turned to see Jenny standing there, his food in the THANK YOU grocery bag she was holding.

“Here you go. Szechuan beef with fried rice, extra egg roll and a side of soy sauce to go.”

“Thanks.” He nodded and took the bag from her hands, and set it on the counter.

“So—” I stopped when Szechuan Beef Guy reached his arm around my shoulder behind me, his face a mere six inches from mine. He smiled at me and bit his lip, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Do you have any extra duck sauce?” he asked lowly, the smile still on his face.

When he straightened back up, a pair of chopsticks was in his hand, as well as one of his fliers.

I usually restocked the sauce packets before the dinner rush, but neither Jenny nor I were expecting anyone – even Szechuan Beef Guy – to come for lunch at four in the afternoon. “I, uh… Jenny, do we have any extra duck sauce?” I asked, taking a small step back.

“I think we have some in the back?” she half-asked, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face. “Want me to check?”

Szechuan Beef Guy smiled, twirling the chopsticks between his fingers like they were drumsticks or something. “No, it’s cool. I’m pretty sure I have some at home.” He ran a hand through his cropped hair before handing me the flier and nodding intently at me to take it. I grasped it between my index and middle fingers and gave him a polite, wavering smile.

“Okay, thanks for coming,” Jenny said, a customer-friendly smile on her face. That smile had stopped a handful of I-asked-for-more-egg-rolls-than-you-gave-me complaints over the years, not gonna lie.

Szechuan Beef Guy chuckled and gave me a final smile. He walked to the front of the store and pushed the door open, the bell ringing after him, with a belated “See you there!” following him out the door.

“Thank God he got his hair cut. That Bieber thing he had before was fricking weird. Made me think I was eyeing a 12 year-old.”

I looked at Jenny, an amused smirk on my lips. She made a face before uncrossing her arms and nudging me in the shoulder with her elbow. “We’re so going to that show. I don’t care what you say, I want to know if those friends he keeps bringing are the ones in his band.”

“No way,” I laughed as I followed her back behind the counter, Lenny the Cook shooting me a knowing smile. “There’s no way Miss Xiong will let us both off that night, Jenny.”

And it turned out I was right.

“No. No. No can do, Jenny.”

Jenny stood by the phone, her arms crossed over her chest, as I came in through the back entrance. Lenny smiled sadly at me as I hung up my backpack on the hook behind the door, catching the last of the conversation Jenny and her aunt were having.

“But Yímā—”

“No. End of discussion! You cannot go. I need you here. You talk Chinese. You indispensable.”

I quietly cleared my throat, reaching for my waist apron on another hook next to Lenny’s stove.

“Ah! Sara!”

“Hey, Miss Xiong,” I greeted, smiling politely.

“Jenny tells me you have concert tonight, eh?” she confirmed, clasping her hands together and eagerly nodding. Behind her, Jenny was biting her lip, a hand resting on the counter next to the phone.

“Well, not me. Just a guy that came in here. But I don’t really want—”

“You should go!” She eagerly nodded again, a crooked smile stretching her maroon-painted lips.

I sputtered as I tied my waist apron behind my back. “W-what? Miss Xiong—”

“No, no. Jenny tell me. Cute boy come in last week, eh?” She sent me a knowing grin, nodding her head and winking. “You, go. Jenny help me here. You deserve off night.”

“But, Miss Xiong…” I inwardly groaned at the thought of going to the concert without Jenny. If Jenny came with me, I’d be fine. I could do almost anything outside my comfort zone when Jenny was next to me, showing me how much fun I could have. But going to Szechuan Beef Guy’s concert without Jenny there to save my ass would be insane. “I don’t really think—”

“Sara,” Jenny interrupted, a small smile on her face. “Just go to the damn thing. You don’t need me there.”

“But—”

“Go!” Miss Xiong and Jenny yelled at the same time.

Jenny pushed herself from the counter and walked behind me, her voice quiet enough so only I could hear her. “Go see Szechuan Beef Guy play,” she said, undoing the knot on my apron that I’d just tied. “And, if it’s not too much, score me one of his friends’ digits.” She laughed as I turned to look at her, a pained look scrunching my eyebrows together. “Whatever. Just go and have fun.” She took my apron, hung it back on its hook, and jerked her head to the back door. “And if you’re gonna bang Szechuan Beef Guy, make sure you use protection.” I could hear Lenny chuckle as the peanut oil in his wok started to sizzle.

“What? Jenny, I just—I can’t—That’s disgusting!” I stuttered, grabbing my backpack as she pushed me forward from behind.

Jenny laughed once more, and it was the last thing I heard when the back door slammed shut behind me.