Chapter 7: The Neighboring Seat

Old Su brought home a cat he’d caught at a friend’s place.

It was a rather ordinary orange tabby, of mixed lineage; no one even knew who its father was, and it was far from anything fancy. Its mother had given birth to a litter of six; if no one was willing to take them in, these little creatures would inevitably end up on the streets, surviving by rummaging through trash cans like stray cats. The thought was really quite pitiful.

By coincidence, Old Su happened to be there. He thought this chubby little kitten looked rather cute, so he brought it home for his grandson to play with. As it happened, there’d been a rat problem lately—big, burly rats often scurried into the neighbors’ homes from the sewers—and keeping a cat might solve it. He felt certain that the plump orange kitten he’d brought home would turn out to be a fine mouser.

Of course, that was just Old Su’s assumption; nobody knew for sure yet.

After stepping through the door, he set the kitten down on the floor, then placed the fresh tofu he’d just bought into a stainless steel bowl in the kitchen, added some water to soak it, and left it there. The weather was already getting warmer, and soaking the tofu would keep it from spoiling.

Su Mu’s father had gone out to purchase bighead carp.

Only Chinese people seemed to like this bony freshwater fish—the fish-head soup sold best. Every couple of days, they had to buy over a dozen, stewing the heads for soup and braising the flesh; any leftovers would be eaten by the family. The market wasn’t far, just over three hundred meters away. At some point, lakes all across Los Angeles had become home to what Americans called “Asian carp,” which were much cheaper than seafood.

Their little restaurant didn’t do much business, and the low prices meant there wasn’t much profit, but it kept Su Mu’s parents busy from dawn till dusk. Many Chinese made their living running restaurants, since “Chinese food” was quite popular in America. Unfortunately, Chinese cuisine had changed completely to cater to local tastes, so much so that many Chinese only sold it but wouldn’t eat it themselves—it simply didn’t suit their palate. The competition in Chinatown was fierce; the restaurant the couple ran, called “Old Jiangnan,” had no real advantages.

At the market, Su Mu’s father wandered among the stalls, his tricycle for hauling goods parked nearby. The family also owned an old Ford pickup, which had long since been relegated to the parking lot and was rarely used. It had been secondhand when they bought it, and now it was even more decrepit. He often thought about taking it out to sell, but it was worth no more than a thousand dollars now.

Old Su and his family would occasionally drive to San Francisco to visit Su Mu’s aunt, which was why they’d kept the truck. By this point, even if its value dropped by another two or three hundred dollars, it didn’t matter. Still, owning a car was something to boast about—at least compared to many other Chinatown families. “Face” was a matter of utmost importance to Chinese people.

“Hey, hey! Did you guys hear? There was another shooting at a school—a few students died, and I heard a Chinese boy was killed too!”

That sentence immediately caught the attention of Su Mu’s father, Su Dingcai. He spun around to look at a bald, middle-aged vendor, just as someone else asked, “Is that true? Which school was it? My daughter went to school today—God, I hope it wasn’t hers!”

“Would I lie? My brother works at the police station. He came home just now and told my wife to keep our kids home from school today,” the vendor said, a hint of pride seeping into his voice.

Being a police officer in Chinatown these days meant steady gray-market income, considerable social standing, and at the very least, never having to worry about food or clothing. There was some power in the position, too—not enough to make waves, but among his fellow vegetable sellers, it was a very respectable job. The vendor continued, “I think it was South Castelar Middle School—a school bus got attacked…”

Su Dingcai felt as if struck by lightning. His mind spun with dizziness at the mention of the last school he wanted to hear; panic for his beloved son seized him, as if the sky were about to fall. Of all the schools, why did it have to be the one his son attended? He couldn’t help but wonder if something terrible had happened to Su Mu. With so many students at that school, you always thought it would never happen to you—until it did.

He dropped his shopping basket, and a small octopus he’d planned to cook for his son that evening tumbled out, writhing on the ground. Spinning around, he dashed off, nearly stumbling in his haste, and pedaled away on his tricycle under the bewildered stares of the crowd.

****************************

Su Mu, of course, was perfectly fine; he had no idea his father was on the verge of panic.

The school bus he took every day was still idling at the curb. A female teacher was negotiating with the driver, and Mr. Bernard agreed to give a ride to a few girls from Chinatown. The school was no longer safe—a student had taken several younger children hostage, and the teachers, to their credit, were busy evacuating everyone.

Sitting next to Su Mu was his mischievous friend, Li Ping’an, who spotted Kate and quickly nudged him, excitedly whispering, “Kate! Look, it’s Kate! She’s going to ride our bus—this is your chance to confess! Didn’t wash your hair this morning, did you? Your hair’s a mess—no girl’s going to like you like that!”

Su Mu shot him a glare, wanting to appear calm, but the way he self-consciously raised his right hand to tidy his hair betrayed his nerves. Flushing, he hissed, “Keep your voice down! Who says no girl likes me? I got a love letter just last month! Get lost, and don’t say anything stupid later!”

“Oh, someone’s embarrassed,” Li Ping’an teased. As the two bantered, the girls started boarding. Li Ping’an craned his neck to watch them, and when Kate, the mixed-race girl, walked down the aisle to their row, he leapt up and grinned, “Here, Kate—take my seat. My back hurts. I’ll stand.”

“Our teacher always says we should be gentlemen. See? Gentlemanly, right? And look at my friend here—he’s our boss. When it comes to fighting, he’s something else—took down a dozen guys in one go!”

He was clearly trying to raise Su Mu’s profile. At their age, being a good fighter made you popular with the girls at school, and “boss” implied status.

Li Ping’an meant well, but Su Mu felt an overwhelming urge to strangle him. The girl he liked was right there beside him, and for the first time ever, so close—he was already a bundle of nerves, now wishing he could dig a hole and disappear. He mumbled, “Don’t listen to him—I’ve never been in a fight.”

Even he didn’t know why he felt compelled to explain—perhaps he didn’t want her to misunderstand.

They’d never really spoken, but Su Mu often paid attention to her every move, certain that she didn’t care for those troublemakers who were always picking fights. It was the pure-hearted fantasy of a boy’s first crush, imagining what kind of person Kate was, without truly knowing her at all.

Fortunately, Kate didn’t let him down. Despite having plenty of admirers, she was never rumored to have a boyfriend. She excelled academically, and was passionate about volunteering—a genuinely good person.

The bus rumbled to life. Li Ping’an, blocking the aisle, made it awkward for Kate to refuse, and since she wasn’t feeling well today and had just been frightened, she offered a quiet thank you and sat down beside Su Mu.

When Kate smiled and nodded at him, Su Mu’s heart raced and his mind went blank.

He was happy, of course. But now that the girl he liked was really sitting next to him, he was completely at a loss, and hurried to return her smile—then immediately worried that he might have grinned too foolishly…