Hóng Yè didn't look up. But his shoulders dropped, just slightly, and Yàn Shū counted that as a win.
~
Prom pickup was chaos.
Three teenagers crammed into his small sedan, all elbows and loud music and the smell of too much cologne. Hóng Yè sat in the front seat, arms crossed, staring out the window with an expression of profound suffering. In the back, his friends, Jun and Mei, were arguing about something Yàn Shū couldn't follow.
"You're late," Jun said.
"We're not late," Hóng Yè said. "You're early."
"The invitation said seven."
"It said seven-thirty."
"It definitely said seven."
"It said seven-thirty."
Yàn Shū focused on the road and tried to remember a time when his life had been simple.
The drop-off was at a restaurant downtown, some place with string lights and a line out the door. The kids piled out, and Hóng Yè paused at the window.
"Thanks," he said.
Yàn Shū smiled. "Have fun."
