“Are you right- or left-handed?”
“Right.”
He adjusted her arms so that her right fist was held up to her cheek and her left was in front of her face, positioned a little to theleft of her nose. “Okay, keep your arms up like this at all times, protect that nice face.” His voice took on an authoritative tone, and I resisted the urge to fan myself.
Even in this awkward new pose, Rose looked graceful. Then he adjusted her stance a little bit. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
“So, strike out at my hand with your left fist,” he held up his right hand, palm facing out. “But take a small step with your left foot forward as you do it.”
In one pretty, fluid motion, Rose gently punched, her body moving toward him.
“Awesome! That was good, but you canreallyhit me, you know,” he said.
She made a face. “No way!” He assured her that it was fine, and while skeptical, she hit him harder the next time.
“Yes!” he cried out, giving her a high five. She was glowing. Brownie points via hot dude: a heady cocktail for Rose Carver, I’m sure.
I watched them go back and forth for a while, getting grumpier with every second, with every bit of physical contact between the two of them.
To squash down this unpleasant jealous feeling, I turned away and wiped down the griddle.
After a few minutes, Hamlet called my name. Argh. I looked out the window, and he motioned toward himself and Rose. “Do you wanna try?”
No. “No.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Come on! It’s fun! Plus, you get to punch a dude.”
Well. That was actually enticing. My hesitation was enough. Rose ran inside the truck and dragged me out. I stood in front of Hamlet, my arms crossed. He looked at me, head to toe, and I blushed.What the heck, Clara. Chill!
“So, you saw what I showed Rose, right?” He stepped forward but stopped, hesitating. “Um, do you need me to…”
Feeling extremely stupid, I held up my fists like Rose had. “Like this?” He nodded, and I was disappointed when he didn’t adjust them for me.
“Okay, Clara. Hit me.”
I looked at his face, so open, so encouraging. A sheen of sweat on his forehead, his high cheekbones. And I got incredibly self-conscious. My limbs felt clumsy and heavy, and I couldn’t figure out how to move my feet properly as I reached out to punch him. When my fist hit his open palm, it was weak and sloppy. It didn’t make the satisfying smacking noise that Rose’s punch had.
I dropped my arms to my sides. “Cool. That sucked.”
“No, it didn’t! It was good!” Hamlet exclaimed, walking over to me. “Here, just spread your legs out a little more…” His voice trailed off and he kept staring at my feet. But I saw a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Um, sorry, I mean…”
He was dying. I was dying.
Making a fool of myself in front of cute dudes was literallythe opposite of my brand, and every molecule of my being was on fire right now. “Thanks, but we have to go anyway.” I ran inside and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Rose!” I barked as I started the engine.
She threw me an exasperated look, then shut the metal awnings that covered up the order and pickup windows. When she slipped into the passenger seat, I honked and yelled, “BYE, HAMLET!” Rose waved out the window. As we drove away, I saw Hamlet toss the sign up in the air in the rearview mirror, as if sending us off.
“What a total dork,” I said.
Rose scoffed. “Clara. Who do you think you’re kidding?” I opened my mouth, but she reached over and turned on the radio, cranking NPR. Loud. Then she sat back with her arms crossed. I was still so flustered by the whole boxing thing that I didn’t bother fighting her.
We stopped by the commissary for prep and a little break as usual, then headed toward our next destination, a farmers market in Echo Park that was one of our weekly stops. The market was tucked behind a row of historic buildings, and it was starting to bustle. I parked the KoBra next to a few other trucks: a classic taco truck, an udon bowl truck, a grilled cheese truck, and a boba truck.
We parked and nervously started setting up—the air tense and both of us quiet in our own little corners. This would be the biggest crowd we’d served so far.
“Hey, are you Adrian’s girl?”
I glanced out the window and saw a young white woman sporting a bandana and blond pigtails. “Yeah, hi. Clara.”
