“I’ve never played.”
“Well, it can’t be worse than the wrestling parties.”
During the winter, Chip was on the Chapel Hill High School varsity wrestling team.
“Why?”
“Most of the guys didn’t shower after meets.”
“Gross.”
“Right?” Chip laughed and ran his hands through his sweaty hair. “Soccer guys are way cleaner.”
Chip squeezed my shoulder and grinned at me, then followed the rest of the guys toward the locker room.
I stayed where I was, shaking my head.
Sometimes I didn’t know what to make of Cyprian Cusumano.
Wednesday afternoon I had my first shift as a real employee at Rose City Teas. I worked the tea bar, chatting with customers and figuring out what kind of tea they wanted: black or greenor oolong, flavored or unflavored, an old favorite or a new adventure.
While I worked the bar, Mr. Edwards was cupping a new batch of Phoenix Mountain, a Chinese oolong that was supposed to be fruity and delicious. Landon kept poking his head out of the tasting room, waving at me to join them, but every time I was about to, another customer showed up needing help, and Polli was too busy making lattes to cover for me.
Finally, Landon gave up and closed the door.
I don’t know why it made me so sad. It was just one tasting.
But I really did want to try the Phoenix Mountain Oolong.
Instead I prepared a gaiwan service for a man about Oma’s age, who peppered me with questions about oolong processing, and Chinese versus Taiwanese producers. I was trying to explain about Bai Hao and the little bugs that tried to eat the leaves when Polli cleared her throat and pointed out there was a line forming.
I excused myself and started taking more orders.
As I steeped a single-serve pot of Earl Grey and did a wake-up steep for another gaiwan service, Landon emerged from the tasting room, holding a white porcelain Rose City–branded teacup.
“Here,” he said. “This was the winner.”
“Thanks.”
Landon handled the gaiwan for me while I sipped with one hand and poured out the Earl Grey with the other. The tea was bursting with lychee flavor, which was kind of a surprise to me.
I’d never tasted lychee in a tea before.
I wondered what the other batches had tasted like.
I wondered what Landon got to learn about Phoenix Mountain tea and where it came from.
I wondered what I had missed.
Finally the line at the tea bar petered out, so Mr. Edwards sent me and Landon to do some inventory. As I counted tins of Genmaicha, Mr. Edwards poked his head in. “Can one of you grab some Dragonwell?”
“Sure, Dad.”
Landon went over to the shelves and reached for the top, where the boxes of Dragonwell sat. His shirt rode up, exposing a tiny patch of smooth skin on his back, and the metallic silver waistband of his underwear.
I thought about Chip’s gray sweatpants, and how he didn’t wear underwear with them.
And I thought about Chip, seeing me naked, when I’d never even taken my shirt off around Landon.
