“I wish Braxton would hire Chef Vuong,” I say, and Jamie laughs.
“If they did, I would start eating at the cafeteria. I never liked the food there. Not even the vegetarian stuff. It’s like it’s trying too hard.” He slides a menu toward me, and I pick it up. “Have you ever had Vietnamese food before?”
I shake my head.
“Then I think for beginners ph? is a good choice. And we’ll level you up from there.”
“Okay.”
He gets up to tell Chef Vuong our order and comes back.
I sit up straight, hands folded in front of me. “So are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
He mirrors me, adopting a serious expression. “Because I’m hungry.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He sighs. “Honestly? I thought you’d like a break from school.”
I nod and, after a second, let the residual tension carried in my shoulders melt away. “But the real reason is to get me to talk about school?”
A quick smile quirks his lips. “Not if you don’t want to.”
I consider him for a long second. “It’s… it’s embarrassing to talk about.”
He frowns. “The bullying is embarrassing foryou?”
I massage my forehead. “It’s an irrational feeling.” I catch his expression. “So how much do you know?”
He inhales deeply. “I know about the locker and what Mason’s friends say about you. I didn’t realize they were… asking you to do things until one of them asked me ifwe…” He looks away, brow furrowed.
I grip my knees tightly, keeping my breaths steady.
He clears his throat. “Anyway, it nearly turned into a fight, but the teachers were there. I thought—hoped—it had stopped.”
I blink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shakes his head slightly. “What would I say? I talked to the teachers about your locker. I tried to do something, but nothing came from it.” He holds my gaze. “You’re right. It doesn’t work if you don’t do it yourself.”
I lean forward; the banged-up armor I’ve put on is on its last legs. I’m exhausted, my energy existing in wisps, but I say, “Don’t look at me with pity. Just because that’s happening at school doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”
He frowns. “You’reabsolutelynot helpless. I’ve seen the way you fight back. Not just with your art but talking back. I’m worried it’s getting to you.”
I quirk a half smile. “No. It’s not.”
Chef Vuong is at our table, balancing a huge tray filled with food. Two large bowls of steaming noodles and several other dishes of different foods.
“Here you go,” Chef Vuong says, placing the tray in front of us. “Two ph? tái for the lady and gentleman. Bánh cu?n filled with beef.” He places the dish with rice rolls, decorated with cucumbers and parsley, onto the table. “And bánh xèo filled with shrimp.” Two crepes folded beside each other with lettuce on the side and topped with cilantro. “As the English would say, bon appétit!”
This makes Jamie and me laugh, and Chef Vuong grins.
“C?m on, Chef,” Jamie says, and mouths to me, “Thank you.”
I repeat it and earn smiles from Jamie and Chef Vuong.
“You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything else,” Chef Vuong says.
I feel the warmth from the ph?’s broth before I taste it. The aromatics are wonderful, hints of ginger and onion.
