Page 28 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

He forces himself to think of anything else that can redirect the blood flow back into the rest of his body. Basketball. Airplane tray tables. How they make stop signs.

“What song are we doing?” Evan asks a little too loudly.

“ ‘Maharani’ by Alamat,” says JM. “They’re a Filipino boy band.”

“Ooh,” says Yoon-gi as he stretches his hamstrings and rolls out his shoulders. “I don’t know that one. Now it’ll be three lobsters.”

“You’re doing it with us?” asks Evan hopefully.

“Look, I’ve got the voice of an angel, but I’m only here for backup. We gotta make it a good show. You’re the face of the group.”

“We’ll take it slow,” says JM. “The choreography is basic, but there’s a lot of moving parts.”

JM shows them what to do, reminding Evan that he is going to have to learn the dance as well as the Tagalog lyrics. It’s as hard as it sounds, but Evan will try his best. He’s in too deep to give up without a fight.

The sky is starting to darken, but it doesn’t close the farmers market on Fulton, just around the corner from the Asian Art Museum. Dalisay and Pinky slowly make their way down rows of white tents, taking in the sights and smells. It was Pinky’s idea for the two of them to grab something to eat before heading inside, and it seems like everyone else has had the same idea since the market is bustling with crowds of people carrying tote bags full of produce. The smell of fresh-baked bread settles nicely in the afternoon air and reminds Dalisay of going topalengke, the public markets in Manila, with her grandmother, Lola, where she would pick the firmest fruit and help carry bags of fish home for dinner. The only difference isthat here in San Francisco, it’s a lot quieter. Dalisay wonders if it’s because of the promise of rain.

Dalisay loves the rain. It always makes her feel giddy with something … she can’t quite explain. During the rainy season in Manila, one of her favorite memories is of coming back from school, her uniform soaking wet, only to change into comfy dry clothes and bury herself in bed with a good book. Rain means warm blankets and stories. Rain means home.

She tips her head toward the sky and is about to ask Pinky if she checked the forecast, but Pinky is furiously texting away on her phone.

“What’s going on?” Dalisay asks.

Pinky starts and looks up, cheeks flushed. It takes her a moment too long to come up with something. “JM. Just giving him updates!”

Dalisay smiles, leaning in. “About what?”

Before Dalisay can see the screen, Pinky cries “Oh, look! Pickles!” and bounds to the stand lined with huge glass jars full of them. She buys them each a pickle, failing to answer Dalisay’s question, but Dalisay won’t let her get away that easily.

“If this is about The Serenade …”

“Who said anything about a serenade?”

Dalisay gives her a look.

Relenting, Pinky takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Yes, Evan is waiting for you outside the museum right now—” Dalisay bursts into laughter. “He’s worked really hard for this! The least we can do is make an appearance.”

Dalisay cackles. This is absolutely the point at which she expected Evan to back out. She can’t believe he’s attemptingThe Serenade! He’s proving a lot tougher than she thought. But Pinky looks at Dalisay with large, hopeful eyes and Dalisay can’t resist.

“If you say so. And here I was hoping that you honestly wanted to see the shipwrecks and Japanese tattoo exhibit just for fun.”

“Oh, I still want to see that! But our pre-museum entertainment awaits.”

Dalisay lets Pinky drag her through the market and they walk toward the museum entrance. “If nothing else,” Pinky says, “we can get a video of it and use it for blackmail later.”

When they round the corner, Dalisay hides her laughter behind her hand.

“There they are!” Pinky says, squeezing her other hand tightly.

Indeed, there they are.

The music sounds tinny coming from a small portable speaker by one of the bronze lion statues near the entrance as Evan, JM, and another man—Yoon-gi, a college friend, according to Pinky—start to dance in sync with each other and wearing matchingbarongs, traditional long-sleeved white shirts from the Philippines, each embroidered with white leaf patterns.

Dalisay covers her mouth to keep herself from dissolving into giggles and holds in a snort. She recognizes the song, but she’s well beyond her boy band days. She used to dance and sing with Nicole in their room in Manila, loud enough that Daniel would storm in and tell them to keep it down.

This song had to have been either JM’s or Pinky’s doing. Heat rises in her cheeks, and it’s not because of flattery. Evansways his hips and swings his arms to the choreography, singing along to the tune, and Dalisay can’t tell if she wants to make him stop for his own sake or hers.

To make matters worse, the sky opens up. At first it’s a single drop, then another, until it’s a downpour. In seconds, everyone is drenched. The guys’ thin whitebarongsinstantly become transparent, but the trio stick to the routine.

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