Page 19 of Well, That Was Unexpected

And wow. I look up and up and up. Floor after floor of shops soar above me, and in the center of the huge mall is a display of hot-air balloons, hanging at different heights from the ceiling. At the ground floor is a huge hot-air balloon, and kids are clambering all over the basket while their parents take photos. A few steps away, a pianist plays a tune on a grand piano. The entire scene screams decadence, an over-the-top show of wealth. The shops on the ground floor are all brands I will never be able to afford—Prada, Louis Vuitton, Hermès—each one boasting elaborately decorated display windows.

Giving myself a little shake, I check my phone and say, “Okay, I have like two minutes to get to the café, so…”

Auntie Janice pats my arm. “No, my dear. You can’t be on time.”

“Seriously?”

“Auntie Janice is right,” Li Jiujiu says. “Better you not be on time.”

Kiki shrugs. “I mean, they have a point. It’s called Indo time. People are always at least ten minutes late. If you get there on time, you’ll just seem way too eager.”

Argh. “I’m not eager, I’m just eager to get it done and over with!”

“I know,” Kiki says easily. “But patience, young Padawan.” With that, she twines her hand through the crook of my arm and leads me up the escalator. “Come, we’ll go check out a few local designers, eh? See you later, Mami, Papi, Auntie Qing Pei!”

The three grown-ups nod at us and wander off, Li Jiujiu telling Mama that she must try the food at this restaurant and that café. Kiki takes me to level one, where to my relief there are more affordable brands like H&M. We go inside a shop called (X)SML, and she tells me this is a local brand. The clothes in here have the kind of look that I’ve been admiring on Kiki—understated outfits that look well-tailored and fit on the body in such a way that’s both modest and yet alluring. She gets me to try a peach-colored top with a navy-blue sash that ties into a bow at the waist, and when I look in the mirror, I feel ridiculously different. Put together. Like I’ve got everything under control. Like I’m a good Chinese-Indo girl. I’m about to take it off and leave it rumpled on the rack when Kiki pops her head into the changing room.

She gasps with delight. “Look at you! I knew these clothes would fit you better than those ratty shirts you’ve been wearing. No offense.”

“Not sure how I can take that without offense, but okay,” I mutter.

Before I can stop her, she plucks the price tag from the nape and snaps it off. Then she grabs my “ratty” shirt from the side and walks out of the changing room.

“What the—” I scramble to put my shoes on—why did I even take them off?

Outside, Kiki’s already at the counter, paying for my top and a green dress she’d found for herself. She smiles when she seesme.

“Kiki, what are you doing? Give me back my shirt!”

She ignores me and taps her PIN onto the payment thingy. “Trust me, Shar, you can’t meet up with George Tanuwijaya wearing this—ugh—stained T-shirt, okay?”

“It’s not stained, it’s the design—ah, okay, yes that particular blob is a coffee stain, but Kiki! Give it back now.”

She turns to the cashier and hands her the shirt. “Please throw this away, thank you,” she says in Indonesian, before sauntering out of the store.

I rush after her, ready to tell her off, but she glances at her phone and says, “Okay, now you are suitably late, you should go to the café.”

That takes me aback. I was so ready to tell her how annoying she is, but being told I’m late for my coffee non-date is disarming. Argh!

“Third floor,” Kiki says helpfully.

I point a finger in her face. “We are not done here. We’ll discuss healthy boundaries with you when I’m done with the boymy mother has catfished.” With that, I stalk off and spend the time walking toward the café doing deep breathing exercises. By the time I find it, I’m somewhat calm-ish. Well, as calm as I can get about meeting a billionaire stranger my mom has tricked into meeting me, anyway. Huh, I’ve never met a billionaire in real life before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone I got to know online, never mind someone my mom got to know online on my behalf. Okay, my calm is dissipating. This is fine, this is a totally normal coffee non-date. I’ll sit there for half an hour, to be polite, and then make up some family emergency. A quick look at my phone tells me that I’m now thirteen minutes late. That’s an omen if I’ve ever seen one.

Like everything else in the mall, Kopi-Kopi is a super fancy café—it definitely puts all the places I go to in LA to shame. But I’m unable to admire the lovely décor, because as soon as I walk in, I spot him. George Clooney Tanuwijaya, sitting casually in a booth and scrolling through his phone.

He glances up, sees me, and there’s a moment of something. Something that makes my breath catch. Something real, like for a split second, both of us are unmasked and I’m seeing the boy behind the big name and finding that he’s just as vulnerable and lost as I am.

I blink, and the moment’s gone. I remind myself to breathe.

Here we go.

“Hi, George?”

He stands up and holds out his hand for me to shake. Kind of formal. Maybe that’s how people do things around here. Hishand’s warm and firm. Mine’s probably clammy. This is off to a great start. I sit down opposite him.

It’s hard for me to ignore how good-looking the guy is. I mean, he’s the kind of hot that would make me take surreptitious glances at him throughout classes if we’d gone to the same school. I can totally see myself eyeing him in AP Lit, admiring the nape of his neck and the strong, hard lines of his jaw, and those dark eyes that—

“Hey, SharSpy, how’re you doing?” he says, sliding back into his seat with the easy grace of an athlete and jarring me out of my thoughts. His voice is a bit of a shock—it’s deeper than I thought it would be and has an accent I can’t quite place. Not American, not British, but sounds familiar all the same.

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