Page 3 of You Had Me at Hello World
He let out a whooping, full laugh. Then he knelt down so we were at the same level, and his clear blue eyes were big and sincere as he said, “I hope so, Charise. I hope so.”
Four months later, Mom and Michael got married in Portland’s city hall. It was a gray, wet morning, the kind where the rain can’t make up its mind. I carried the rings and Michael’s daughter, Olive, scattered rose petals at our feet.
My mom looked so beautiful that day. She had borrowed a shimmering ivory dress. Her ink-black hair cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets. She was radiant and happy. I hadn’t seen her smile like that since my father.
During the vows, I figured that as long as Michael stuck around, he would be better than all the other dudes.
I was so wrong.
Two months after the wedding was the first time Michael blew up. He flipped the table like some Marvel superhero attacking a perfectly innocent dish of three-cup chicken. Mom begged him to calm down. Olive and I hid in our shared bedroom and sat with our backs against the door as he went full Hulk on the plates.
Years later, my mom would explain that Michael was sick with a disease called PTSD, which could bring somebody nightmares even when they were awake. But at age eight, I didn’t know that. All I knew was the plates shattering, a bright, clean sound, almost like the song of a wind chime.
Olive slipped her hand into mine. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember the kind man who had wiped restaurant tables and given me White Rabbit candy.
Chapter Two
After Michael leaves with my money, I spend a few minutes figuring out how to kill him.Sorry, officer, he slipped and fell onto my knife!
But murdering someone, even someone who deserves it as much as my stepdad, would probably mess up the rest of my junior year. At the very least, I should wait until after AP exams.
So I resort to texting Drewwyd.
Drew McVeigh is this senior in third period pre-calc. He’s all scruffy-skater vibes: sandy hair, voice like the crackle of dead leaves, and a scar on his chin. You know. The type of cute that inspires girls to commentI can fix himon TikTok.
In February we got paired up for a project on parametric equations and we would half-work, half-procrastinate in his bedroom. While we were computing intersection points, he kissed me, and I decided that was fine. We’ve been fooling around ever since.
He’s not the love of my life or whatever. He’s not even my boyfriend. But he’s heard of deodorant and has his own car—well,access to his dad’s girlfriend’s car—which puts him squarely in the top ten percent of Chinook Shore High School guys.
Fifteen minutes later, Drew’s parked in front of my house. When he sees me, the corners of his lips drag upward, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “Mulan. What isup.” I’ve asked him not to call me that, and yet here we are. Maybe I should start calling him Mushu.
He reaches through the driver’s window for a high five, which I don’t return.
“Don’t make me regret texting you,” I say.
“Yo, what’s wrong with the nickname? Mulan is straight fire. She’s a total badass, and she’s hot.”
“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s also Chinese.”
“C’mon, Char, don’t be that way.” He dangles his hand in the air, still waiting on that high five, and after a beat, I lift my palm to meet his.
Maybe I should give him more crap about the nickname, but it’s hard to stay pressed at Drew. It’s like being mad at a golden retriever.
When I open the passenger door, the seat is cluttered with empty beer cans.
“My B, lemme fix that.” In one fluid motion, he swipes all the cans onto the car floor. Classy.
I sit and click the seat belt buckle into place. “So, your dad’s place?” We usually make out in Drew’s room.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Nah, we can’t go there today. He’s being annoying.”
In a burst of recklessness, I say, “Let’s go to Osprey’s Point.”
Osprey’s Point is a picnic area near the shore. Benches, sandy gravel, leafy green trees. Gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean. Like the rest of Oregon, before it was Osprey’s Point, it had a different name and it belonged to Indigenous people.
Now it’s become an infamous hookup spot for Chinook Shore High School students, exactly as Lewis and Clark intended. Drew has offered to take me before, but I always shot him down. I was scared that sayingyeswas the same thing as agreeing to go all the way. And that wasnoton my junior year bingo card.
But right now I’m choosing chaos.
