Learning to Swear in America Read Free Page B

went back to the table and, using napkins for sanitation, grabbed three doughnuts. He ripped off a box lid and laid them inside, tossed in sugar packets and powdered creamer. He balanced the box lid on his arm and held her coffee in one hand, his tea in the other. When he got to the door, he realized he didn’t have a hand to open it.
    “Excuse me. Security? Can you open door, please?” Yuri enjoyed making the guard walk back across the lobby.
    The man opened the inner door for him, and Yuri stood in thelobby and waited for him to open the outer door, too. The heat smacked him in the face. He was walking down the steps when he realized that he’d been afraid of the girl when she was coming at him. Now he was going to her? He thought about turning around, but if the guard was still there, it would be too embarrassing. The girl was fiddling with her phone, but she saw him and her face lit up and she smiled. He sighed and walked up to her.
    “I thought maybe you wanted pastry,” he said, holding out the box, trying not to stare at the green glitter above her eyes.
    “I did! There were so many on the table I thought I could sneak one.” She laid her phone on the planter and pulled out a chocolate-glazed cream-filled doughnut. Her rings, a different-colored one on every finger, caught the bright California sunlight.
    Yuri held out the coffee and she took it, then scooted over and gestured toward the planter. He hesitated, then sat beside her. Only his toes touched the ground, so he inched forward so that his feet were down flat. It left him half leaning awkwardly on the planter. At least he wouldn’t look like a kid. The girl’s feet hung in the air, and as she rolled her toes under, her plastic shoes smacked against her heels.
    “You won’t get in trouble for being out here?” she said.
    “Pardon?” Then he realized she couldn’t see his name tag, and thought he was in food service. He laughed. The woman inside, who’d told him not to act like a waiter, would not have been pleased.
    “You have a nice laugh.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Are you contradicting me?” She gave him a severe look that was undercut by the chocolate on her lip.
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you’re wrong. My laugh sounds funny.” Why had he confessed that he didn’t like its sound?
    “Well, I like it. But you probably don’t get a chance to practice it with those self-important jerks in there.”
    Yuri flushed. Must be the combination of tea and sun, because what did he care what she thought?
    “They’re doing important work,” he said.
    “Yeah. But they could be nicer while they do it.”
    He didn’t say anything, because she was right. He sipped his tea and tried desperately to think of something to say. The problem with conversations was that you had to know something about the other person—what would interest them. And how did you know that until you’d had the conversation?
    “Are you in school?” she asked.
    He wanted to congratulate her for thinking of something to say, but maybe it wasn’t as hard for her. “No, I finished.”
    “Drop out or graduate?”
    “Oh. Um, I graduated.”
    “That’s good. Then you can go to college if you decide to.”
    He just nodded. They were silent for a moment.
    “I wish I was done with school,” she said.
    “Why?”
    She stared into her coffee cup. “I kinda hate my math teacher.”
    He recoiled. “Seriously?”
    “Yeah. Why? You like math?”
    “Very much. It’s language of universe.”
    She blew air out sharply. “Then the universe is swearing at me.”
    He thought about explaining math’s beauty to her, the elegance of an equation, the simplicity within the complexity. The thrill of touching truth and knowing it as ancient and unassailable, as permanent and profound. But he was a math guy—he didn’t have the words to do it—not in English. Probably not in Russian, either.
    “I don’t like algebra,” she said, “but it’s mostly the teacher. I mean,