The Painted Boy Read Free

everyone could use a kind word or a helping hand sometimes.
    “Wow,” he said as she set it in front of him. “This is a feast.”
    “You haven’t eaten for awhile?”
    “Just truck-stop food when the bus stopped.”
    She poured him a glass of water and slid it across the table.
    “So, why do you want a job in a Chinese restaurant?” she asked.
    He started to answer, but his mouth was too full.
    “I grew up working in one,” he said when he’d swallowed, “and it’s pretty much the only thing I’m good at. Besides—apparently—getting into trouble.”
    She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.
    “Have you ever tried working in another kind of restaurant?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “I’ve only ever worked in my parents’ place, but I know the business from the ground up. I’ve been a dishwasher, busboy, waiter, and cook. I know how to clean up, order supplies, make the food, and work the cash.” He took another, smaller bite from the burrito. “I need to get a job. And find out where the Y is so I’ve got a place to sleep tonight.”
    Rosalie nodded. “So are you on March break, or have you already finished school?”
    “You mean like an accelerated program?”
    “I guess.”
    He smiled. “Just because I’m Asian doesn’t mean I’m an academic whiz. Maybe it’s in my genes, because I’ve got a brother who’s a doctor, and a sister who’s a lawyer, and another sister who’s the CEO of an NGO helping kids in Africa. But it never took with me. I’m a dropout.”
    “Were your parents disappointed?”
    “You’d think. But Paupau told them—”
    He broke off at her puzzled look. “Sorry. That’s my grandmother on my mother’s side. She’s kind of like Marlon Brando in The Godfather . Everybody in the family—heck, everybody in the neighborhood—defers to her. Anyway, she told my parents that this was something I was supposed to do, so I left with their blessing.”
    “I don’t get it. What are you supposed to do?”
    He shrugged. “Who knows? She just told me to go someplace that feels right and then I’d figure it out.”
    “And your parents were really okay with your doing this?”
    “Not really. I don’t even know that I am. But you don’t argue with Paupau. She has a lot of strange ideas, but like I said, everybody pretty much does what she says. So I stuck my finger on a map and it came up Santo del Vado Viejo—which I’ve got to tell you, I’d never heard of before—and here I am.” He smiled. “And who knows, maybe those guys chasing me and me hiding out in your tree is all part of some bigger plan.”
    “You don’t believe that,” she said.
    “Paupau says there are no coincidences, there is only the fate that you must follow.”
    “But you’re—” She hesitated, then plunged on. “You’re just a kid like me. You should be going to school, hanging with your friends, enjoying your March break . . .”
    “Which would beat being chased by a bunch of tattooed guys who want to kick my head in. I can’t argue with that. So what about you? What’s your story?”
    He took another bite from his burrito and gave her an expectant look.
    “There’s nothing much to tell,” she said. “I go to school. I work here in my uncle’s restaurant. I hang out with my friends.”
    “And stay out of trouble.”
    “Usually, yes.” She studied him for a moment before adding, “You know, my uncle’s looking for a cook. Maybe he’ll give you the job if I ask him.”
    “I don’t know anything about preparing Mexican food.”
    “You can learn. It’s not hard.”
    “I don’t want to impose.”
    “It’s cool,” she said. “Really. Unless you really have to work in a Chinese restaurant.”
    “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I’ve got this letter of recommendation that Paupau said I should show any prospective employer. I don’t know what it says, but I guess that’s why the guy at the Shanghai Gardens was so helpful.”
    “You don’t know what it