Thecallrangoutfromtheter.
“I’llgetit.”
Elianstood,hislonglegscarryinghimtotheter.HereturhatrayholdingaBigMac,argefries,andtwocolddrinks.HeslidthelonelysmallfriesovertoCra,thensatdownacrossfromher.
Crapickedupafry—butdidrightaway.Theprecisecalcutorinherheadhadalreadystartedrunningagain,evaluatingeveryvariablethatwouldewithjoiningthebaweek.
“Howlongdoyouguyspracticeeachtime?”sheaskedseriously,pushinghergssesup.“IsitstillthatrehearsalstudioinXimending?”
EliantookabiteofhisBigMac.Hisdeepgazecutacrossthetableandlyontheayshe’dhiddenfardowninhereyes.
Attheter,theimageofheremptyingherpursedowntothestbitofgewasstillvivid.Heklywhatahighschoolerlivingonfivehundreddolrsaweek—someonewhohadtocalcuteevenlunch—wasreallyaskingwhenshesaid*howmanyhours*and*whichstudio*.
Eliaheburgerdown,wipedhishandskin,andlookedstraightintohereyes.Histonewascalm,butcarriedacertaintythatdidn’tallument.
“Usuallyfourtofivehours.Yes,it’sthesamestudioassttime.IfyoutakethebusfromTaipeiMainStation,it’saboutfourstops.Round-tripfareisthirty.”
Cradidthemathinherheadatlightnihirtyfortransportation,plushershareofafour-hourstudiofee—enoughtobankruptabudgetthatwasalreadyscrapingbottom.
She’dbarelystartedtofrown,alreadythinkingaboutwhereshecouldcutcosts,whenEliawordsslicedstraightthroughhertrainofthought.
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