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There were other times during my teenage years I thought about his neck. I imagined reaching up and wrapping my hands around that seemingly strong thing, with its elegant lines, and squeezing, squeezing enough to make him stop laughing at me. I wanted to make him remember just who I was, that we used to be best friends, that one time, as kids, under his pirate-ship themed bed covers, he whispered to me that I was his favourite person in the world —
“When was the last time you had Thai?” Lucas asks.
I blink. “Ages,” I answer. “It’s been forever since I ate Southeast Asian food, period.”
“What? But it’s still your favourite cuisine, right?”
“Yeah, but Cleo can’t handle spicy food. I took her to a Singaporean place last week and pointed out some dishes she could order that weren’t spicy. She took one bite and said it was too much for her. I tried some of hers and thought that if she found that spicy, she must find salt spicy.”
Lucas laughs, and it’s not at my expense. It’s because he thinks I’m funny, and maybe I’m just as bad as everyone else, because a part of me is pleased when I can impress Lucas.
“She enjoyed the coconut rice though,” I rush to add, because I don’t want to sound as if I’m making fun of my girlfriend. “What’s your favourite type of food? Cuban, right?”
“Why do you say Cuban?”
“Remember our pirate game? There was that summer when we made your poor mum cook us all types of Caribbean food, and I remember you loved the Cuban sandwiches.”
“I did love them, ten years ago,” Lucas says. “Nowadays, my favourite food’s anything with at least thirty grams of protein.”
“Right. And does this curry you’ve ordered have thirty grams of protein?”
“I doubt it. But today’s a cheat day.”
Our food comes out, and we go quiet as we devour our food. The flavours are phenomenal. Lucas was right, this place is incredible.
“Remember when you used to bring ramen to school, back when we were in Year 7?” Lucas asks after ten minutes, when we’re still eating but have slowed down considerably.
“Kind of,” I say. My memory isn’t the best, and I only remember bits and pieces of Year 7. I remember my first day on the big campus, where our classes were in several different buildings rather than in just one room. I remember the Year 12s were tall and scary. I remember science class, where we had had to wear lab coats and used Bunsen burners.
At the beginning of high school, Lucas was still my friend. Sure, he’d grown a lot, and his voice was deeper, and I’d notice girls whispering about him, and he was always chosen first when we were split up into teams for sports class. But he was still mine.
“You’d bring it every Wednesday,” Lucas says. “Because, back then, it was your favourite food even though your mum said it was bad for you. You’d make it in the microwave in the common room.”
“Mm-hmm. But then, as soon as I took it out, half of it would be gone.” Boys would badger me to give them some, even though I’d only cooked a single packet and there was hardly any to go around. I’d be left with barely any to fill my stomach, and I’d spend the rest of my school day hungry.
“Yeah. So then, you came up with a plan. One day, you showed up at school with spicy ramen.”
“That’s right. Shin Ramyun. Except that plan didn’t really work.” Sure, some of the guys couldn’t handle the spicy Korean noodles, but there were a bunch of guys who gobbled it up easily. More than that, they preferred the Shin Ramyun to plain, basic chicken noodles, and so they ate even more than usual.
“So that’s when you took the next step,” Lucas says, lips twitching. “You showed up at school with extra-extra spicy noodles.”
“When those guys asked me for some of my lunch, I happily gave them some.”
“They spat it out right onto the grass.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I remember. And afterwards, we sat on the stairs in front of the library, and I made myself eat the noodles, even though it made me cry.”
“You got used to it pretty quickly, though. Only took you a few more weeks.”
“That’s because we practiced eating spicy food together! Remember how we’d spend the weekends buying the spiciest looking chilli from the supermarket and see who could eat the most?”
Lucas grins, showcasing his top row of straight, white teeth. “Yep. My spice tolerance is all thanks to you.”
I look down at my bowl. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember everything you do, Charlie.”
I jerk my gaze up. Lucas’s smile is gone, replaced by a strangely serious look. It’s unsettling, and I don’t like it. I distract myself with drinking water.
