“Didn’t New Year’s already happen?” Billy asks, skeptically.
“No,” Marcus says, looking him in the eye and failing to elaborate.
“Oh,” Billy says, awkwardly.
Marcus beams at him and nods. “So, do you want to come over, or not?”
“Okay,” Billy agrees instantly, following Marcus home, the same route they take more days than not these days, chatting about school, and books, and that one cat that seems to live at three or four houses on the same street, and not, at any point, explaining to Billy why New Year’s is happening in February.
“Oh, by the way,” Marcus says, pulling a sticker out of his pocket and slapping it on Billy’s shirt, “since you’re not wearing red.”
“Was I supposed to wear red?” Billy asks, anxiously, pulling his shirt out a little to look at the design, a little red diamond with stylized gold lettering on it. “You didn’t tell me – I didn’t know I was – should I change?” It occurs to Billy that Marcus is dressed in all red, actually, although he didn’t notice the color of the corduroys or hoodie, because they’re just, well, they are bright red, and maybe he should have?
“Do you like tigers?” Marcus asks, pulling Billy inside.
Billy startles, trying not to look guilty, even though he’s sure that’s not what Marcus means, because he’s not sure what Marcus does mean, except he thinks it has something to do with the basket full of assorted plush tigers sitting by the window. All vaguely cartoony, all very soft and cute. “Of…of course? I do?”
“You can have one, or a couple, if you want,” Marcus says, gesturing at the pile of them. “My cousin runs a bakery and they wanted to do a New Year’s party, but they weren’t sure exactly on the theme, so they ordered a bunch of samples to see what stuff went best with each other, and then they sent all the leftovers to us, which is, I guess, a bunch of rejects, technically, but I do like tigers, so it’s not all bad.”
“Running a bakery sounds confusing,” Billy says, for lack of anything better to add.
“You’re telling me,” Marcus agrees. “We also have a bunch of donuts in all the zodiac designs, if you’re hungry.”
Billy perks up at that, except that, when he gets to the donuts, they’re all very detailed, and has trouble picking one out. And then he has trouble bringing himself to eat it, because it’s got a snake grinning at him, except in a cute way, not a freaky way, but then the cuteness is itself a little freaky on, you know, food. “Are these rejects, too?”
“Practice runs, I think,” Marcus says, munching on his own donut. “That’s why the designs are different sizes, I guess. I’m no good at frosting donuts.”
“Me either,” Billy agrees, emphatically, thinking about trying to just frost cupcakes for the bakesale, and how much harder it would be with a hole in the middle. “I like the idea of ‘you can be anything’ except I really don’t think I could be a chef.”
“Right?” Marcus says, “but you have to go to a whole special school for that and everything. I would much rather be a marine biologist.”
“You don’t have to go to school for that?” Billy, who has never thought of marine biology farther than watching a dozen documentaries about dolphins, asks.
“Yeah, but, like, a normal school,” Marcus says. “But, then, I don’t know, animal behavior is a whole big thing, so maybe you end up baking anyway.”
“I would love to teach dolphins to bake,” Billy says, wistfully.
Marcus gives him that familiar look, and says, “anyway, you’re the guest, so what game do you want to play?”
Billy, still hesitant to ask what kind of event, exactly, this is, says, hesitantly, “what kind of games are there?”
“I don’t know, we’ve got Monopoly – don’t pick Monopoly – and like, Risk, oh, hey, Hungry Hungry Hippos! I thought I lost that one,” Marcus says, from inside the closet. Billy chances peeking around to see all sorts of board games and sports equipment shoved in haphazardly, with what looks like probably party decorations at the bottom, and some boots. “We have cards, too, if you’d rather play a card game, I just have to find them,” Marcus continues, holding the stack up with one hand and gesturing with the other.
“Do you have Settlers of Catan?” Billy asks, curiously.
“Yeah,” Marcus agrees, “but you won’t be able to convince my parents to play it.”
“Do you have Cards Against Humanity?” Billy asks, trying to get his eyes to focus on any one thing in the overfull closet.
“Billy,” Marcus says, very slowly, “I love you, bro, but if you say anything fucked up in front of my parents I will never talk to you again. And by that I mean my parents will never let me talk to you again. Because they’ll think you’re like. A drug dealer trying to get me to join a gang of car thieves or whatever.”
“Do drug dealers normally steal cars?” asks Billy, because, in his experience, it tends to mostly be distinct groups of people, but it’s also not most of the people he interacts with in either case, so he could be wrong.
“According to my parents, constantly,” Marcus says, with a shrug. “They also worry that I’m going to get dragged into fish trafficking, so.”
“Because of the marine biology,” Billy says, sagely.
Marcus glances at him, tilts his head, and says, “oh. I never thought of that. Probably.”
“I know all about tropical fish,” Billy says. “I have one.”
“Yeah, I know, I’ve met Batman,” Marcus says, reaching over a pile of games and smacking his hand around a few times, dragging a box out. “You promise you’re not going to say anything super fucked up?”
“Cross my heart,” Billy agrees, nodding. “There’s only so much bad stuff in the regular version without all the weird stuff, anyway.”
Marcus blinks at him and Billy struggles not to squirm under that gaze as he says, “remind me to look at your booster packs the next time I’m at your house.”
Billy nods happily, wishing he had grabbed one of the tigers so he could hide behind it just at the moment. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Noodles, obv,” Marcus says, distractedly, checking to make sure the contents of the box are what he expects them to be. “And tang yuan for dessert. They’re – you know what, never mind. You’ll like them.”
“Okay,” Billy, who has rarely encountered food he doesn’t at least tolerate, says, gamely, nodding and not trying to parse any of it.
“Oh,” says Marcus, waving a hand in the vague direction of the front door, “and that’s my parents now. Act like you’re not confused.”
Billy’s eyes widen at this proclamation, unsure if it’s a command he can follow.
“Billy!” says Marcus’s dad, clapping the boy on the shoulders, “are you excited for your lucky envelope?”
“Yes,” Billy agrees, at a slight nod from Marcus, who gives him a thumbs up.
With surprising ceremony, Marcus’s dad hands over the envelope, sparkling and covered in multicolored (if overwhelmingly red) designs, and Billy opens it with, not quite trepidation, but something slightly warier than the excitement he’s been told to feel. It’s a little lumpy in the middle, but doesn’t weigh much.
Billy shakes it out carefully, holding out his hand, and a small enameled tiger keychain falls into his palm, shining up at him. Pleased, he grins up at the adults, and holds it up to show Marcus. “Thanks, Mr. Sun!” Marcus gestures vaguely at the envelope again, and Billy looks inside to find a crisply folded twenty. “Ooh, money,” he says, in what is, if Marcus’s expression is anything to go by, something a little too close to awe.
“Just,” Marcus says, shoving what isn’t quite a Tootsie Roll into his hand. “Eat a candy and go set the table.”
Billy salutes Marcus, tucking the envelope into his pocket, and attaching his new keychain to his keys on the way to the dining room. When Marcus’s mom next asks him a question, he’s forced to simply nod, chewing furiously.
Marcus pats him on the back fondly. “Happy New Year.”
