Lisa Ko - The Leavers

“Twentieth floor,” the doorman said.

Deming pressed the button. The elevator made its journey up and finally opened into a large, sunlit room that smelled of brewing coffee. Empty wine bottles crowded a table and strung between two walls was a streamer of glittery letters: HAPPY GOTCHA DAY!

He scanned the room. The elevator was the only door he could see, and it dinged when it opened. He would have to wait until everyone was asleep.

A girl Deming’s age skipped into the room, hair hanging past her armpits, eyes peeking out from behind a blunt fringe of bangs. “Mom’ll be out in a sec.”

“Angel, you’ve grown so much.” Kay bent down and hugged her.

To Deming the girl said, “I’m Angel Hennings.” She was the first Chinese person he had seen in nearly a year.

“Tell Angel your name,” Kay said.

“Daniel,” said Deming.

A woman padded out in a T-shirt and jeans. “Ka-ay.” Her dark wavy hair was laced with wiry white, and her voice was round and velvety. She reminded Deming of a cartoon cow in a milk commercial.

Kay hugged her. “Elaine, it’s so good to see you. And this is Daniel.”

Elaine enveloped Deming in a hug. Her hair smelled like apple shampoo. “Daniel, call me Elaine. What grade are you in? Sixth, like Angel, right?”

“Seventh,” Deming said.

“Seventh grade?”

“Going into seventh in the fall,” Kay said. “Ridgeborough Junior High.”

Elaine released the hug and studied him at arm’s length. “Junior high already?”

Deming’s mouth was dry. He and Roland were supposed to be in the same class in September, but he wasn’t sure where he’d be going to school now.

The elevator dinged. Deming heard Jim say, “His English appears more than adequate.”

“Like a regular little Noo Yawker,” Peter said.

“Peter!” Angel flung her arms around him.

“Coffee, anyone? I’m blasted from last night. Mommy needs her caffeine fix now.” Elaine walked into the kitchen, still talking. “Angel was so excited about her Gotcha Day party. So were we, of course, with all that wine. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it.”

“I know, I know, we really wanted to,” Kay said. “It would’ve been a rough drive last night, with all the weekend traffic. But we can have a Gotcha Day party for Daniel, and you guys can come.”

“Oh, you must,” Elaine said, “you absolutely must .”

“Oh, we will ,” Kay said, talking like Elaine.

Deming glanced at Angel, but she was bouncing from foot to foot and looking at the Gotcha Day sign. “Where am I sleeping tonight?” he asked. There was a couch that would make it easy to get to the elevator.

“Oh, we’ll figure that out later,” Elaine said. “Are you tired? Do you need a nap?” He shook his head.

“Elaine.” Angel tugged at her mother’s T-shirt. “Can I show Daniel my room?”

HER ROOM WAS MUCH smaller than his, with light pink walls, a bed with a pink bedspread and a heart-shaped headboard, clothes thrown across the unmade sheets and toys littering the floor, stuffed animals stacked four deep. Deming cleared a path through the center, pushing aside T-shirts and socks.

Angel held up a small pink iPod and white headphones. “Want to listen?”

They each took an earbud and sat on the floor. Music swelled into Deming’s right ear, a tinny electronic drumbeat and a woman singing crunchy, processed vocals.

Angel bobbed her chin. “When’s your birthday?”

“November 8.”

“I don’t have a real birthday because I’m adopted, but we decided that my birthday could be March 15. When’s your Gotcha Day?”

“What’s Gotcha Day?”

“You don’t know? All adopted kids have one. It’s like a birthday but not a birthday. It’s the day that you went home to your forever family.”

Gotcha sounded less fun than a birthday, more like he was being hunted. “I’m not adopted yet. I’m a foster kid.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like being adopted but it’s more temporary.” Deming looked at Angel. Her skin was light brown, her nose wide and squashy. She had a missing tooth, one of the pointy ones. He took his Discman out from his backpack. “You like Hendrix?”

“Who?”

“Jimi Hendrix. He has a song with the same name as yours.” Deming unplugged the earbuds and replaced her iPod with his Discman. He forwarded to “Angel” and pressed play. The guitar and cymbals shimmered in their ears, and he sang along. Tomorrow I’m going to be by your side. Then he got afraid that Angel might think he was singing to her, that he liked her. He hit stop. “You like it?”

“It’s all right.”

“He’s only, like, the greatest guitar player ever in the history of the universe.”

She flipped open a container, exposing a yellowing plastic U. “Do you want to see my retainer? I have to wear it when I sleep. It’s supposed to keep my teeth in place. It kind of hurts. I have too many teeth, I had to get one removed.” He was afraid she’d put the plastic U in her mouth, or even more terrifying, make him try it on, but she shut the container and tossed it onto the floor, where it landed on a stuffed parrot.

Deming wanted to tell Roland he had hung out with a girl, make it sound cooler than it was. He had Roland’s phone number on a piece of paper; he would call later and explain. He would have to do the same for Peter and Kay.

“You should ask your parents about your Gotcha Day when you’re adopted,” Angel said. “That way you’ll get gifts. I got a CD from my friend Lily and a T-shirt from my other friend Lily. I have three friends named Lily and a friend named Jade. We’re all adopted from China.”

Deming got up. From the window he could see the rooftops of smaller buildings, a woman watering plants, a couple sunbathing.

“That’s north,” Angel said. “Where the Empire State Building is. See that tall one over there?”

“I know what the Empire State Building is. And the Bronx, that’s north, too.” He couldn’t see the Bronx from where they were, but Angel’s confirmation of what direction they were facing helped orient him. He had a plan.

“The Bronx is far.”

“I used to live there.”

“With Peter and Kay?”

“Before I met them.”

“I thought you were born in China, like me.”

“I was born in Manhattan. I’m from here.”

Angel’s eyebrows were too close together, sparse and dark and wiggly. Deming grasped for the lost Mandarin words and lunged. “Did you think it was forever when you came here?”

She bunched up her face. “I don’t know Chinese.”

“Oh,” he said, crushed.

KAY INSISTED HE HOLD her hand. It was his job to lead her through the city, to make sure she was okay. An old woman with a cane was overtaking them, and Deming tried to get Kay to walk faster. Peter lingered behind them. “Come on, Dad,” he said.

Deming trudged on, a sour stench emanating from the garbage bags on the curb, and when he wasn’t looking he stepped into a smear of dog poop. He scraped his sneaker against the pavement. On the corner, a guy with a blonde ponytail was letting his dog pee all over the sidewalk.

They were going to Chinatown for lunch, passing Chinese people who were following the paths from his face to Kay’s hand to Kay and Peter’s faces, from Angel’s to Jim and Elaine’s. Angel couldn’t understand Chinese. “Kay, this is where they have the best cakes.” She pointed to a storefront that Deming didn’t recognize. They couldn’t be far from Rutgers Street.

“There used to be a bubble tea place here,” he said.

“This is where I have lion dance,” said Angel. “My sifu’s name is Steve and our troupe is called the Lotus Blossoms.”