Despite the dark sign, Mushu’s front door swings open easily when Shannen pushes. She throws me a mischievous smile before walking in, holding the door open behind her.
Curious, I fol ow her inside.
“Surprise!!!”
Shouts bombard me from al directions.
I slam my palm against my chest before my heart can beat its way out. “Holy bananafish, you guys!”
“Happy birthday,” Shannen says, handing me a box wrapped with yel ow paper and curl upon curl of orange ribbon.
I take the box, stil in shock and stil staring around the room at everyone gathered in the tiny entryway. Besides Shannen, Aunt Rachel is there, beaming, and Quince, of course. He’s got that boy-did-we-get-you look on his face, and that makes me smile more than anything. Next to him, Brody and Doe are joined at the hip, and a little ways to the side, Tel in is lounging against the wal , which is paneled with narrow strips of a very red wood.
“We knew you couldn’t be here on your actual birthday,” Aunt Rachel explains, “so we thought we’d surprise you with an early party.”
The hostess arrives at her podium, grabs a stack of menus, and leads us to the private dining room in the back.
Someone has transformed it into an underwater dream.
“This is just…” I take in al the decorations—streamers curling down from the ribbon in half a dozen shades of blue and green; big party-store cutouts of starfish, sea horses, and tropical fish; and tiny twinkling blue and green lights circling the room. My eyes tear, and I feel the emotion tighten around my throat. I take a quick breath to regain my control before saying, “Magical. Thank you.” Realizing that this could not have been the effort of just one or two of my friends and family, I add, “Everyone.”
“What are we waiting for?” Quince asks, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s eat.”
He holds out the chair at the head of the table, motioning for me to sit there. When I do, he takes the seat to my right.
Everyone fil s in around the table, and the waiter starts bringing in sushi.
A tray of cone-shaped shrimp tempura and California temaki.
A beautiful platter of New York and Philadelphia maki.
A rainbow array of anago, himachi, and toro nigiri.
This is what birthday bliss is al about.
When the waiter pops his head in to see if we want more, everyone groans. I exchange a look along the length of the table with Tel in—the only person at the table who could possibly keep up with me when it comes to sushi consumption—and we share an omigod-I’m-so-ful look.
“I couldn’t eat another morsel,” I announce.
Sounds of agreement come from everyone at the table.
The waiter nods and disappears.
“Now,” Aunt Rachel says, reaching beneath her seat and pul ing out a very smal box wrapped in homemade purple paper, “it’s time for presents.”
Everyone cheers and I blush. This is my least favorite part about human birthdays. I get so embarrassed. Under the sea a birthday is just a celebration, not a gift-giving occasion. Getting gifts is great, but I get squirmy under the spotlight, everyone watching while you careful y—or carelessly—open your package.
But as a ful -time land resident, I’l just have to get over it.
Aunt Rachel sets her gift in front of her and says, “I’d like to save mine for last, if that’s okay.”
“Open mine first,” Shannen says, nodding at the yel ow-and-orange package next to my water glass.
“Okay.” I smile as I reach for the box.
“There’s a tradition,” Aunt Rachel explains to Doe and Tel in, since they probably don’t know, “that if the birthday girl tears the wrapping paper on her first present, she gets as many spankings as she is old.”
Being ful y aware of this tradition—and Aunt Rachel’s determination to uphold it—I use my fingernail to slit the tape securing the yel ow wrapping paper. In seconds, I’ve dewrapped the gift and handed the paper to Aunt Rachel for inspection.
“Sadly,” Aunt Rachel says with a mock frown, “Lily has managed to avoid getting spanked for four birthdays running.”
Everyone laughs. I take the opportunity of their distraction to open the white box that contains Shannen’s gift. Inside, on a bed of yel ow tissue paper, is a bright orange calculator with yel ow keys. I lift it out and play with a few of the buttons.
“It’s for the SATs tomorrow,” Shannen explains.
“It’s perfect,” I say, pushing out of my chair and giving her a hug. “Every time I have to solve a math problem, I’l think of you. It wil help me focus more.”
Shannen beams.
“Mine next,” Doe says, passing an unwrapped box down the table.
Sinking back into my chair, I take the box. This is momentous. She’s participating in a human ritual. It must be a sign of progress, right?
I give Doe a smal smile before pul ing off the lid.
I gasp.
“I just thought,” she says, “that since you made one for Quincy, maybe you’d like one, too.”
“Doe,” I say, ful of emotion as I pul out the inch-wide sapphire blue sand dol ar. “It’s beautiful.” I hold up the necklace for everyone to see. Quince reaches beneath his black T-shirt and pul s out the matching necklace I made for him just a few weeks ago.
The smile he gives me might seem perfectly ordinary, but it’s not. It says, There’s hope for Doe yet.
I completely agree.