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The piercing, sloshing sound the bubble tea shaker machine would make a great sample.
I don't know how I've never noticed it before. Maybe it's because it's been a slow day in the shop today – despite it being a sunny day and a weekend – and it's the only thing I can seem to focus on as I pack a to-go order for the Grubhub driver waiting outside.
The machine stops its shaking. I walk over to retrieve the cocktail shaker and go ahead and put in another shaker in, then press the button. The sloshing commences again. If I put some distortion on the sound, it'll make a sick drill song. And drill music is hot right now. I can already picture a rapper like Pop Smoke being on it or something.
I stare at the machine again, index finger tapping against my chin, thinking if I can slip away for two seconds to grab my phone from the back to record the sound before the sloshing stops.
Pete, my manager, usually lets me off the hook with a lot of things but using your phone while you're on shift is a big no-no under company policy so I doubt he'll be able to let that one slide.
Plus, it's not like I can hide it. There's CCTV cameras around the shop since the guy who owns the shop loves spying on us newbies. He's got a boner for psychological torture and loves docking his employees pay for stupidest stuff. One time, I'd accidentally spilled some milk on the floor and it got caught on camera, so the next day, he made me reimburse a carton with my own money.
There's a reason why Dragon Cha has been struggling to hire. I'm the only one delusional enough to take the job.
What can I say, I'm desperate for the cash and this place pays nearly twice as much per hour than the rest of the shops in the island.
The shaker machine grinds to a halt again and I pack up the last bubble tea in the order, then rest my elbows on the counter and lean my back against it. Maybe I'll record the sample after my shift's over. I can already hear how the song will sound like – some hi hats Trisello's, 808s, fast snares. I might even add some cool strings. If only I know someone who knows someone who knows Pop Smoke. Or anyone in the industry that'll get my track to him.
Someone behind me clears her throat. I whip around to find a dark-haired woman in her mid-forties thrusting her bubble tea towards me, wearing an annoyed expression that sinks into every wrinkle and crevice of her long, sullen face.
"The boba in my drink is overcooked," she says flatly.
I squint at the drink. The cup's nearly empty now, with the exception of a few sad pieces of boba balls stuck to the bottom of her cup. Makes sense since she left with her drink nearly an hour ago. And I saw her take a sip of said drink and make a satisfied hum before leaving the store.
I know what you're trying to pull here, woman. And I'm not buying it.
"Okay," I say, taking the cup hesitantly from her. "Are you sure about that, ma'am? Because we cook our boba in batches and so far, today, they've been no complaints."
"Yes, I'm sure." She looks at me like I've just insulted her entire ancestorial line. "Are you calling me stupid?"
"No, ma'am, of course not-"
"Then, replace it. And give me a refund while you're at it."
"I'm afraid we can't give you a refund if we're replacing your drink-"
"That's it," she snaps, jabbing a finger down on the counter hard. "I want to see your manager. Now."
I grit my teeth and smile tightly.
"Alright. As you wish," I say, bringing her half-consumed drink with a disgusting chewed out straw to the back where Pete's usually working. I find him at his desk, punching numbers into an excel sheet on the company's laptop. He's a short guy - shorter than me, an Asian chick, which is surprising - so I have to bend over to tap him on the shoulder. "Yo, Karen's asking for you."
He turns over to look up at me, his stringy, brown hair falling to the back.
"Another one?" Pete asks and I nod. He groans loudly. "It's the third time this week."
"You know how it is." I shrug.
"God, I hate city people," he lambasts as he shuts his laptop. "They're relentless."
It's funny how he assumes that every difficult person that he's had to serve is either a tourist or came from the city. Coral Cove is just a hundred ish miles away from Raleigh and the people from there are some of the nicest people I've ever met, so I don't know what he's talking about. He just doesn't get that there's bad people everywhere. Despite living in Coral Cove most of his life, Pete still tends to view the island through rose-tinted glasses.
"Hey, I'm a city person," I say a little defensively. "Technically speaking."
He rises from his chair, grimacing. "You've been coming here every summer since you were nine. You know this island inside out, you're practically a local."
My bottom lip quivers. I know myself well enough to know that I'm a city person through and through, and after the summer ends, that's where I'm headed back to. A part of me ever wonders if I wasn't so stuck on a music career that I could possibly move here.
Nah, I think I'd go crazy. My ambitions might be too big for this tiny island.
I offer Pete a soft smile, appreciative of the comment anyway.
"I'm gonna chill out back while you deal with... that," I say, gesturing to the door where the Karen is likely still waiting for his assistance. I'm already eyeing the laptop sitting on the cabinet over his desk that I had stashed in here this morning in case I found five minutes to spare during my shift.
He eyes me carefully, already anticipating what I'm about to do. "As long as you're not touching Appleton while you're at it."
"Ableton," I correct him.
"Whatever. Hands off. I mean it," Pete says sternly.
I lift my hands up in surrender.
"You got it."
He gives me another long look before turning his back and pushing his way through the door.
When he's gone, my hands are already reaching for my laptop.
If I have to wait to get that music sample, I should still use my time wisely. And unfortunately for me, I have a deadline to meet tomorrow.
I plop onto Pete's seat and power the laptop up. The best thing about this back room is that this is the only place that the CCTVs don't touch. Pete was the one who fought to have them removed, and now us employees get to rest peacefully here without being spied on.
I click on the latest Ableton file. Ableton Live is the best producing software out there. All the biggest producers in the industry use it. I've tried other softwares like Logic Pro and Studio One, but nothing compares to this. It's way more flexible, and features more warp modes than any other DAW, which is great for more complicated stuff like EDM music.
I'm a pop producer for the most part, but I dabble in other genres when I need to. So far, my client pool has been reduced to small indie artists and corporate clients.
As you can already tell, I'm still trying to catch my big break.
I figured if I was stuck in Coral Cove, I might as well make the most out of the peace and quiet the island has to offer and work on getting as many beats out as possible. Maybe even apply to some songwriting and producing camps while I'm at it. Find meaningful connections to the industry remotely, no matter how small. Any opportunity is a good opportunity, they say.
I slide out my earphones from the pocket of my apron and plug it into the laptop. I do a quick scroll through all the tracks on the file. It's a jingle I'm producing for the pizza shop down the street. I don't get much of a say in the lyrics – believe me, if I did, I would put up a FIGHT – which means I'm stuck with the melody and the production. I click on the play button so I can listen to the song once through.
Surf's Up has the best pizzas in town,
Our 23 flavours got you running your mouth,
We can cut it, we can slice it, flat, rolled or thick,
Our patrons will say - our slices are first-rate!
My mouth pinches with concern. Hmmm. I thought I'd left it in a good place last night but listening to it again today doesn't give me the satisfaction I thought I'd feel.
Something's missing. Maybe it's a mixing issue? Or it needs another layer of vocals? Maybe an instrument? I click play again, tenting my fingers together as I figure out what I'm going to do. I tinker with the file a little, adding a different kind of guitar effect to make it more muted so it won't come off so strong against the in-your-face lyrics.
"Fallon Reese-Lee, you're gonna be the death of me," Pete says, clicking his tongue in disappointment when he re-enters the room.
"I hope I am. That means I get your job," I say without tearing my gaze away from my laptop. "Karen left?"
"Yep, I slipped some raw boba into her drink and she said it tasted much better."
"Gross. Did you give her a refund?"
Pete scoffs. "She wishes I was that nice. Just gave her the obligatory five-dollar voucher. She flipped me off when I left. I hate any Karen, but damn do I love a woman with an attitude. It's my greatest dilemma." He hovers over my shoulder, peering at what I'm working on. The heavy breathing suggests he's annoyed. "Man, can Surf's Up give you a break? Barely two weeks into opening and they're already trying to steal my favorite employee."
"I'm just freelancing for them. And it's only for this one project," I tell him, clicking save on the file and twisting towards him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Wait, how do you know I'm working for Surf's Up though? Thought they were trying to keep it on the DL, with it sort of being a slight conflict of interest."
"It's Coral Cove. Someone's business is everybody's business." Pete says, nodding his chin at me. "So, how much are they paying you?"
"Eighty bucks."
His caramel-brown eyes widen in disbelief.
"My friend, you are being scammed."
"I know," I sigh, closing the laptop and laying an arm over the back of my seat, peering up at him. "But it's good exposure."
"An open mic at Harvey's is good exposure. Taking on an uncredited jingle project isn't."
"Well, you know I'm desperate," I mumble as I rise up from the seat, picking up the laptop and wedging it between my arm and the side of my body.
Pete frowns. "I don't know why you're so afraid. You should just tell your parents."
"And risk being the disappointment of the family? Pretty sure that spot's reserved for my brother," I mutter, shuffling past the half-wall to the locker area to grab the rest of my things. I stuff my laptop into my bag and slide my phone out of the front pocket, then scroll through a couple of missed call notifications and several messages from Cole. Speak of the devil. "I gotta run. It's my lunch break now. So, I'm gonna head back to the house to check up on him."
Pete sends me a bored look. "Great. I assume he asked for a drink too?"
"Taro milk tea," I say. "No sugar."
"Blasphemy," Pete hisses.
I pop my head through the half-wall. "Says the manager of a boba shop whose favorite drink is a milk tea with no boba," I counter back.
Pete rolls his eyes. He grips the door before heading back to the front. "Fine. I'll get Cole's drink started. Only if you tell him I said hi and I think we should go out."
Pete's been crushing on Cole ever since he came in to walk me home on my first day at Dragon Cha. I don't think he's ever missed a day without asking about him.
"Yeah, I think he heard you the first time, Pete," I say, looping an arm through the strap of my bag. "And his answer's still no."
"You can tell him that's homophobic," Pete mutters.
"You can tell him that yourself, if you actually have the balls to talk to him."
"My balls are perfectly fine sitting in that vat of brown sugar behind the counter, thank you very much," he says amusingly before disappearing off again.
***
I spent nearly every summer at Coral Cove at parents' beach house for as long since I could remember.
I absolutely loved it here. Growing up, mom struggled a lot with money so we never had anything as nice as this beach house. Before I was born, her and my dad moved from Taiwan to the States to give us a better life, but it ended up being a really rough one.
Because nobody tells you that the American dream mostly applies to non-migrants.
Despite both mom and dad holding distinguished degrees in the science field, they'd both instead been relegated to blue-collar jobs seeing as they didn't have a good grasp of the English language. My dad ended up getting a job as a sous-chef at a restaurant and my mom worked as a hairstylist at a salon. The pay was shit and the hours were long. Sometimes, they had to work double shifts on the weekends to keep up.
I barely recall interacting with my mom or dad all that much. What I do recall is being seven years old and having to figure out how to cook for my brother. Mom taught me how to microwave stuff from the freezer, and I taught myself how to work the rice-cooker, and then later, the stove. I would help Cole with homework, clean up around the house and tuck him into bed. I had zero social life. At seven, I was mine and my brother's caregiver.
Not that either of my parents really noticed. They were too busy being pushed to the edge. The stress was simply too much, and eventually they started taking it out on each other. That was when things turned from perfectly adequate to painfully unbearable.
When the arguments started, I plugged in my earphones and shut off. I couldn't afford CDs so I just listened to whatever pirated music I could get my grubby hands on. It did the trick. Numbed the brain. I tuned everything out. I don't even remember what the catalyst to my dad was when he decided to call it quits from the family. I just remember waking up one day and finding all his stuff missing.
Mom said he loved us, but he just didn't love her anymore and that's why he had to leave. I believe otherwise. I think he started to resent all of us, because my mom persuaded him to move so far away from their homeland for mine and Cole's sake.
Forgetting my dad was easy, since I barely remembered having a proper relationship with him. After he bolted, there wasn't much news of him. Last I heard was from my grandma – my mom's mom – who heard that he'd moved back to Taiwan and had another family of his own. When I heard about that, I thought I'd feel something. Sadness, maybe. Disappointment. Anger that he was able to move on with his life. But I didn't feel none of that.
My dad leaving was the best thing he could've possibly done, both for himself and for mom. Because after him, my mom met Richard. And life with Richard with great. Richard is the best dad we could've possibly gotten. Mom met him at the salon when he'd came in looking to fix the haircut his then-girlfriend had given him. He'd been so smitten with my mom that the very same night, he broke up with said girlfriend and asked my mom out. Twelve years of marriage later, they've never been happier.
Richard is great. He's also incredibly cultured, having spent most of his working life in places like Singapore, Hong Kong and even Taiwan before, so him and my mom speaks in Chinese most of the time. And the best thing is that he loves me and Cole like we were his own. That's why when my mom married him, me and Cole also took his last name and combined it with our first dad's. Reese-Lee. It's rare in Chinese custom to share a surname like that, but me and Cole wanted to find a way to honor him. He helped my mom out a lot too; he pulled my mom out of the salon, helped her improve her English, and armed her with a job that actually highlighted her merits. Now, she teaches psychology at North Carolina State University.
The beach house was Richard's one year anniversary present to my mom, but really it was a gift to all of us because it helped me, and Cole fill out the rest of our childhood with happier memories that my mom's earlier marriage to my dad had failed to do. Sadly, we stopped coming to Coral Cove after I went got shipped off to NYU two summers ago.
With Cole and I being back this time around, the feeling of innocence has dissipated, to say the least. Especially since we're here under reprehensible pretenses...
The two-story house sits on the beachfront of Cove Beach, along with two dozen other houses. Most locals will tell you that out of all the four beaches on this island, the one our house is sitting on is the best one. The waves are great for surfing, and the sunset here is out of this world. And the most awesome thing about it is that the beach only has private access, which means the residents here get the best of what the island has to offer for themselves.
Our house is at the very tail end of the beach, so it takes me a longer to get there. I'm usually on my skateboard to shave some time off the journey, but I don't do that during my lunch hour trips since I always have Cole's drink in hand.
As I approach our house, I notice that there are a bunch of vans parked outside our neighbor's house. Some of the residences here on Cove Beach have been converted into Airbnbs, so it isn't a surprise that usually get a revolving door of new people around here. But for some reason, the sight of those vans makes me nervous. Either someone important is going to be staying here or our new guest is a serial kidnapper.
A couple of plain-shirt movers zigzag between the house and the vans carrying large black metal cases. A tall man with a square face and dark hair holds a tablet in one hand as he delegates the movers about. Curious, I try to catch a glimpse of the mystery guest through the entrance of the house, but no such luck.
I'm sure I'll see them soon enough. From the looks of it, I doubt they're here for a weekend getaway.
The door to our beach house is already open when I push through it. The fresh linen smell that I expect to smell is overpowered by the smell of seafood. And sure enough, there's a takeout box from The Dock on the kitchen island with a half-eaten lobster roll tucked inside.
I force my annoyance inward as I drop by bag by the foot of the island and shuffle towards the living room where Cole is.
"Hey," I say in greeting.
He's lying on the couch, his jet-black hair is a ruffled mess against the headset resting on the top of his head as he yells something about DatStick6969's mom. He has one leg thrown casually over the top of the sofa as his hands toy with the game controller. The large LED TV screen shows his character on a crusade to kill as many zombies as the game will allow it.
My brother doesn't even bother looking up from the TV when he asks me, "Yo, Fal, got my bubble tea?"
I walk over towards the sofa and dangle the Dragon Cha paper bag over his face.
"Guys, I'll be right back," Cole says into his headset. He punches down on the pause button and propels himself into the sitting position to snatch the bag from me. He peers inside the bag and a large smile breaks across his face, like I just made his day. "Sick. Thanks."
"You still owe me for yesterday's bubble tea, by the way," I tell him. "I'm not letting Pete doc it from my paycheck."
"Relax," he waves me off. "I'll Venmo you the money."
"Thanks," I say. "Speaking of Pete, he says hi and he thinks you two should go out."
Cole groans, punching the plastic straw into his bubble tea a little too hard. "Does it not get exhausting saying that every time you greet me from work?"
"Does it not get exhausting playing video games twelve hours a day?" I glare at him.
"Are you kidding? It's fun as shit," he muses, taking a sip of the bubble tea before returning to his controller.
"You know, perhaps you should start making yourself useful around here," I point out, shuffling over to the island to clean up his takeout. "If we're both going to be hiding out in this beach house for the rest of the summer, we should try to be productive."
"Or maybe we should chill because it's the summer, Fallon," he mutters, his gaze already returning back to the TV.
"You know I have zero chill," I say. "And so do mom and dad. And if they find out you dropped out from NYU..."
"Hey, you dropped out too," he tries to argue back.
"No, I didn't. I have every intention of going back after the summer ends," I say, eyeing him. "You... dropped out, dropped out."
"Come on, there's no stigma anymore," Cole points out. "Look at Mark Zuckerberg-"
"If you go on again about how the top entrepreneurs in the world have been dropouts, I will murder you before DatStick6969 does. And unless you're working towards something productive for your future, you're not getting a pass for being a bum."
Cole rips off his headset. "Hey, now. Don't pretend you have the moral high ground here. You're supposed to be doing that internship with Deloitte as of two weeks ago."
My heart tramples over with guilt.
There it is. The real reason I blew off staying in the city this summer.
Me studying finance at NYU has always been my mom's dream, not mine. It has always been an obsession of hers for me to hold a distinguished American degree since we moved to the US. I think it's because she wants to prove to her mother that moving here truly meant that her kids had a better life. I figured I'd do it because I owed it to her to try since she sacrificed so much for me to be here. Plus, I knew she'd have a heart attack if I even suggested going to college for music, which is all I ever wanted to do ever since I discovered I had a talent for it.
My initial plan was to keep that side me quiet while I finish my finance degree. And once I graduated, I would work odd jobs until I could make my music career work. But as I was wrapping up my third year, mom's been hell-bent on getting my finance career started early. She had a prestigious internship lined up for me at one of the top accounting firms in New York. And told me if I did well, they were willing to take me on as an a junior auditor as soon as I graduated.
I freaked out. It wasn't my best moment. My adult life was set in stone, and I didn't even get a say in it. I was spiralling hard.
And a week later, when Cole told me he'd dropped out after only a year being in NYU and wanted to spend the rest of the summer in Coral Cove avoiding telling them the grim news, I practically jumped at the opportunity to follow him. The weekend before my first day on the internship, Cole rented a car and him and I took turns driving nine hours to get to Coral Cove. We've been holed up here ever since.
As far our parents are concerned, they still think Cole and I are still in the city, with him working a summer job and me at Deloitte. Richard and mom have called us a couple times since to check in on how we're doing and we've somehow still managed to uphold the lie.
I don't like lying to the both of them, especially mom. And I feel awful for getting cold feet about the internship. But as soon as I got in that car with Cole, the damage was already done and I had no choice but to push through.
If music was what was holding me back from becoming what my mom wanted me to be, then I needed to give music all that I got.
So, I made the pact with myself: work your ass off making music this summer to get a major label deal. If it didn't pan out, I would never touch music again. I wasn't going to let me blowing off Deloitte to be in vain.
"You don't have to remind me," I say, dropping Cole's takeout in the trash. "I feel bad enough as it is."
"Not bad enough apparently if you're willing to bum it out with me at Coral Cove," Cole mutters.
"I'm not bumming out. I'm working so we have enough cash to last the rest of the summer here. Plus, I've already got a couple of demos lined up."
And even maybe one more tomorrow if I ever get that bubble tea shaker sample.
Cole pulls his headset down so it's resting around his neck. He lays an arm on top of the sofa and purses his lips with concern. "You know, you can admit that you're hiding too, Fal. I'm the last person who'd judge."
I curl my lips inward. "Let's drop this, please," I say instead, hoping he'll change the subject. I stroll towards the big floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. The silky curtains cover up most of the outside. I push them away, allowing the afternoon light to pour into the room. "You need Vitamin D, Cole. What's the point of coming to Coral Cove if you're just gonna stay indoors day in, day out?"
"I'm not indoors all the time. I took a swim this morning," Cole says defensively.
"Oh, really?"
I find that hard to believe since when I left for work this morning, I could still hear his snoring from his room.
"Yes, really," he says defensively. "Even talked to the elderly guests who checked out from next door," he makes a tsking sound and shakes his head. "Damn, I'm really gonna miss the quiet."
"Why? You think our new guest is gonna cause some trouble?"
"Neighbors. Plural. I checked." My brother rises from the couch to join me by the window. "And are you kidding? Did you not see the security and the band equipment?"
I keep quiet and peer outside towards the house next door. Sure enough, the huge cases they'd been carrying inside are indeed band equipment. I spot a couple of movers hauling in a newly installed drum set into the house. Whoever our new guests are clearly don't want to be seen because all the windows are shut so we can't see into their house.
"They must be really important," I observe, my hand still clinging onto the curtain.
"Uh oh," Cole murmurs, gaze sinking into me. "I know that look."
"What look?"
"Your do-or-die look," he says with a pause. "You're gonna go over there, are you?"
"No, of course not."
Not right now anyway. There's too many eyes around. Maybe once they've properly settled in.
"Fal," Cole says in a warning tone.
"What?" I pretend to be oblivious.
He levels me with a stern look, one that I didn't think he was capable of giving. "I wouldn't fuck with those personnel."
"That's because you have noodles for arms and skinny chicken legs."
His hand clutches his chest in offence. "Oh, and you don't?"
"I work at a boba shop. I have muscles for days," I say absentmindedly. Cole rolls his eyes in quick succession, lunges forward to knock his fist against my arm. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"I'm testing your strength."
I shoot him a deadly look. "I said I was jacked, Cole. Not immune to pain."
"Cry baby," Cole mutters.
"Weirdo," I jab back.
"Stop it." He grabs my arm and pulls me away from the window. I'm surprised by the strength in which he does it. "I know what ideas are going through your head, Fal. Leave our new neighbors alone. Whatever they're doing here is none of your business."
"Cole, this is Coral Cove," I say with a scheming smile. "Someone's business is everybody's business."
***
A/N: Hi guys! It's been a while. How y'all doing? I miss this!
For my OG readers, you might have read a a teaser of Bite a LONG time ago. I took it down because I had trouble with the plot. I guess time was all I needed because I've taken a second look at it, did some much-needed structural edits and viola! Hope ya'll like this one.
How are we feeling about Fallon? I love writing about ambitious, go-getter women, and writing Fallon reminds me a little about writing Sienna. They're just relentless!
In the meantime, see y'all in the next chapter <3
Love, Claudia.