"Okoy. That sounds weird."

"It's not weird."

"It doesn't sound like something people eat."

"People eat it."

"It sounds like they shouldn't."

"D'you have anything else in that bag of yours, Mary Poppins?"

"Name-calling? Really, Mav? That's the last thing I expected from the soon-to-named valedictorian, debate team captain, basketball team varsity, and apparently, celebrity chef wannabe, Maverick Evangelista, over...over...what is this dish called again?"

"Since when did a reference to a movie character with a bottomless bag become name-calling? If anything, it's a compliment to how well you've optimized a medium-size tote bag. A credit to your organizational skills. I don't doubt that if anyone could've stuffed ingredients, or wait—an order slip—in their bag, it would be you. Did you secretly arrange for a cultural food dish to be delivered to school? And the dish is called okoy."

"Okoy. It still sounds weird."

"That's what you got out of all of that?"

I shrugged. It wasn't all I got out of that, but I didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with the fact that he complimented me. Was he returning the favor? Did hearing his accolades from me flatter him? Why would my opinion matter in the first place when we've never interacted outside of today?

"I didn't say that it doesn't sound weird. It's a weird sound for anyone who first learned the word, 'okay.' What I said was the food itself is not weird. I also asked if you had anything else to bring to the table. Literally speaking, of course."

Oh. Right. We're still talking about the Multicultural Food Fest, which I forgot to bring food to.

I sighed. "Unfortunately, no."

"So what do we do now?"

"Okoy it is. What is okoy again?" I smirked. At least, it was fun to tease him.

"It's a crispy deep-fried fritter made with various vegetables and shrimp. Shrimp is optional for those who have allergies. Would you like a sample from the first batch?"

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

He arranged the cooking materials I'd questioned him about earlier. He had a portable gas stove, a pan, a spatula, a whisk, and a three-compartment bin that held julienned carrots, green onion sticks, and bean sprouts, over ice...

"I'm just wondering; do you moonlight as a food truck chef, or something?"

I shouldn't have asked. I should've kept wondering to myself, but my mouth was determined to keep the conversation between us open. It's like it got a mind of its own just for today.

"No, I don't."

"Do you want to?"

Must. Stop. Talking.

"Why, do you have connections in the food truck business, Miss Vanessa Harper?"

I pointed at the two large square plastic bins with measurements on the side. "It's all so...much. So extra. Like, isn't that what they use in restaurants?"

I guess we're committed to chatting today. With Maverick, of all people.

"Yes, I work part-time in a food court stall so I know what materials to get and where to get them. That's also how I know it isn't, as you say, 'extra.' You need prepped ingredients to make fresh food within a few minutes. Otherwise, the customer can up and leave, or stay but never return."

"We're only here for a two-hour, one-night-only event. So, what, are you practicing for running your food joint?"

He finished transferring shrimp from a bag to a plastic bin over ice and tilted his head sideways to look at me. "I can't tell if you're impressed, or looking to invest in my side hustle. But speaking of prepping ingredients, do you want to help add water to the batter?"

I felt my cheeks get red. Of course, he could tell that I'm impressed. I couldn't hide that no matter how hard I tried.

"Um, I'm useless in that department. I should stick to collecting the money. I could also make a sign?" I added the last part when his eyebrow raised in question.

He considered his response and smartly agreed with me. "Alright. I'll get some water while you do that."

"Yes, chef," I said with a salute, which made him shake his head and chuckle as he walked away.

Rummaging in my purse for my watercolor pens and card stock, I occupied myself with working on the sign.

Okoy from the Philippines. Crispy deep-fried fritters made with fresh vegetables. Pricing and optional shrimp add-on information. I was thinking of what else I could add when Mav returned.

"Whoa. That's some great work, Van. Beautiful."

"Van?"

He chuckled again. What is it with this guy and his chuckling?

More importantly, why does it feel like I get butterflies in my stomach every time he does? There's this rumble, right? This deep hum that echoes from his laugh that somehow feels like an earthquake to me. Not the I-need-to-immediately-hide-underneath-the-table earthquake, but a did-you-feel-that-because-I-definitely-felt-it earthquake. So an earthquake nonetheless.

I liked how he held up his side of the conversation, and how he wasn't fazed by my erratic responses. And did you hear him compliment my sign? "Beautiful." He said that and shivers traveled all over my body.

"I'm learning a lot about you today, Vanessa."

"Like what?" I asked nervously.

"Like how I complimented you and all you got out of what I said was that I called you Van?"

"It's a weird name."

"And you're still ignoring the compliment."

"Oh. Um, thank you?"

"You're welcome," he said with that megawatt smile of his. "What do your friends call you?"

"Harper," I mumbled.

"They call you by your last name?"

"There's another Vanessa, so it's easier this way."

As if on cue, my friends turned up by the booth and fawned over Maverick's setup. My namesake was especially interested, rounding the booth and asking for a sample with a saccharine voice.

My facial expression contorted between disgust and fake nonchalance. I'm sure it wasn't pretty. But still, Mav smiled at me before slicing a piece of okoy and holding up a fork for Vanessa to grab.

Only, my friend leaned closer. This girl was about to eat off of the fork that Mav was holding and I...I don't know what came over me. I grabbed Mav's wrist and ate off of the fork myself. "Mmm! So good! You have to try this, girls. I'll put y'all down for the 3 for $5 deal?"

"I think we're just gonna share one since it's fried and all," Vanessa replied for the group. Even though all of them looked hungrily at the okoy, no one disagreed with her.

Vanessa handed me the cash and then warned me away from the samples. "We all know how difficult it was for you to lose all that weight. Wouldn't want you to have a relapse."

I thanked her with a forced smile and waved bye to the rest of them as Mav handed over the plate.

"Your namesake is a mean girl," Mav said to his stove. "I...I'm sorry I didn't say anything. This time. I know better and I'll be prepared next time."

"What? How did you even hear that?"

He didn't get a chance to answer because more people came and ordered food from us. It took a while for the crowd to thin, but when it did, I noticed that we were the most popular booth.

"Good job, Mav."

He finally looked me in the eye. "Good job, Vanessa."

Blech. I don't like hearing her name from him. It's my name too, but it just sounded wrong. "Call me Harper."

"It's weird."

"Why?"

Just then, some of his basketball teammates stopped by the booth making a ruckus. They finished off our samples and played around with Mav's kitchen supplies.

"What's this, Evangelista? You didn't tell us you can cook!"

Mav looked at me pointedly as if his teammates calling him by his last name was explanation enough.

It's not. Is it?

Am I supposed to assume that he doesn't want to address me like a teammate? Is it because I'm a girl, or is it because I'm different...more special than a teammate?

Did I want those to be the reasons why because I...do I...like him?

I'm not completely blind even though I wore glasses. I saw how his muscles flexed as he flipped the okoy in the pan. Those dimples on his cheeks are deeper when he laughs and he laughs plenty. And do we really need to talk about the rumble again?

He's smart, good-looking, and makes me feel butterflies in my stomach. Is this...liking someone?

"There's an extra five there, Harper," his friend Tucker took me out of my reverie.

"Huh? Oh, would you like change?"

"No, that's for you," he said with a smile. "Why don't you grab a few pieces for yourself before it's all gone? Or grab yourself something from another booth. On me."

"Thank you, but that's not necessary."

"I insist."

"I've got her, Gibson." Mav suddenly piped up from next to me.

"Just trying to help, Evangelista. Don't want Harper here wasting away."

"Vanessa—"

"Can speak for herself." I interrupted.

Oh my goodness. Since when?

I don't know what's gotten into me today. I don't even talk to my friends outside of homework. Maybe the sporadic weekend plans with family, but that's it. And now I can speak for myself?

"Thank you very much. Tucker, I appreciate it. But I've had plenty of okoy and I think I want to explore the rest of the food fest. Can you help Mav for a few minutes while I look around?"

"Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you say those many words—ouch." Tucker winced as he massaged the side where Mav elbowed him. "You got it, Harper."

I nodded. My temporary bravado dissipated into thin air even before I disappeared into the crowd. Except I didn't really disappear. I felt eyes on me the whole time and every time I looked back towards our booth, Mav's eyes met mine.

After one lap, I headed back with a random box from the Japan booth. Tucker rushed out as I approached.

Mav shrugged and cleared his throat. "What does your family call you?"

"Black sheep."

He burst out laughing. Seriously? He needs to stop that.

"Um, they call me Vane."

Now why did I tell him that? No one outside of my family calls me that and telling him seems like I'm giving him permission to do so.

"The short e makes it sound like a Filipino accent."

"I'm FilAm. That's why I got bullied into doing this in the first place."

"Who bullied you?"

"No one," I said too quickly. "I just meant that I didn't exactly volunteer."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it. Instead, he said, "I'm also on the student council."

"Okay? What does that have to do with—"

"I'm anti-bullying and I can do something about it," he said nonchalantly.

"Except get you out of manning the booth with me. I need you till the end, Vane." He smiled and winked at me before scooping batter into a mixing bowl and mixing it with the vegetables. "Do you want to try it with shrimp this time?"

"No, thank you."

"Why not?"

"I don't eat fried food."

"Then you're missing out on life."

"No, you'll miss out on life if you keep eating fried food."

Mav gave me this look, one that made me want to tell him everything. But he tried to persuade me instead. "One bite?"

"Why won't you stop trying to feed me?"

"I'm Filipino. We like to feed people. You can't go inside a Filipino home and not be offered food. And you should plan on going back for seconds; that's how you let them know that you liked it. We also like to offer about three times. I was going to stop asking you to try it eventually. I promise."

"Do you always talk like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're one of the real people that the Palladinos base their characters out of."

"Is that your way of saying I talk too much?"

"Aha, so you're familiar with them."

"Their shows are hilarious."

"I feel like you shouldn't go around telling people that your favorite shows are—"

"I didn't say those were my favorite."

"Sure."

We smiled at each other teasingly.

"So, one bite?"

"Yes, please."

"Coming up."

We only had a half hour left after we ate. We sold out in fifteen minutes and spent the rest of the time getting to know each other uninterruptedly.

I didn't need to know how much more charming Mav could be, but there we were. From the outside looking in, I was sure we looked like a cute couple.

I liked that.

And I didn't like it at the same time.

It's scary, okay? Mav makes it look easy, but I hyperventilate when I try to talk to other people. I should be going out of my mind right now, but somehow he's kept me calm.

But, for how long?

I stood up abruptly, knowing it couldn't last. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"No, I've got this, but Vane—"

"Call me Harper," I repeated before walking away.

"Vane," Mav called after me. "Hey, wait up."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sor—why? What for?"

"I lied. I know what okoy is. It's actually my favorite snack. My dad makes them. But I haven't eaten it since...it doesn't matter. I'm sorry that I lied to you."

"That's okay. You don't owe me any explanations. I just want to—"

"We can't be friends."

"What?"

"You talk too much."

"I talk too much?"

"Yes."

"Vane, you talked to me plenty too."

"I know. I don't normally do that. You're easy to talk to. But I can't—"

"I'm not easy to talk to, Vanessa. We don't just meet people who we can have an easy conversation with. The one we're having now isn't easy. Sometimes it's going to be like this, but don't give up."

"I really can't be friends with you."

"Good. I had something else in mind anyway."

"What—?"

"I like you."

Did he just say—?

"I like you. It's not hard to get to know each other when we're our authentic selves, Vane. Just like we were today. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage. It's just courtship. What do you say?"

What do I say? What can I say?

"This is insane," I said, but I already started thinking of what we could be. If I continued to be myself around him, maybe I would discover that we have more in common. More than having a Filipino family. More than enjoying the same television shows. More than okoy.

And I suddenly couldn't wait to find out.

Hi y'all~ thank you so much for reading More than Okoy!! 💗

What did you think?

As soon as I read the YARomance prompt for the Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month writing contest, I knew I would write about okoy.

What dish do you immediately think of when you read the words cultural food fest?

I still recall winning a cooking competition in my high school with this simple recipe. I didn't have any of the fancy kitchen supplies that Mav had. But I brought supplies while others showed up with baked goods, or whatnot, because I knew okoy is best served fresh. It was so much fun surprising people with this dish. It isn't too popular in the Philippines, not like dishes you'd typically find in restaurants. So I didn't expect to win, or to sell out. I just really liked this dish whenever my mom made it and I wanted to share that.

Unfortunately, remembering that memory also reminded me that I was bullied back then. It wasn't body shaming like Vane. Someone else I knew experienced that, and to this day, I can't forget the horror of witnessing it. If you know of, or see someone involved in this, I hope the links below could help start the process of healing.

https://www.stopbullying.gov/resources/get-help-now
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
https://stopaapihate.org/actnow/

Note: These are just for US resources that I could verify are true websites. Please feel free to leave your country's resources in the comments. You never know who you could end up helping. Thank you so much!

Let's be kind to one another. Kindness, like love, is a bottomless well. We have so much of it, even when we don't know it.

That's it from me for now. I hope to see you in the next one. If you liked this story, please don't forget to vote. I would also love to hear from you in the comments!

much love,
💕 em

P.S. Let me know if you would like me to add the okoy recipe here. You could probably search the internet easily for one, but it won't taste like my mom's. And that's the best one, lol. I also have my air fryer, gluten-free version, if that interests you. It's not as good as my mom's, but it's doctor-recommended. 😂