Page 30 of From Beijing, With Love

“Do you want to check out the trampoline?”

Daniel’s question made no sense until it made too much sense. In the shop to their right were a dozen mini trampolines lined up in a three-by-three matrix. A man donning a fluorescent-green tracksuit sat to the side, scrolling on his phone.

“No,” Yang said swiftly.

“Why not?”

“Because we’d look absolutely ridiculous.”

Trampolining—for adults, unbelievably—and padel were the imported fads of the year, both of which had made their way onto the Tsinghua campus. There had even been pop-up classes of trampolining right on the grassy lawn in front of the auditorium. Seeing something so juvenile juxtaposed against the iconic redbrick building with its domed rooftop, Roman columns, and academic history had been downright disturbing.

“But no one’s around. And look.” Daniel pointed to the neon-pink schedule taped to the glass door. “Next class starts in five minutes.”

“There’s no way I’m doing this”—Yang crossed his arms—“but be my guest.”

“Suit yourself.” Daniel pushed the door open. After a total of five seconds in the room, he lost his bravado and stepped back out as if he had talked himself out of it. He tossed Yang an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. You’re right. We’d look stupid.”

“There’s no we in this, and the words I used were absolutely ridiculous,” Yang said, studying Daniel. “But you actually want to do this.”

Daniel averted his eyes. “I did. I do? I just thought it’d be fun to try something new. You know, do the whole spontaneous thing just because I can, without overthinking it.”

Yang had no clue why Daniel would want to jump on a trampoline in full view of all the passersby, but it was obvious that Daniel wanted to be someone who could do it. However inane, this seemed important to him.

Yang was going to do something stupid, in more ways than one. He sighed. “Would it help if I joined you?”

“You don’t have to,” Daniel said, a hopeful smile materializing on his face.

Yang knew he didn’t have to do this. And to be clear, he also didn’t want to. But he was doing this for Daniel.

“Come on, we are doing this.” Yang stepped into the glass room.

The moment their payment went through, the instructor sprang to life like a windup toy. Then the dreadful dance remixes started.

“I hate this,” Yang murmured to Daniel as they went through the warm-up routine—alternating jumping jacks and high knees. He was bouncing on his own forty inches of circular hell. He turned to Daniel, who was grinning from ear to ear on the adjacent trampoline. “Which one are you enjoying more, the workout or my misery?”

“Can’t I have both?” Daniel propelled himself higher, his movements graceful and controlled, unlike Yang’s wobbly jumps.

It was all physics. Newton’s third law. Yang knew that. Except physics didn’t explain how destabilizing it felt to be airborne, to be out of control. The fleeting moments when he landed on his feet were too short-lived to provide much comfort. The pure chaos of rebounding made him miss the sureness of running, where he just had to put one foot in front of the other.

“Bigger arms!” the instructor yelled in heavily accented English, his fluorescent arms flailing to the beat of the music.

Yang didn’t want to give bigger arms.

“You know what looks more ridiculous?” Daniel yelled over the music. “When you resist looking ridiculous while doing something absolutely ridiculous.”

Yang rolled his eyes, and that momentary shift in focus was enough to make him lose his balance. When he righted himself, he was faced with the disturbingly enthusiastic instructor, who waved his arms in half circles.

“Bigger arms. Bigger arms,” the man continued his rhythmic chant.

“Come on, Yang, bigger arms!” Daniel had the audacity to laugh as he waved his long limbs above his head, off beat. At least one of them was laughing. Yang still wasn’t sure what Daniel’s deal was, but it was clear that trying something new took effort.

If Daniel was trying, then maybe he could try too.

After a long sigh, Yang did his best attempt at “bigger arms” by swinging his arms in two semicircles that met in a crisp clap overhead. That earned a cheer from the instructor. Then they moved on to the official choreography—each set of moves accompanied by a name. There was the “running man,” where they ran in place; the “karate kangaroo,” where they did high kicks midair; and the “helicopter,” where they spun in circles with outstretched arms.