I scurry back to my food truck as the crowd disperses, still aiming their phones at me. The anger from my argument has morphed into full-fledged embarrassment. I’m about to go viral and become the laughingstock of Maui’s food truck scene. Freaking fantastic.

Mom greets me with her hands on her hips, her brow crinkled into a frown. “What in the world was all that about?”

I sigh and toss another batch of lumpia in the fryer. “I’ll tell you later.”

•   •   •

My public spat-gone-viral with Callum is a distant memory two weeks later. That’s because almost every day since then, we’ve been bickering and pranking each other nonstop. The day after I posted my sign on the Hungry Chaps truck, Callum posted his own that said, “Tiva’s staff has been stricken with leprosy! Eat at your own risk!” A taste of my own medicine, I suppose. That scared off customers for a good two hours until I found the sign, tore it apart, then gave onlookers a panicked explanation that it wasn’t true. And then I promptly stomped to the Hungry Chaps truck and bitched out Callum. A few days later I got him back by letting the air out of one of the back tires. We of course had it out in front of every customer and onlooker in the vicinity. And of course it ended up trending on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

You’d think customers would be driven away by our immature antics. Not so. In fact, business is booming. Every day both Hungry Chaps and Tiva’s have lines snaking all the way out to the road. I can tell by the look in people’s eyes, how they stare between our trucks as they order and eat, that they live to watch Callum and me lose it on each other. Drama has become our top-selling menu item, it seems.

I even worked up the nerve to watch one of our public spats posted online. I made it exactly ten seconds before pausing it. Hearing my shrill tone of voice, spotting that bulging vein in my neck when I wagged my finger at Callum, the unhinged look in my eyes . . . it was all a whole new level of cringeworthy.

As mortified as I am, I’m grateful for the uptick in business. This week we earned more than we have any other week prior. And recently, we’ve had a small crowd of customers milling around our trucks, waiting for us to open. So I guess there is an upside to all this ugliness.

My cell phone rings, and Mrs. Tokushige’s name flashes across the screen. I put her on speaker.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tokushige.”

“Good morning, hon!” she says in her patented cheery tone. “Sorry to ask on such short notice, but could you whip up some food for mahjong tonight? It’s my turn to host, and I don’t feel like cooking.”