wouldn’t you accept my request?”
“Dude, I was asleep when you started calling, and it had to sink in that, yup, it
is
7:19 on a Saturday morning and, yup, my crazy
mei mei
is insisting we chatter. Sorry I didn’t jump right up.”
Rachel, who was my
jie jie
, since we were using the Mandarin words for big and little sister, wasn’t alone in her room either. She kept checking herself in her box on the screen, pawing her hair. She wore it pixie-cut, a new look, to match the tattoo. Next she would get a nose ring.
“Oh yeah, baby,” a guy said off-camera.
“Greg is here,” she said.
Tofu Burger from Facebook muscled into the frame, his own hair spiky from sleep and emo-boy product. His shoulders were bare, aside from the tats, and covering his chest were pubes.
“Hi there, Baby Kwok,” Greg said.
“Tell him to leave,” I said.
“Hey!”
He grinned how cute boy-men do, in order to never be held responsible for their actions. From his Facebook profile I knew that the four characters inked onto his right forearm spelled the name of his thrash-folk band. The tattoo looked pretty neat. Shirtless, he was buff.
“You still in Head Tax?” I asked to not seem so bitchy.
“We broke up,” he answered. “Creative differences. I’ve formed a duo, mandolin and sitar—Yellow Peril.”
“Cool.”
“How’s your girl Mary, Tie-the-Long-One doing?”
I was too stunned to reply.
“The hottie from the beach? Your sister showed me that sexy pic of her. Man, oh man,” he said, “guys in the res got major wood from it.”
“Bad boy,” Rachel said. But her knotted brow told me she wasequally puzzled. How did “guys in the res” even see the photo?
He kissed her cheek and she punched his bicep. Unable to help themselves, my sister and her boyfriend dissolved into each other, forgetting I was there. For the second time in fifteen minutes, I was see-through. Except for possibly being naked from their waists down, they could have been in a photo booth, smooching for the camera. How must it feel, being skin to skin with a boy? How must it—he, I supposed—smell?
Greg’s words about Mary rattled in my head. My leg, meanwhile, was pumping, causing the desk to shake and Manga to whimper.
Finally, she noticed. “Okay, SeeSaw,” she said. She instructed her sex friend to crawl back into the bed, insert his earbuds and crank his iPod,
and
pillow-smother himself.
“
Zie
jien
, Sailor Moon,” he said, showing his own expertise in Mandarin.
“He’s cute,” I said, wiping my cheek.
“He sure thinks so.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I thought it was you, Rachel. When I answered the call. The first time, at least. But it wasn’t—it was her! In a Hello Kitty top, which was weird …,” I said, suddenly realizing that since no one came onscreen during the first FaceTime, how could they have known what was I wearing? “The top didn’t fit her much better. We’re the same size, and I’ve a closet of stuff I never use. I could give her some dresses and Pearl jeans. She’s much older than sixteen.”
It registered. “Are we talking about—?”
“Mary!”
“She FaceTimed you?”
“I was in her room. Twice,” I said, regretting that I hadn’t told Rachel about the original call. “And she was in mine.”
All loudest, funniest half-Asian chick on campus vanished from her features, leaving our mother in Lawyer Leah mode. My sister issued two commands, one to Greg, the other to me. He was told to leave her dormitory room, now. I was told to march the MacBook into our parents’ bedroom with her still on the screen, and tell them what had just happened. Rachel issued a third command. “Stop crying.”
I tried.
“How many ‘Likes’ and ‘Talking about this’ today? Wait, I’ll check myself.” She opened the “Finding Mary” page in a corner of her screen. “7,551 and 2,754. Shit, shit, shit.”
I chewed some hair.
“Why are there twenty-nine messages for you? And
“Dude, I was asleep when you started calling, and it had to sink in that, yup, it
is
7:19 on a Saturday morning and, yup, my crazy
mei mei
is insisting we chatter. Sorry I didn’t jump right up.”
Rachel, who was my
jie jie
, since we were using the Mandarin words for big and little sister, wasn’t alone in her room either. She kept checking herself in her box on the screen, pawing her hair. She wore it pixie-cut, a new look, to match the tattoo. Next she would get a nose ring.
“Oh yeah, baby,” a guy said off-camera.
“Greg is here,” she said.
Tofu Burger from Facebook muscled into the frame, his own hair spiky from sleep and emo-boy product. His shoulders were bare, aside from the tats, and covering his chest were pubes.
“Hi there, Baby Kwok,” Greg said.
“Tell him to leave,” I said.
“Hey!”
He grinned how cute boy-men do, in order to never be held responsible for their actions. From his Facebook profile I knew that the four characters inked onto his right forearm spelled the name of his thrash-folk band. The tattoo looked pretty neat. Shirtless, he was buff.
“You still in Head Tax?” I asked to not seem so bitchy.
“We broke up,” he answered. “Creative differences. I’ve formed a duo, mandolin and sitar—Yellow Peril.”
“Cool.”
“How’s your girl Mary, Tie-the-Long-One doing?”
I was too stunned to reply.
“The hottie from the beach? Your sister showed me that sexy pic of her. Man, oh man,” he said, “guys in the res got major wood from it.”
“Bad boy,” Rachel said. But her knotted brow told me she wasequally puzzled. How did “guys in the res” even see the photo?
He kissed her cheek and she punched his bicep. Unable to help themselves, my sister and her boyfriend dissolved into each other, forgetting I was there. For the second time in fifteen minutes, I was see-through. Except for possibly being naked from their waists down, they could have been in a photo booth, smooching for the camera. How must it feel, being skin to skin with a boy? How must it—he, I supposed—smell?
Greg’s words about Mary rattled in my head. My leg, meanwhile, was pumping, causing the desk to shake and Manga to whimper.
Finally, she noticed. “Okay, SeeSaw,” she said. She instructed her sex friend to crawl back into the bed, insert his earbuds and crank his iPod,
and
pillow-smother himself.
“
Zie
jien
, Sailor Moon,” he said, showing his own expertise in Mandarin.
“He’s cute,” I said, wiping my cheek.
“He sure thinks so.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I thought it was you, Rachel. When I answered the call. The first time, at least. But it wasn’t—it was her! In a Hello Kitty top, which was weird …,” I said, suddenly realizing that since no one came onscreen during the first FaceTime, how could they have known what was I wearing? “The top didn’t fit her much better. We’re the same size, and I’ve a closet of stuff I never use. I could give her some dresses and Pearl jeans. She’s much older than sixteen.”
It registered. “Are we talking about—?”
“Mary!”
“She FaceTimed you?”
“I was in her room. Twice,” I said, regretting that I hadn’t told Rachel about the original call. “And she was in mine.”
All loudest, funniest half-Asian chick on campus vanished from her features, leaving our mother in Lawyer Leah mode. My sister issued two commands, one to Greg, the other to me. He was told to leave her dormitory room, now. I was told to march the MacBook into our parents’ bedroom with her still on the screen, and tell them what had just happened. Rachel issued a third command. “Stop crying.”
I tried.
“How many ‘Likes’ and ‘Talking about this’ today? Wait, I’ll check myself.” She opened the “Finding Mary” page in a corner of her screen. “7,551 and 2,754. Shit, shit, shit.”
I chewed some hair.
“Why are there twenty-nine messages for you? And
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