The Reeducation of Cherry Truong by Aimee Phan

the uncles played poker. After weighing down their plates with egg rolls, beef salad, chicken curry, and scoops of fried rice, Lum left for Uncle Viet’s room, while Cherry wandered down the hallway.
    In Uncle Bao and Aunt Tri’s room, Cherry’s cousins were watching a Paris by Night video, her aunties’ favorite Vietnamese variety show. Duyen and Linh lay side by side on their stomachs, wrinkling their good dress-up clothes, elbows planted in the mattress, fists tucked under their chins. Another girl lay in Cherry’s usual spot. She looked older and had two long French braids in her hair. The girl grinned a mouthful of braces and hot pink rubber bands.
    â€œThis is Quynh,” Linh said. “We’re in homeroom together.”
    The bed already crowded, Cherry sank to the floor and sat cross-legged, her plate balancing between her knees. On the television, Rocky Lam, Linh’s favorite Vietnamese singer, crooned, winking at the camera during his close-up. Behind him on the glittering neon-color-splashed stage, a bevy of backup dancers preened and sashayed in low-cut leotards and feathered boas.
    â€œIsn’t he beautiful?” Linh sighed, and collapsed to the mattress. Her pigtails bounced as she shook her head. “Mom says he’s married.”
    â€œWell, he has to be at least thirty,” Duyen said, rolling her eyes. Unlike Linh and their mothers, Duyen and Cherry didn’t find Rocky Lam so attractive. His face and hair were too oily. He made facial expressions when singing that looked more painful than seductive.
    â€œThirty’s not old,” Quynh said. “I’ve got cousins who are in their thirties.”
    â€œIt just means he’s mature,” Linh said, sitting up to smile at her reflection in the heart-shaped mirror hanging on the wall. “When I’m old enough, I’m going to be a pop singer and maybe he and I will sing a duet together on Paris by Night .”
    â€œOh, yeah?” Duyen snickered. “How?”
    â€œI’m going to take singing lessons.” Linh puckered at the mirror before turning to look at Duyen.
    â€œWith what money? Your mom wouldn’t even let you sign up for ballet classes with me.”
    â€œI’m going to join the choir when I get into junior high, dummy,” Linh said, scowling. “Right, Quynh?”
    â€œYeah, choir is free,” Quynh said. “My older cousins are doing it.”
    â€œYou don’t know everything,” Linh said. “A ballet recital for a beginner’s class is not a real performance. The choir sings several times a year and travels all over the county.”
    â€œYou have to have a good voice,” Duyen reminded her.
    â€œI have a good voice!” Linh said. “My dad says so.” Uncle Bao had been a singer in hotels in Vietnam. Now he worked at an auto garage. He said if it weren’t for the Communists, he’d be famous back in Vietnam.
    â€œLessons don’t give you everything. You have to have talent first,” Duyen said. “Besides, Ba Liem said you’re going to be a housewife and that I’ll be the performer.”
    â€œFortune-tellers only guess at the future,” Linh said. “They don’t really know.”
    â€œYou had your palms read, too?” Cherry asked.
    â€œGrandmother’s having all of our palms read,” Duyen said. “Why do you think Ba Liem is here?”
    â€œMy mom says you can do anything you put your mind to,” Linh said.
    â€œYou’re so gullible,” Duyen said. “Did she read that off a cereal box?”
    â€œI can sing,” Linh said firmly. “And if I need lessons, then Mom will ask Grandmother for the money. Singing lessons can’t cost more than beauty school.”
    â€œWho’s going to beauty school?” Cherry asked.
    Duyen gave Linh a hard look. “No one,” Duyen said.
    â€œYou’re lying,” Cherry