“No. Why would I be upset about Tobyn?”
“I don’t know,” Micah said. “You guys were being so weird on the roof that I thought maybe you had a fight or something.”
“I don’t care about Tobyn,” Noelle said. She swallowed hard and ignored the fact that it wasn’t even close to the truth.
“Okay, okay,” Micah said. She rolled her eyes. “My bad. What’s wrong then? Something’s clearly wrong.”
“It’s Pierre.”
Noelle told her friend about everything that had happened. Micah understood because, ever since her brother had died last summer, she sometimes had panic attacks, too.
“So, they’re teasing him about something he can’t really control, you know? And I can’t walk him home every day,” Noelle said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s so messed up,” Micah said. “You gotta tell him they’re not worth it. That he should ignore them.”
Noelle nodded, but deep inside she knew the Lee temper wouldn’t allow her brother to do that.
“And if that doesn’t work,” Micah continued, “because, let’s face it, jerky kids like that are hard to ignore, maybe I can ask Ty to swing by and um . . . give them a reason to keep their distance?”
Noelle laughed. “I don’t hate that idea,” she said. “Tobyn actually scared them off today. But it just doesn’t seem like a real solution.”
“Well,” Micah said. “Let a girl know. And a girl will get her very cute, very huge boyfriend to take matters into his own hands.”
Pierre was playing video games when she got off the phone with Micah. “Hey,” she said. He paused his game.
“What?”
“Sorry about earlier.”
“I don’t know why you were mad at me. I didn’t even do anything.”
“I know. I wasn’t really mad at you.”
“Why were you mad then?” he asked. And Noelle shrugged.
“Wanna play?”
He handed her a controller, and she pushed a curl away from where it had fallen in front of her glasses as she took it from him, grateful he always forgave her so quickly and easily.
As they started racing, Pierre started talking trash.
“I’m SO gonna win,” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You always do.”
* * *
Noelle slipped the key into the door at her grandparents’ restaurant a few hours before she needed to that Saturday morning. She needed time to think, about Pierre, Tobyn, and everything else, and she thought best on her own.
The glass door of Lee’s Dumplings was papered over with menus and flyers, so she couldn’t see inside. But the door pushed open easily before she even turned the lock, so she knew someone else was already there.
“Hello?” Noelle said. It had to be her grandmother, who’d always been an early riser. She could imagine her in the kitchen already tucking thin dumpling skins between her fingers, stuffing them with meaty filling. “Năinai?” She couldn’t imagine her grandpa being up this early, but she called out for him, too. “Yéye?”
“In here, Noelle!” her grandmother called.
Noelle only felt a little disappointed she wouldn’t be alone when she saw her grandma standing there. Năinai was thin and sturdy, only a few inches shorter than her granddaughter, and she walked as quickly as her fingers folded closed the dumplings in her hands. She smiled at Noelle when she stepped into the kitchen, but didn’t stop working. Noelle kissed her on the forehead, and she thought her grandmother’s straight black bangs tasted sweet.
Noelle loved the early morning hours when it was just the two of them prepping food for the day because she often felt out of place when the restaurant was filled with customers. Noelle could tell by the looks on some of their faces that they were surprised to see her, a Black girl, working at a Chinese restaurant. Her parents had always told her she was equally Chinese and Black, but she knew the world didn’t see her that way. Luckily her grandparents did, and were quick to correct anyone who dared to say otherwise.
“Come,” her grandmother said. “Wash your hands and help.”
Noelle bent over the sink and let the hot water rush over her fingers. Her mind spun with thoughts of Tobyn, her brother, and her piece for the showcase. She went to stand beside her grandmother and picked up a small piece of dough, rolled it flat, then reached into the bowl on the counter between them that was full of soft, raw meat that would serve as the dumplings’ filling.
They worked silently for only a minute or two before her grandmother said, “Your father told me about your showcase. Me or Yéye will come. We want to hear you play.”
She said it simply and she didn’t even lift her brown eyes to look up at Noelle as she spoke. “Wait, really?” Noelle asked, because it seemed kind of unbelievable. The only people she knew who worked more than her parents were Năinai and Yéye.
“Yes,” her grandmother said, and then in the same breath, “Pay attention, Noelle. You know you need eighteen folds. For luck.” She then lifted the dumpling Noelle was closing from her fingers and fixed it before handing it back.
“Why are you here so early?” her grandmother asked, like she’d just realized what time it was.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Noelle said, and then, “Pierre’s still fighting.”
“That boy,” her grandmother said, shaking her head. “He should come here and work. That would keep him out of trouble.”
It actually wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah,” Noelle said. “Yeah, he should!”
“Your father won’t want him to,” Năinai replied immediately. She shook her head again.
Noelle remembered how upset her father had been when she started working at Lee’s the year before. “Why do you think I’m busting my butt downtown?” he said to Yéye. “I don’t want my kids to work here.”
“A job never hurt anyone,” Yéye said. “And it will teach her responsibility, the importance of hard work. When we came here from China—”
“Tell the truth, Bàba. I know why you want them working here.”
“Everyone needs to know how to work, Nicholas.”
And on it had gone like that. Her father didn’t give up until Noelle’s mother said, “She wants to, Nick. We can let her keep the money she makes. Does that make it better?”
Her father looked at her then, and Noelle pleaded with him with her eyes. He sighed.
To Noelle, her mother said, “As long as it doesn’t interfere with school.” Noelle nodded. After that, her father finally agreed.
“But maybe he’d feel differently,” Noelle said to her grandmother now, “if it would keep Pierre out of trouble. All his fights happen after school, on the walk home. If he came straight here, maybe . . .”
“I don’t know, Noelle. You know how proud your father can be.” Her brother was proud in the same way her father was, so Noelle knew she’d have to do every bit of this perfectly. But she thought it was worth a try.
Noelle pulled out her phone right then and texted her brother.
Hey Big Head. Me and Năinai need your help at Lee’s. Mostly your excellent people skills. You know I hate people.
Haha, came his text back. That’s true. What do you want me to do?
What would you think about coming by on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to take phone orders? That’s when we’re busiest, and having you on the phone would be so helpful.
Sure. Sounds easy enough. Plus, free food! But . . .
I know. We gotta ask Dad.
Even though it was Saturday, Noelle knew her dad would be working. Her mom worked most weekends, too, but they both always kept their phones on and close by. A few hours later, Noelle dialed her mom’s number as soon as they had a lull in the lunch rush at Lee’s. It went to voicemail.
After leaving a message, Noelle went back to the kitchen feeling good
about her plan. Since Pierre liked the idea, there was no reason she could think of that her mother wouldn’t be okay with it, too. If it was three to one, maybe, just maybe, her dad would listen.
* * *
“So now you want both my kids to work here?” Noelle’s father said. He stormed into the kitchen of Lee’s Dumplings right before closing, still in his dusty construction clothes. Yéye crossed his arms and turned to face his son. Năinai sighed and murmured something in Mandarin that Noelle didn’t understand.
“Oh no,” Noelle muttered. She hadn’t expected him to find out so soon. This was not a part of her plan and she wondered who had spilled the beans.
Her dad was taller, his shoulders were broader, and his arms were more muscled from building for so many years, but Noelle could see Yéye’s features all over her dad‘s face, especially when he got angry. They had the same narrow eyes and tawny coloring; the same black, messy hair. Noelle often looked for her father’s features on her own face, but because she’d inherited her mother’s dark skin and thick curls, they were a little harder to find beyond her pin-straight eyelashes. More often, though, she found traces of her father and grandfather in her stubborn pride, and in her own quick, hot temper.
“How did you find out?” she asked him. He spun to face her instead of his parents. “Noelle,” he said. “Go home.”
“Daddy, just listen for a second,” she said. She started to feel angry, too. “Why are you so quick to argue about this? Do you even know why we want him to work here? Have you even heard the reason?”
“I know my parents,” her father said.
“Daddy,” Noelle said. “Listen. It was my idea. Not theirs. You know how Pierre’s been getting into all those fights? I think this could help. I walked home with him the other day and . . . It could at least get him away from those boys a few days a week.”
Nick Lee looked at his daughter and clenched his teeth. “Noelle. Let me handle this.”
“But did you even ask Pierre how he felt? Or what he thought? Those guys follow him home. I can’t walk back with him every day because I’d have to leave school early to make it in time. Plus, most days I need to practice cello or come here.”
He finally looked like he was listening. His face softened the tiniest bit. “Wait. They follow him?”
Noelle nodded. “I didn’t know that either until the other day. You know P is like you. He wouldn’t have told us. He wouldn’t have told anyone that they were torturing him.”
Noelle’s father looked at his parents. He rubbed his temples. “Jesus,” he said.
“You don’t have to answer now.” This came from Năinai. “But just think about it. It could be good for him, son.”
Yéye still had his arms crossed.
* * *
Early the next morning, Noelle woke up to her parents fighting.
At first, she thought it was about Pierre working, but as she rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, she listened more closely.
“Fired?” Noelle heard her mother’s voice echo down the hall.
“Anaïs, don’t worry, I’ll find another job.”
“Who knows how long that could take, Nick! We can’t afford to wait.”
Her brother looked at her from his bed on the other side of their room. Noelle got up and poked her head into the hallway. She could feel Pierre behind her listening, too.
“I know. Don’t you think I know that? I’ve already made some calls.”
“I knew your temper would get you in trouble down there. Just call your parents,” Noelle heard her mother say. “Call your parents and tell them what’s happened. They’ll let you work at the restaurant until you find something more permanent. The tips alone will be better than nothing.”
“No.” Noelle saw her father shake his head, hard. “Hell no.”
“This is bigger than your ego, Nick. Call them.” Her mother handed her father the phone and he looked at her with fire in his eyes.
“Never,” he said. Then he walked into the kitchen, grabbed his keys, and left.
Noelle called Năinai. She knew her father would never work there. And she knew there was something else between her father and his parents—something unsaid. But she also knew her family wouldn’t be okay with just her mother’s salary. What was worse, Noelle thought, was if they needed more of Mama’s money here, that would mean less for Granna Esther in Martinique. It was early in hurricane season, and Granna already had a leaking roof.
“Năinai,” Noelle said when her grandmother answered. “Can I pick up a few more hours at the restaurant? Maybe work Thursdays and Sundays, too?”
“What about your cello?” Năinai asked. “If you pick up those days that would mean you’re here four days in a row. Don’t you need time to practice?”
Noelle knew she couldn’t tell her the real reason for the extra hours. She could practice at night, or she’d wake up and go to school extra early. She’d spend more time in the music room and less time on Micah’s roof with the girls.
“I’ll still have time,” Noelle assured her. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay. Well, make sure your dad is okay with it. We don’t want another . . . situation.”
Noelle lied again. It unnerved her a little, how good she was at it.
“It’s money I want to save for college, Năinai,” she told her grandmother in a steady, clear voice. “He’ll be okay with me working for that.”
“Dad’s gonna be pissed if he finds out about this,” Pierre said as she hung up.
“Well he better not find out from you,” Noelle threatened.
* * *
Noelle was in a terrible mood the rest of the day, so she spent most of her time alone. She deep conditioned her hair, stayed in her room playing her cello, and avoided her parents and everyone else. When she got a text from Lux, she started to ignore it, but when she glanced down at it, she saw that it said I got the goods.
“What goods?” Noelle asked as soon as Lux answered the phone.
“Well good afternoon to you, too,” Lux said. Noelle could see Penny, Lux’s stepmother, in the background giving her baby sister a bottle. “Hold on a sec. Let me go somewhere a little more . . . private.”
Noelle watched as Lux walked through a few rooms in her father’s apartment. It looked much bigger and nicer than the two-bedroom where Noelle and her family lived. Noelle tried not to think about how much better Lux had it, with her big bright bedroom all to herself, but sometimes she couldn’t help being a little bit jealous.
Lux stepped into her room and closed the door. “I got the spray paint!” she whispered, her voice full of excitement.
“Oh!” Noelle said. She turned the volume down on her phone. Pierre was playing video games with headphones on, but she didn’t want to risk him hearing. “Oh my God,” she whispered back. “How?”
“My big cousin,” Lux said simply. “He owed me because I watched his big head kid for him yesterday. Ray is a little monster, and my cousin knows it. I told him instead of paying me to just buy me some spray paint.”
Noelle laughed. “And he actually did it?”
Lux walked over to her closet and pushed all her sweaters and dresses aside. In the back, behind all of her clothes, was a black trash bag. She pulled it open and there sat a half dozen cans of different colored spray paint.
“Amazing,” Noelle said. “I needed some good news today, and this is the best.“
“What can I say?” Lux said, shrugging and grinning. “You’d be lost without me.”
In orchestra class the next day, Travis sat in the seat right next to first chair, waiting for Noelle when she arrived.
“Ugh,” Noelle said. “Can’t you take a hint?” But Travis didn’t move. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you for the truth,” he said.
The truth was Noelle had been up all night practicing so she wouldn’t miss
a note in orchestra today. The truth was she was freaking out about her father losing his job. She was tired and stressed out and she didn’t even know what the truth about herself was yet because she tried her hardest not to think too much about it.
Was she gay, like Tobyn? Or bi? Or even something else? Did this mean she had been lying to Travis when she told him she loved him? Could it be possible for all these things to be true at once?
Instead of saying anything to Travis, she raised her hand and waited for Ms. Porter to call on her. “Travis is bothering me,” Noelle said calmly. And Travis said, “Oh my God, no I’m not.”
Noelle said, “Yes you are,” but she was starting to get mad.
“Travis, please go back to your regular seat.”
“I just asked you a question,” he said to Noelle, ignoring Ms. Porter. “Why can’t you answer a simple question?”
“Because I don’t want to! Damn! Leave me alone!”
“Noelle!” Ms. Porter said. “You know that language is unacceptable. As is being this disruptive in class. Travis, get to your seat. And Noelle, I’m giving you detention. Consider this strike two.”
* * *
After detention, Noelle went to the music room to practice her piece for the showcase. She was so angry about everything that she needed to play to calm herself down. While she’d been in detention, she decided to call her nocturne “Golden Hour,” after the Flyy Girls’ favorite time to hang out on Micah’s rooftop.
She played a few faster pieces until she felt the anger seeping from her bones. Then she fixed her messy curls, straightened her glasses, and pulled out the notes she’d made to the music for “Golden Hour.” She’d only practiced that song a few times when the love song she’d begun composing the night of her fight with Tobyn started to fill her head again.
She stopped playing “Golden Hour,” looked around at the empty room, and then began to play the ballad. She played slowly at first, letting the music reveal itself, then more quickly as the melody became clearer. She jotted down the notes on the back of the sheet where she’d written the music for the other song, and played it again. For You, she thought. The title of this song was “For You,” and the “you,” she knew, could only be Tobyn. The truth of it made her heart feel strange and tight.
Noelle: The Mean Girl Page 3