Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai

by Debbi Michiko Florence

  That made me frown again. But I didn’t want to be angry anymore. I’d been angry for years. I was tired. Pushing people away was exhausting. And lonesome.

  Rin put his pencil down and leaned back, studying me for so long that I suddenly became very interested in my milkshake. I stirred and sipped and stirred again, staring down at the chocolaty liquid.

  “I’ll trade you one for one,” I said without letting myself think too hard about what I was offering.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You get one personal question, but I get one, too.” I looked up at Rin, worried he’d shut me down, but he looked contemplative.

  After a few more long seconds of silence, Rin said, “Okay. You get one question, so make it good.”

  “Who goes first?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

  “Jan-ken-pon?” Rin asked.

  I smiled. I put out my fist, and at the same time, we chanted, “Jan, ken, pon!” I opened my hand for my lucky sign, paper.

  Unfortunately, Rin flashed his two fingers into scissors. “I win,” he said with a little too much glee.

  I crossed my arms. “Fine. Go.”

  “What’s up with your parents?”

  Wow. He didn’t pull punches. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Quit stalling, Sakai. We made a deal.”

  “They’re divorced.”

  “And?”

  “You asked a question. I answered.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Then my answer to your question will be equally vague.”

  I took a long sip of my milkshake until the straw made a horrible slurping sound. I’d hit bottom. Rin waited.

  “My parents fought all the time when they were married. I mean, all the time. At first, I tried to fix things. I thought if I was super good, did well at school, never asked for anything, stayed quiet, they wouldn’t have anything to argue about. But it didn’t help. I started hiding in my room and staying out of the way to avoid having to hear them.” I sighed. “It wasn’t always like that. We used to be a happy family. A team. But somewhere along the way, they stopped playing on the same side, and then they split up. My dad moved to Texas and now my mom never says anything nice about him.”

  I looked up at Rin, who was listening quietly. I wondered if I’d made him think of his parents.

  “Up until recently I thought that if I’d been a better daughter my dad would have stayed,” I continued. “So, when my dad showed up here and told me he was moving back, you’d think I would have been overjoyed.”

  “You weren’t?” Rin asked.

  “Not at first. I’d been so angry at him for leaving, and it all came out in a flood. Which was horrifying but also good because my dad and I finally talked. I’d been making assumptions about a lot of things, not only about my parents. I hate being wrong.”

  Rin nodded. “Yeah. Nobody likes to be wrong.”

  We sat in silence. I had no idea what Rin was thinking, but I wasn’t sorry I’d told him all that. I wasn’t embarrassed by anything I said. I wondered what that meant.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  “Why aren’t you in the art program?” I asked.

  Rin scowled. “That’s your question? You realize you only get one …”

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about my parents’ corporation? Or how much money they make?” Rin asked quietly.

  “I told you, I’m not doing that article anymore,” I said, matching his gentle tone. “And I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

  “AkiWata Corporation is hugely successful,” Rin said. “My grandpa put together his own company and factory with a loan from a family friend.”

  “Rin,” I said in a warning tone.

  He waved his hand. “I’m answering your question.”

  “The one I actually asked?”

  “The one you actually asked.”

  “Okay, fine, but get to the part about you. I already found out about your family’s business online.”

  Rin raised his eyebrows at me, and I blushed, realizing what I had just admitted.

  “You didn’t find all of this,” he promised. “When my dad got married, Grandpa handed the company over to him. Grandpa had been grooming my dad for that since he was born. But even though my parents run the company together and my mom has her MBA and helped make it even more successful, Mom never got an official title. My grandpa is kind of traditional … in other words, sexist. But Mom wanted something of her own, so she started the Feed Schools Foundation. She’s always been passionate about ending hunger for kids and providing good nutrition. And she’s made Feed Schools as big a success as AkiWata.”

  “That’s pretty impressive,” I admitted. “But what does it have to do with you and art?”

  “My sister, Sarah, wants to work at the corporation when she’s done with college and business school. She’s determined to prove herself to Grandpa.”

  “Oh,” I said. “She wants to take over eventually?”

  Rin nodded. “But Grandpa wants it handed down from father to son. He’s super old-fashioned.”

  “And wrong.”

  “You won’t get me to argue that.”

  A light bulb went off in my head. “Your grandfather expects you to run the company. He won’t support you pursuing art as a career.”

  Rin shrugged and folded his hands on the table. “My dad agrees with Grandpa. They both want me to take over.”

  “But you’re in seventh grade!” I jiggled my legs. “How can they put that kind of pressure on you? You should have a say in what you do with your life. Have you told your parents you don’t want to do it?”

  “I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “Rin!” I threw my hands up.

  “Sarah’s plan is to change their minds. She’s going to finish college before I even have to apply. I have time.”

  “You do,” I said. “I mean, you don’t have to make up your mind about your future now, but you should be able to be an artist if you want to. You should at least be able to take art classes.”

  Rin shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

  “You have to speak up, tell your parents how you feel. I mean, it’s a lesson I’m just now learning. I still have to talk to my mom about all the things she’s been hiding from me.”

  “Then you know how hard it is,” Rin said. “Why bother? It won’t make a difference.”

  “It might. Maybe not right away, but over time.” I was careful with my next question. “Are your parents okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are they happy together?”

  Rin frowned. “Why are you asking that?”

  I thought better of revealing my source. “You said you didn’t want to disappoint them. It reminded me of how hard I tried to be the perfect daughter when my parents weren’t getting along. I thought that might stop them from fighting so much.”

  “They’re fine.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  I hesitated a moment and then said, “So that drawing you did of your family in your sketchbook?”

  Rin gave me a long look. “Whatever you might have read about them is wrong. My parents might have been disagreeing about some stuff, but everything is better. Or getting better. That sketch was the first dinner we’d had together as a family that felt normal again.”

  “Why didn’t you want the sketchbook back, then?”

  “I think that’s a second question.”

  “You’re right. I guess I can fill in the blanks on my own.”

  Rin huffed. “Fine. I didn’t want it back because I was mad at you, and half those drawings were of you.”

  Oh. “But we’re good now?”

  “We will be when you’re done interrogating me.” He said that with a light tone at least. Then he pointed to the menu. “Want to try something new?”

  Huh. Great minds think alike. I nodded, and he waved me over so we could look at the menu together, even though there we
re no less than four of them propped against the napkin holder. I scooted until we sat side by side. My arm tingled even though we weren’t touching.

  We decided to share the Waitress Deep Dish Blueberry Bacon Pie. As we ate, we talked about his science quiz, and I convinced him to stop by the bake sale on Monday. And he told me about his next open mic performance in two weeks.

  “Your friend Isabella is going,” Rin said. “For the article she’s writing.”

  “Cool.”

  “Are you going to come?”

  “Maybe.”

  He shrugged. “I want you to be there.”

  I stabbed a blueberry with my fork, feeling my ears burn. “Oh. Well, then okay. I’ll be there.”

  When we were done eating, I accepted Rin’s offer of a ride to my dad’s condo. Mom was working late. I texted Keiko on the way so she could have her mom drop her off. When I got to my dad’s, she was waiting for me.

  “This is awesome, Jenna!” Keiko crossed into my new room.

  Dad was the king of rush deliveries. Now I knew how he’d gotten all his furniture so quickly. He and I had spent most of Sunday night putting everything together just right.

  I was still getting used to it. Keiko looked left and right, her smile as bright as the yellow sunflower quilt on my IKEA bed. Putting that together had nearly undone the truce between Dad and me.

  “Go ahead and say it,” I prompted.

  Keiko looked around my room once more. I followed her gaze as she took in the framed art on my walls. One was of all the characters from Studio Ghibli movies, not unexpected. The other was a mossy-green watercolor with bare trees. It would have been a dark emo scene—the kind that was normally my style—but the branches were dotted with bright glowing circles that reminded me of fairy lights. Very unlike me. When I’d seen it at the art market Dad and I had gone to at the pier, I couldn’t stop gaping at it. He’d bought it for me without a word.

  Keiko walked over to my desk. Instead of textbooks or newspapers, there was a new sketchbook, very similar to the one Rin used, and a case of markers.

  “What are you expecting me to say?” Keiko asked, sitting down on my bed again.

  “That this room doesn’t look like me.” I leaned against my desk, facing her.

  “It looks like you, Jenna.”

  “It does?”

  Keiko smiled. “If you’re looking for a fight, you’ve got the wrong person. I love this room.” She held up her hand. “And I love your room at the house, too. They’re both you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Keiko patted the quilt. “Sunflowers are your favorite. You always comment on them whenever we see any. And you love Miyazaki films. We both do. That tree print is very cool. And your desk is stacked with art supplies. I’ve seen you drawing more than usual, but you’ve always drawn in your notebooks and handmade cards for my birthday.”

  She smiled at me, and I relaxed. I sat at my desk and opened my sketchbook where I’d already doodled a few new food characters. A piece of pie and a milkshake. I turned to a fresh page in my sketchbook, uncapped my pen, and drew a french fry. Then I drew eyes, a nose, a mouth, and stick arms and legs. Keiko peered over my shoulder.

  “Cute,” she said. “But the bubble tea one is still my favorite.”

  It was strange to do something for fun. I didn’t dream of becoming an artist. I still wanted to be a writer. But I didn’t feel like I had to only do things that moved me toward a goal anymore.

  Keiko’s phone dinged with a text from Conner. She smiled and sat down on my bed to chat with him. As her thumbs flew, her smile grew. I loved seeing her happy. And I loved her. I was so grateful that after years of me holding her at arm’s length, of me being snappish and standoffish, she never ever gave up on me.

  In fact, I felt lighter than I had in forever. Dad hadn’t left because he wanted to get away from me, or even from Mom. And he’d returned. I knew he and mom would never get back together. I was pretty sure that was for the best—I didn’t miss the fights and the yelling and the anxiety and resentment. For the first time in a long time, I was actually letting myself feel happy. Letting myself feel.

  Keiko laughed at something Conner texted. She looked up at me. “Sorry! I’m almost done.”

  “No rush,” I said.

  My thoughts flitted to Rin. I didn’t know when it happened, but I looked forward to spending time with him. I could totally be myself with him. At first that was because I didn’t care what he thought, but eventually, I did care and nothing changed. He didn’t judge me for being moody or smart or … anything. Wow. Maybe I liked him a little more than I thought I did.

  “OMG, Jenna,” Keiko squealed. “You are totally blushing! What are you thinking about?”

  She dropped her phone and scurried to my desk.

  “You know.”

  “Rin?”

  “Rin.”

  “Jenna!” Keiko laughed and gently punched my arm.

  It was still hard to talk about my feelings. That was going to take practice. Luckily, I was very good at putting in the work. And I had an idea for my first self-imposed assignment, which I couldn’t wait to tell Keiko about.

  “I think I know what I’m going to write about for the scholarship.”

  The rest of the week flew by. I was back to hanging out with Keiko on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it felt good. Rin and I spent our time at the diner, but even though we’d shared some deep thoughts, I stayed true to our deal. After those two personal questions, we went back to our usual routine. Bantering, eating, doing homework (me), and drawing (him). Mom was working a lot of late hours, so I spent evenings with Dad. I’d hardly seen her at all since he’d moved back. It was almost as if she were avoiding me.

  On Sunday, I went to Dad’s for a reinstated curry night. We cooked together, chopping onions, potatoes, and carrots. Dad browned the chicken pieces. I broke the blocks of chocolate-brown curry into pieces before dropping them into the bubbling mixture. The smell of spices filled the small kitchen and mingled with the starchy scent of rice steaming in the rice cooker.

  “I spoke to your mom,” Dad said as we sat down to eat.

  “About?”

  “A lot of things, but mostly about you. I’m afraid that your mom and I haven’t modeled good behavior, particularly when it comes to talking about things. We are both ashamed that we hadn’t realized how hurt you were. We should have known, of course, but you seemed to take it all so well. But I see now that your silence meant quite the opposite.”

  I scooped a spoonful of curry into my mouth.

  “We both want you to know that the divorce didn’t happen because of anything you did or said. It was all us. And we don’t love you any less than we did before.”

  I swallowed. “But you don’t love each other anymore.”

  Dad put down his chopsticks and nodded solemnly. “That is mostly true. I think deep down we will always care about each other, but the wounds are still fresh. It may take us a while to recover. And maybe someday we will be friends.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and Dad chuckled. “Yeah, hard to believe, but you can’t predict the future. What you can do is try to create the circumstances for the kind of future you want. That’s what I’m trying to do, Jenna. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  We finished eating dinner while we talked about plans for the weekend. Dad’s new job didn’t require much travel, so that meant more free time, something he hadn’t had much of at his other job. Once tax season was over, I would be able to spend more weekends with Mom. We were all still working out the living arrangements, but I could see switching it up in the summer—spending the week at Dad’s and the weekends at Mom’s. The thought of not having to be apart from either parent for weeks at a time lifted a huge weight off my chest. Maybe things were getting better after all.

  When I got home, Mom was watching TV.

  “Hi, Jenna,” Mom said, holding up a bowl of popcorn. “Join
me?”

  I kicked off my shoes and went to sit next to her.

  “You doing okay? With Dad?”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed a handful of popcorn and munched. I begged silently in my head, Please don’t say anything about Dad, but I knew it was useless. Mom could never let an opportunity to bash him slip by.

  Mom patted my leg. “Do you have time for a movie?”

  I blinked at her. “Sure.”

  “Your choice. Anything you want.” Mom handed me the remote.

  “Okay.” I clicked on the menu and scrolled to Miyazaki’s Spirited Away. That had been one of Dad’s favorites. I knew I was testing Mom, but I couldn’t help it. “This one okay?”

  “Hmmm,” Mom said. “One request.”

  Here we go. “What?”

  “We watch it in Japanese with English subtitles. Is that okay?”

  I blinked at her again. “Okay.”

  Maybe what Dad said was true. Maybe they both really were going to work on being more aware of my feelings. Mom and I settled back against the couch, each of us wrapped in our blankets, and watched the movie together.

  On Monday, at newspaper club, I joined Isabella and Caitlin at our table. My stomach was in knots because I wanted to ask each of them a favor.

  I hated asking favors. But I’d finally figured out I couldn’t do everything alone.

  “How’s your scholarship entry going?” Isabella asked me.

  “Okay.” I still wasn’t ready to talk about it. “Are you applying?”

  “Actually, I think I am.”

  “That’s awesome!”

  “You don’t mind a little competition?” Isabella nudged my arm.

  “Bring it on,” I said.

  We smiled at each other.

  “Hey, can I get a ride with you to open mic next week?” I felt awkward, like I was forcing myself into her free time.

  “You want to go again?”

  I nodded.

  “That’d be great! None of my friends want to go,” she said. “I mean, except for you.”

  “We’re friends?”

  “Jenna, you are hilarious!”

  Happiness bubbled up in me. Knowing that Isabella felt the same as I did about our growing friendship gave me the confidence to ask the next thing. I turned to Caitlin. “Remember when you mentioned doing a cartoon with food characters?”