by AnonYMous
The other nice thing is that I expected to be horribly embarrassed around him all the time now, ever since I did my weird staring thing at him the other day. And it’s true that he and his friends sometimes laugh at me or make comments when I walk by, and the old me would have been devastated by that. But now I just can’t find it in myself to care. There are more interesting things in the world.
Too bad I still have to go through the motions of high school. It’s harder than ever to convince myself that history term papers and debate tournaments and my mom’s nagging are important. But that’s life, I guess.
Wed, Nov 19
I had a chemistry test today that I totally didn’t know about. Oops. It was probably announced during one of the periods I missed because I was hanging out with Ada. I guess I really have let things slide.
So, obviously, I failed it. I mean, I wasn’t exactly doing great in chemistry even before, and that was when I was taking notes and paying attention and reading the chapters three times before each test. I’ve never really had a mind for it. And now I’m skipping classes and fudging my way through the homework and zoning out so bad that I don’t even realize there’s a test coming up. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to come back from this. I used to calculate my average each time I got a B on a test and compute how well I needed to do on the remaining tests to bring it up to an A. But given my last couple of tests, that’s just not possible anymore. Maybe if I got perfect scores on everything for the rest of the semester, I could still get a low B, but what’s the point? Mom will still be furious. Stanford won’t even look at me. It’s hard to see how it’s worth the constant struggle.
There’s a part of me that has always wondered . . . what would happen? What if I just let go and stopped worrying over every little thing? But I guess that’s pretty much what I’m doing now. It’s weird—it’s like, instead of being an active participant in my own life, I’m just watching it like a movie. Waiting to see what happens to me.
Fri, Nov 21
So it turns out that once you’ve decided to stop caring about your classes, school gets really boring really fast. I’ve spent so much of my life drowning in pressure and anxiety, and I guess I always assumed that people who didn’t have that must be happy and relaxed all the time. I never imagined how depressing it would be to just . . . exist.
Even eating lunch with my old friends just feels impossible now. Today Jenny and Eiko were talking about our chances for Academic Decathlon this year, and they asked my opinion and I had nothing to say. I couldn’t even really follow what they were talking about. The looks they gave me . . . It would have been embarrassing, if I cared at all.
Sun, Nov 23
I’m so bored.
Not just bored in this specific moment, from not having enough to do. God knows I have plenty to do. . . . In theory, I have tests to study for and papers to write and math team competitions to prepare for and helping Mom around the house, if I ever finish the rest of it. There is plenty of stuff to occupy my time. But I can’t bring myself to do any of it, and none of it makes me less bored.
I can’t stop thinking about that night with Damon. I can’t stop wishing my life were more like that and less like this. It’s like now that I’ve tasted that life, it is really hard to go back to my normal world of Mom picking on me and nagging me and never being satisfied with anything I do. And things between us are worse than ever now that I’ve pretty much stopped trying at all. My grades are plummeting. Half the time I don’t even bother going to my activities. I haven’t practiced the piano in ages, and as a result, every day when I come home from school, I get the same lecture about what a disappointment I am and how I am bringing shame on the family and will never amount to anything. I could bring real shame on this family if I wanted to! Maybe I should, just to show her. Mom is so sheltered. She has no idea what’s out there.
I think a lot about Ada, too. Not that I don’t see her. I mean, we’re still friends, and sometimes I run into her in the halls and bathrooms at school. But I get flustered and don’t know what to say. Her life is just so much more interesting than mine.
The other day she suggested we go shopping or something, and that sounded amazing. She always looks so glamorous and stylish. Maybe she could help me figure out how to do that too. But it’s not like I have any money. It’s kind of ironic, actually. Ada’s family doesn’t seem to have much money, but she personally has a lot of cash to spend, thanks to her work. Whereas my family is a lot more well-off, but that makes no difference in my life. I’m not like those rich kids with Daddy’s credit card. I have to ask my parents to buy me things if I want them, and then they get to decide whether what I want is worth spending money on or not. Usually not. It’s just another way they control me.
I can just imagine asking my parents for money to buy sexy boots or a gorgeous camel coat like Ada’s. They’d think I was joking.
So in the meantime, Ada and I have less and less in common, and she has less and less reason to waste any time on a loser like me. And pretty soon the one bright spot in my life will disappear and it will all be nothing but drab and gray.
Maybe if I got a job? Then at least I’d have some cash I could call my own.
Sun, Nov 23, later
Well, forget the job idea. First of all, Mom totally did not go for it. I tried to use the angle that college applications ask about work experience, and it would show a sense of responsibility and hard work, but she wasn’t having it. She said the last thing I needed was another thing taking my time and focus away from my schoolwork and my activities. She said maybe if I brought my grades up, she might think about it, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Because the truth is, my grades lately are even worse than my mom realizes, and I’m just waiting for report-card day, when the whole truth comes out.
Not that I care that much. I mean, what can she really do? She can yell and complain and berate me all she wants. It can’t be much worse than what I’m putting up with now.
And then the other thing is, even if I could talk my parents into it, I don’t know if it would even be worth it. The only job I could possibly get would be part-time at minimum wage, and it would take me forever to save up any serious money. By the time I could afford a shopping trip with Ada, she would have forgotten all about me. Plus, they seem like kind of a drag. I mean, do I really want to spend hours every day mopping floors and scrubbing toilets? That sounds even worse than the stuff I currently have to do.
It all just feels so hopeless right now. Everything in my life is dull and pointless, and I can’t even think of anything to look forward to. It’s just a vast expanse of nothing, from here until forever.
Mon, Nov 24
It’s the middle of the night, but I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut down because there’s this thought buzzing around in it—a totally crazy thought. But maybe if I write it out on paper I’ll see just how ridiculous it is and my brain will finally leave it alone.
What if I did what Ada does? No, that’s not good enough. I have to be able to say it. Okay. What if I became a prostitute? What if I were a whore?
Okay, see? Ridiculous! Crazy. I could never do that. That life isn’t for girls like me.
Ada does it. But Ada’s not like me. But could I ever be like Ada? I used to think no, definitely not. I remember when Ada seemed like she belonged to a different species. But it’s not like that anymore, is it? We’re friends. We share clothes. I look good in her clothes. And she herself said that I could be like her, if I wanted. I wonder if she was serious.
Back then I was a virgin and she was not. And that seemed like an unbridgeable gulf. But I’m not a virgin anymore—already I’m more like her. Damon wanted me, thought I was pretty. Thought I was sexy. A couple months ago, I couldn’t even dream that. If Damon wanted me, other men probably would too. So I could do it. In principle.
But it’s still nuts. I mean, what about my parents? Ju
st imagining the look on Mom’s face if she found out . . . She wouldn’t believe it. She would never think me capable of such a thing. Because I’m not. Right? My mom should know.
But then, what does Mom know about me, really? I spend my whole life doing the things she expects of me, but is that who I am? I guess it is, in a way. I mean, you are what you do, right? But I’m not exactly happy with who I am right now. If I decided to do something different, something really crazy, would that make me a different person? Would I like that person better?
If she were more like Ada, then yes—I would like her better. Like me better.
And then there’s the money. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I don’t know. My family’s not poor, like Ada’s, so why should money be so important to me? It’s not like there’s a ton of fancy things I want to buy. But money isn’t just about getting stuff. Having my own source of income would feel like . . . freedom. Independence. Right now I have to do whatever my parents want because I’d basically die without them. But if I had my own money, I could make my own choices.
Wow. Am I really considering this?
I’m sure in the morning I’ll see what a terrible idea this is and drop it completely. But it’s a nice fantasy for right now.
Tues, Nov 25
I’m excited. I shouldn’t be, but I am. This is a bad idea, but honestly, who cares? I’m nervous and scared, but at least I’m feeling something. My whole body is buzzing, and it’s partly fear and surprise at myself, but it feels better than all that dead nothingness before.
I didn’t mean to say anything. I didn’t think I was seriously considering it. But at lunch today I was sitting alone, eating a sandwich, thinking over the whole concept, not quite ready to let it go yet. But then Ada slid onto the bench across from me and asked me what I was thinking about. And I just blurted it out!
“I want to do it,” I said, as if she’d been listening in on my thoughts for the past twenty-four hours.
“What?”
“I want to be a . . .” I hesitated over the rest of the sentence. Not because I wasn’t sure, but because I didn’t know the right word to use. I didn’t want to accidentally give offense. “Do you think that I could do what you do?” I said.
Ada raised her eyebrows.
“Have sex,” I clarified. “For money.”
Ada blew out a long breath. “Shit,” she said.
“You don’t think I could do it? You think people wouldn’t want—”
“It’s not that.” She pulled her coat tight around her, a dark expression on her face. “I shouldn’t have told you. I was afraid at first that this might happen, but then I thought, no way, not her. She would never be interested in—”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I be? You think I want to be an invisible geek my whole life?”
Ada shook her head. “It’s not what you think. Damon . . . they’re not all like that. They’re not at all like that. Damon was the worst possible introduction I could have given you to this business.”
“I know that,” I said, smiling a little. “I’m not an idiot, Ada. I have actually thought about this. I know it’s not all dinners at the Space Needle.”
She frowned. “You don’t understand.”
But I do! I mean, maybe not completely. Of course not completely—how can I understand something I’ve never experienced? But how can I learn without experiencing it?
“Do you want to quit?” I asked her.
“No,” she said slowly.
“Is anyone forcing you to keep doing it?”
“No, but I—”
“If it were really that bad, you would quit, wouldn’t you?”
Ada nodded, a little uncertainly. “But it’s not that simple. You don’t know—”
“How can I know if I don’t try it? And if I don’t like it, I can stop, right?”
Ada relaxed a little. “Yeah. You could always back out, if you wanted.” She didn’t look totally convinced, but she stopped fighting me. And when I pressed a little more, she agreed to introduce me to Irma. She said after that it would be between me and Irma and out of her hands.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m really doing this! I’m not sure I even recognize myself.
Wed, Nov 26
Ada just called. My big meeting with Irma is today! I’m so nervous and excited. I wanted to go home first to change. I’m worried that if I don’t look really pretty, Irma won’t want me. But Ada said not to worry about that. Irma is sending a car for me! I really can’t decide if I am more nervous or excited.
Ada just reminded me not to mention anything that happened with Damon. I still don’t quite understand why that’s such a big deal, but I can do that. Okay, I have to run.
Wed, Nov 26, later
Well, I have a job! Kind of. I still have to wait until I get scheduled for my first date, and of course I can’t get paid before then. But Miss Irma took me on! I feel . . . relieved, I guess.
One thing I definitely didn’t expect: Miss Irma (that’s what everyone calls her to her face) came here from Taiwan, just like my parents. She’s probably about their age, too. Oh, wow. What if they’ve met? Given the size of the Chinese community here, it’s not impossible. I definitely don’t want to think too much about that, though. Let’s keep those worlds separate.
It was surreal because Miss Irma speaks English with an accent that sounds a lot like my mom and all my aunts. I mean, obviously her English is much better. She’s been doing business in English for decades now. So more like my dad, in that way. She speaks very carefully, slowly, and her sentences are always correct, but the accent is still there.
I can’t even describe how weird it is, because Miss Irma is like the complete opposite of my parents in every significant way. She is not obsessed with me going to college and doing all my homework and stuff like that. But it’s not just that. Everything about her seems so much less rigid and controlling. It’s kind of a revelation to meet someone Chinese who isn’t a doctor or an engineer or a scientist or some other “acceptable” successful career, like my parents’ friends are. Miss Irma has made her own success, in a completely original way.
It made me feel like maybe there are more options open to me than I thought. Not that I necessarily want to do what Miss Irma does when I grow up, but I’m starting to see that I don’t have to limit my dreams to the ones my parents consider acceptable. I can follow a different, less-obvious path, if I want to.
Irma’s office wasn’t really what I expected either. It was in a big anonymous high-rise tower downtown, mixed in among dentists and lawyers and gynecologists. Her sign in the lobby was very discreet, and you would never have guessed anything at all about her line of work from it.
Even once you got upstairs into the reception area, it still felt a lot more like a doctor’s office than like a . . . well, a whorehouse. It’s all pastel wallpaper and tasteful paintings and fluorescent lighting. I figure this can’t be where Miss Irma meets her clients. I can’t see anyone being turned-on by that decor.
Anyway, there was a receptionist, a pretty woman named Anne who told me to wait a few minutes and then eventually let me in to Miss Irma’s office. She was sitting behind a desk, and, again, I couldn’t help a weird shiver of recognition because the layout of the room and the desk and everything were so much like my dad’s office at the hospital.
Miss Irma was friendly and smiled a lot, but the whole thing felt much more formal and professional than I was expecting. She was wearing a well-tailored gray tweed suit and a fussy perfume that filled the whole room with notes of lotus and plum. The only hint that she wasn’t an ordinary businesswoman or bureaucrat was a pair of pearl-gray stilettos so high they made my feet ache just to look at them.
She asked me a bunch of questions about myself and my family (but nothing too personal), and she asked me how I learned about her operation. I was careful not to say a
nything about Damon. I just said that Ada was my friend, and I learned about it from her. Miss Irma seemed to accept this, and she told Anne via her intercom to add my name to her appointment book.
Then she asked me what were the best times for me, and I sort of slipped and said, “I can’t do nights anymore.” I was thinking about my night with Damon, but obviously I can’t tell my parents I have an overnight study session every time. I knew I’d messed up the minute it came out of my mouth, but I was hoping Irma wouldn’t notice. But she’s sharp. She picked up on it right away.
“Anymore?”
“I can’t do nights,” I repeated, trying to sound confident. “My parents would cause problems. It’s easier to get away from school.”
Miss Irma nodded and I breathed an internal sigh of relief.
“And your name?”
I repeated my name, even though I’d already introduced myself, and she gave me a sharp look over her reading glasses. “Not your real name. Never give a client your real name. You need a working name.”
She tried to get me to come up with one on the spot, but I blanked completely, and after about half a minute, Miss Irma just sighed and said, “Sleep on it. You can let us know later.” She made a few more notes in a big book on her desk, then looked up again. She told me I’d get a text in a few days, most likely, setting up my first appointment. Then she went over some ground rules:
1) Never accept money from the clients directly. Never discuss money with the client. All payment goes through Miss Irma.