by Jessica Kim
I roll my eyes. “Oh geez, Mom. Or she’s just enjoying her freedom and living her best life.”
At least that’s what I’d be doing if it were my first time living outside my parents’ house.
Mom disregards me. “I wonder if he is Korean. Maybe a medical student like your sister.” She chews her fruit thoughtfully. “I need to find out if the aunties heard anything. Tell me any new information if she tells you, okay?”
“Sure.” There’s no use trying to convince a woman who won’t be convinced, so I just roll with it. I figure, the sooner I agree, the sooner she’ll go back to her room, and the sooner I can get back to practicing my hair salon bit.
Mom heads to the door with Nabi on her heels. “Okay, don’t stay up too late. Tomorrow you start hagwon.”
I almost forgot.
I flop back on my bed, burying my head under my pillow.
I’d rather be a snail chained to a sponge treadmill than go to hagwon.
CHAPTER 4
It’s only my second day since I started my test-prep course, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take. To no one’s surprise, my parents enrolled me in Koreatown’s most rigorous hagwon, which is run by Mrs. Pak, otherwise known as “Pak Attack” for her ability to whip kids into straight-A shape. But even the threat of her wrath can’t compete with the lulling effect of the stuffy midday heat and the drone of the useless ceiling fan whirring overhead. I’m fighting just to keep my eyes open. If scientists ever wanted to explore ways to tranquilize animals without drugs, they should bring them here. They’d drop like flies in record time. Guaranteed.
I let out a defeated yawn. I better get used to this, since I’ll be here three hours a day, five days a week for the rest of the summer. If I survive that long, that is.
What kind of parent would sign their child up for this? Judging by the line of cars dropping off kids at Mrs. Pak’s hagwon every morning at nine, a buttload of Asian parents.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
I can tell from the clipped sound of Mrs. Pak’s tassel loafers across the tiled floor that I’m in for it. I jolt back to life as I quickly scoot my Super-Secret Comedy Notebook back under my algebra worksheets and shuffle to find the right page.
Mrs. Pak paces in front of the whiteboard. Her head swivels, scanning the class for her next victim, her hands planted on her hips. “Who knows the answer?” she asks, but it’s clear she’s actually looking for the kid who doesn’t.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
“Yumi.”
Of course she settles on me. Dang, this lady has excellent intuition. Sweat prickles down my back under my T-shirt, and I still don’t know which number we’re on. “Uhhh.” I gulp, panicked. I take a shot in the dark. “I-is it A?”
She sighs slow and long, like she’s a deflating beach ball. “Try again,” she says, daring me to get it right.
I fiddle with the staple that’s struggling to hold together my giant packet. I look at my paper, but the jumble of numbers and variables does me no favors.
Ginny, an old elementary school friend I reconnected with here at hagwon, turns around and mouths something, but I can’t quite make it out. Is she saying B, C, or D? They all look the same.
I go with my gut. “C?” I croak. My throat is like sandpaper.
Ginny smacks her forehead.
“Have you been paying attention?” Mrs. Pak snarls at me like my answer offends her deeply. “We’ve already eliminated C.” She whacks her pointer to number seven on the board, and sure enough, there’s the C with a slash through it.
Oops. How did I miss that? Was it on the board this whole time?
Mrs. Pak opens her mouth to continue when the timer suddenly goes off.
It’s noon. Phew!
“Okay, class. Finish this problem set and do practice exam number four tonight for homework,” Mrs. Pak says over the commotion of everyone packing up to go. “You’re dismissed,” she adds, even though everyone has already started to trickle out.
“That was close,” I whisper to Ginny.
“I’ll say. You almost got Pak-attacked.”
Ginny props her glasses on her nose. The way she does it triggers a memory of something I saw on TV. “Hey, did you watch the SNL clip I sent you? The one sketch where the guy with the binoculars steals the lion?”
“No, my parents don’t like it when I watch that show.” Ginny shrugs.
“Mine don’t either, but you have to see it. It’s the most hilarious thing ever.”
She wrinkles her nose. “To be honest, SNL isn’t really my kind of humor.”
“Are you joking?” If that’s not funny to her, what is? I can only shake my head. I truly cannot understand this girl sometimes.
Suddenly, Ginny’s eyes light up. “But that reminds me of this documentary I saw on Animal Planet.”
Here we go again. I can feel it coming. Depressing animal rant happening in three, two, one . . .
“So, it was about these lions in the savannah of Botswana,” she says, as she launches into yet another passionate speech on the dire state of the planet. “It’s horrific. These farmers are killing them for preying on their livestock.” She walks faster. “Can you believe that?”
I shake my head.
“Endangered lions, Yumi.” Her eyes narrow. “Endangered!” She sighs loudly. “It’s the saddest thing ever.”
“Ginny, you aren’t . . . lion.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Get it? Lyin’? Lion?”
She clutches her binder close to her chest and cuts me a sideways glance. “This is no laughing matter, Yumi. These lions are losing their habitats and getting slaughtered, and you’re over here making jokes?” She comes to a dead halt right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “Can you imagine what it’s like trying to survive in an environment you aren’t suited for?”
I kick a pebble down the cracked sidewalk. Sadly, I can.
That’s just how it feels every day I’m at Winston. Talk about an unsuitable environment. It’s basically a shy person’s worst nightmare. I’ll never know why the teachers there are so obsessed with group projects, presentations, debates, discussions, and, my personal favorite, icebreakers. I think I sweated more last year than all my other ten years combined. And then there’s my loner status. It’s supposed to be one of the most prestigious prep schools or whatever, but going there makes me want to hide in my shell like the tortoise I saw on the Animal Legal Defense Fund article Ginny gave me the other day.
She pushes the button for the crosswalk at the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Western Avenue. “Want to come over to my house? The new BTS video just dropped.”
There’s a flutter in my chest at the mention of my favorite K-pop band. “Wish I could, but I have to go study at the library. Mrs. Pak has me on her ‘intensive plan,’” I say with air quotes.
“Class plus three hours of independent study at the library?” Ginny nods knowingly.
“Yup.” That’s the one.
“Yikes, Mrs. Pak put my brother on that same plan when he was studying for the SATs.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like she knows there’s bad Wi-Fi there.”
“Right? It’s a total connectivity black hole.” I groan. It’s not even worth trying to stream anything on their ancient computers. Trust me, I’ve tried. Thanks to Mrs. Pak’s intensive plan, I’m struggling to keep up with Jasmine Jasper’s vlog.
“Well, hang in there.”
“Thanks, bye,” I say as we go our separate ways.
I’m waiting for the light at the crosswalk when a bus comes roaring down the street farting a giant carbon monoxide cloud right at me like I’m not even there. I wave my arms to clear the air, but then the signal changes and a throng of earbud-wearing pedestrians, moms pushing strollers, and college students with backpacks rush at me with a vengeance. I dodge and sidestep my way across as fast as I can.
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I’m almost at the library when something catches my eye.
There’s a guy up on a ladder filling in the marquee on the side of the building that just went up.
Sweet, a movie theater!
I don’t care what Dad says; I’m excited about the businesses coming into my neighborhood. The coolest stores on the block are the new ones. Like the cute boba café, the indie comic bookstore, and now a movie theater.
I scamper closer to see which movies will be playing.
To my utter shock, the marquee reads WELCOME TO THE HAHA CLUB.
It’s not a movie theater—it’s a comedy club!
I’m suddenly light-headed. How did this come to be? It’s as if my subconscious wished it into existence. I’ve never actually seen a comedy club in real life, but now there’s one right here. I have to check this out!
Ever so casually, I stroll past the door to steal a peek inside but immediately stop dead in my tracks at the life-sized poster of the one and only Jasmine Jasper hanging on the lobby wall. JASMINE JASPER AT THE HAHA CLUB AUGUST 3–14!
Holy Hot Cheetos, is she going to do some shows here? I’ve only ever seen her on YouTube, but of course she must perform at comedy clubs, too.
In the poster, she looks absolutely flawless holding a microphone like the comic queen that she is. Everything about her commands attention: her bright red lipstick, her cute outfit, and of course her signature pixie haircut.
I must get a selfie with her poster. It’d make the ultimate profile picture.
After scoping out the premises, I sneak inside and take a quick snap of myself leaning back-to-back with her like we’re best buddies. Since that’s what we are in my mind. I pick my favorite filter, tag it with every hashtag I can think of, and post it.
I’m halfway out the door when the unmistakable sound of Jasmine Jasper’s melodious voice comes on the PA system. “How is everyone doing today?” she whoops.
My heart skips a beat.
It’s her. She’s here. Like right here in this very building!
Shivers run down my spine. Jasmine Jasper and I are breathing the same air right now. I’ll just take a glimpse. It’d be stupid not to.
Quietly, I tiptoe down the dark hall leading to the main auditorium and poke my head in the doorway like a total creepster.
I cannot believe my eyes.
CHAPTER 5
There she is. Standing onstage right there across the room from me. How is this my life? She looks effortlessly chic in her flowy paisley-print skirt and sleek sleeveless top. Her dark brown skin glows under the bright lights. The rose-gold bangles on her arm clink together as she flips through some papers on a clipboard.
Finally, she speaks in her booming voice. “Who’s ready for day two of summer camp?” she hollers. “Because we’re about to get an ab workout with all the laughing we’re about to do.”
Ah, she’s not here to perform. She’s here to teach comedy camp!
The kids seated in the front of the darkened room clap and cheer.
Wow. It’s hard to believe that I’m inside an actual comedy club. I don’t know how many times I’ve looked up famous venues just to imagine myself in them: The Groundlings, Laugh Factory, The Comedy Store, The Second City. And now here I am, standing in the back of one. I marvel at the room for a second and take in the simple stage, curtains, and rows of chairs. This is where the magic happens.
I’m so caught up in the moment that I almost miss it when Jasmine Jasper abruptly stops to peer through the bright lights. “Is there someone back there?” She squints, cupping her forehead with one hand.
Uh-oh. She stares right at me.
“I see you hiding in the back.” Her voice rings from across the auditorium.
Me? I point to myself.
She nods. “Yeah, you.”
I need to get out of here! I pivot to make a quick exit, but my shoe catches on my laces, taking me down to the ground with a giant thud.
She winces. “That had to hurt.”
I scramble to my feet. “I’m fine—I was just, uh—”
“Come here.” She waves me over.
When I don’t come closer, she laughs. “Don’t be scared, my breath isn’t that bad.”
I do as I’m told and make my way down the stairs toward her. I’m both mesmerized and confused. I’ve lost control of my body and mind.
“You ’kay?” she asks kindly, flipping again through her clipboard.
“Um, yes, thank you.” I mean, I’m not. My knee is throbbing, and I’m about to pass out from shock. But I’ve also met my hero, and I can now die happy and fulfilled. #blessed.
She scribbles something down. “You been on vacay, Kay Nakamura?”
“Huh?” Kay Nakamura? Is that some kind of fancy vacation destination or something?
“I’m messing with you.” She flashes her dimples. “We missed you yesterday, but I’m glad you’re finally here.” She curls her finger. “Come on, now, you’ve got some catching up to do.”
My heart stops. I realize what’s happening. She thinks I’m a camper named Kay Nakamura.
This is very bad.
She shouts, “All right, let’s get started.” Another cheer rises from the fellow campers.
“Wait. No,” I whisper.
“Take a seat, Kay.” Jasmine points to where the rest of the campers are sitting.
Before I can explain, she bellows, “Okay, now I need some volunteers.” A bunch of hands shoot into the air.
“But. But . . . Uh. Excuse me,” I say, sitting down, but no one can hear me above all the kids shouting, “Me! Me!” “Pick me!” “I haven’t gone yet” and “Ooh, oooh, oooh!”
I glance toward the exit. I’ll only draw more attention to myself if I try to leave now. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to stay and watch for a few minutes. I take off my backpack and set it down by my feet.
Jasmine Jasper selects a pudgy kid with some serious sideburns. He does a full-body fist pump and dashes onstage.
“Our first warm-up is called the World’s Worst,” Jasmine explains. “Remember, this is improv. That means you have to make it up as you go. There is no script. If you get stuck, take a breath and keep going.”
Eeeeesh. Making up something funny? Without any practice? Right there on the spot? I sure am glad I’m not that guy.
“When we’re doing these exercises, let’s focus on listening, commitment, and stage presence. These drills are a great way to build skills that’ll help you later in your stand-up.”
They’re going to do stand-up, too? That’s so cool.
“For this round,” she continues, “you’re going to act out your idea of the worst zookeeper ever. You ready, Felipe?”
He thumps the giant S on his Superman T-shirt. “Super ready.”
“That’s what I like to see.” Jasmine chuckles. “Go!”
He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face into his elbow. “AAAAaaaa AAAAAaaaa AAAACHOO.” He opens his mouth to speak, but then holds up one hand like he’s about to sneeze again. “Excuse me.” Another false start later, he finally says, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. Feathers, fur, scales are my kryptonite.” He clears his throat. “Allergies.”
I giggle to myself. This Felipe guy’s deadpan humor is on point.
Jasmine calls up the next kid, a freckle-faced girl wearing a furry orange vest. She tosses her head, sending her giant halo of frizzy brown hair flying in every direction. “Mates, don’t waste your life being caged up!” she yells in an Australian accent as she pretends to unlock a door. “Live your best life and be freeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Her arms flail as she stretches out her last word.
“That’s a pretty convincing Aussie accent, Sienna,” Jasmine says.
“Thanks, I’ve been working on it in drama class.”
Next, Jasmin
e looks over at me. “Let’s have our new friend, Kay, take a turn.”
I freeze. My body and brain have disconnected, and I’m on standby status.
Loading. Loading. Loading.
“Come on, now. Everyone’s waiting for you.” Jasmine bobs her chin at me and motions to the stage.
“N-no, no. I can’t.” My words trip over themselves on their way out of my mouth. “I—I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t for me. I’m not—”
“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Jasmine puts her warm hand on my back. “We’ve all been there. It’s hard to get onstage and perform, especially on your first day of camp.”
Then she claps her hands three times, and the kids clap the same rhythm back to her.
What the . . .
Jasmine strides past us in her red suede fringe boots. She raises her palms. “Can we give our friend Kay some encouragement?”
And like a cult, they all chant in unison. “You can do it.” Clap. “You can do it.” Clap-clap. “We believe in you, Kay.”
That was totally weird.
I am a stranger in a strange land.
Now what am I supposed to do? I go over the options in my head. I sure as heck don’t want to go up there, but I don’t want to let Jasmine Jasper down either. Everyone is staring at me. I have to do something.
A round of applause erupts as I approach the stage.
The heat from the spotlight beats down on my shoulders. I wipe my sweaty hands on the sides of my jeans. I keep my eyes focused on the blank wall right above everyone’s heads.
It’s then that I realize that these people don’t know me. They think I’m a girl named Kay Nakamura. What do I have to lose? I’m never going to see them again. Isn’t this what Jasmine Jasper meant when she said “we have to fake it till we make it”? My tension releases like a popped zit.
I take a deep breath and go for it. I scrunch my face with my hands on my hips. “I’m never playing Uno with you sniveling beasts ever again.” I give my nastiest side-eye. “Bunch of lion cheetahs.”