by Jessica Kim
And they laugh. They actually laugh!
The other two kids who went up, Felipe and Sienna, give me high fives. A rush of adrenaline floods my system.
“Kay, that was great. Aren’t you glad you took a chance?” Jasmine Jasper says. My chest swells with a strange sensation I’ve never felt before. It takes me a second to realize what it is. The Comedian’s High! Jasmine talked about this on her web series. She described it as “thick satisfaction that comes from making people laugh that coats your heart like maple syrup.” I never thought I’d get the chance to experience this.
Wow. Being Kay sure is a lot more fun than being Yumi.
We do a few more rounds of improv before moving on to stand-up. Jasmine leads us in a bunch of zany activities to generate ideas for jokes. The entire afternoon flies by, and before I know it, it’s time for dismissal. As soon as I’m in the lobby, reality hits me hard. Mom is coming to pick me up in front of the library in a few minutes. I have to hurry and get my butt back to the parking lot before my parents find out about my funny business.
I approach Jasmine to explain everything, but she’s busy talking with some campers. I stand around for a while, waiting for a good opportunity to jump in to tell her, “Turns out I’m not signed up to be in this summer camp. I came in to take a look because I’m your biggest fan, and it kind of spiraled out of control. Big misunderstanding. I’m sorry for the trouble. By the way, my name is really Yumi Chung. Can you autograph my Super-Secret Comedy Notebook?”
No matter how many times I rehearse it in my head, it sounds way too random to say out loud.
Maybe I can leave and never come back. I look toward the door. It’d be easier than trying to explain everything. Would that be so wrong?
I lower my head and make a break for it.
I’m halfway out the door when someone calls, “Hey!”
I turn around.
It’s Felipe, the kid with the sideburns. It’s too late to pretend I didn’t see him because we’ve already made eye contact. I wave politely and turn to leave, but then he starts jogging over in my direction.
“Kay, wait up!”
“H-hello,” I say, my insides jiggly. Answering to that name makes me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s retainers.
“Dude, I wanted to tell you, I really liked your zookeeper improv.”
I break into a sweat. I’m not used to people striking up conversations with me. Last year at Winston, hardly anyone bothered to speak to me at all. My own history teacher didn’t call on me for the entire first week of school because he thought I couldn’t speak English. True story.
I feel that familiar cramp that forms in my side whenever I struggle with what to say next. I inhale deeply and channel Kay again.
“Your allergy thing was pretty funny, too.” My voice comes out smooth and confident.
Felipe scratches his chin. “You think so?” He grimaces. “Was it okay? Not too over-the-top?”
His hesitation puts me at ease. I know exactly what he’s feeling.
“No, are you kidding? It was hilarious!”
“You know what?” He twirls his wrist like he’s trying to remember something. “Your zoo thing kind of reminded me of this clip I saw online. The SNL sketch where the guy carjacks the Jeep with the lions. Have you seen it?”
“Totally!” I’m so psyched he knows the sketch that a snort escapes from my nose, and I forget to be embarrassed.
“I love that show,” we say at the exact same time.
Felipe curls his hands into binoculars over his eyes, and instantly I know the part he’s about to reenact.
“We’re going on a safari. We’re going on a safari,” he sings, bobbing his head the way they did in the video. His impersonation is spot-on.
And, totally out of character for Yumi but not for Kay, I join him in his bobbing. “We’re going on a safari,” we sing together, before succumbing to a fit of giggles.
“SNL is the best.” He extends his fist.
“One hundred percent.” I bump his fist, beaming.
He checks the time on his phone. “Well, I gotta go, but I’m glad you finally showed up to camp. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I wave, my good mood fades.
It’s too bad I’m not actually Kay Nakamura, so I could come back to comedy camp tomorrow.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
The notification flag pops up on my lock screen. It’s a text.
Mom: Almost there.
Oh shoot!
CHAPTER 6
I sprint the whole way across the parking lot to the Koreatown Branch Library. When I get there, it’s exactly three o’clock. Mom should be here any minute. Breathless, I collapse onto the bench outside. What a crazy day!
Honk! Honk!
Our tan minivan pulls up, and I’m a bundle of nerves as I jump into the passenger seat.
Mom, decked out in a giant visor and driving gloves, takes my backpack. “How was studying?”
“The usual.” I make it a point to look down so that she won’t detect the lies hiding beneath my eyelids.
“Good.”
Lucky for me, Mom is in a rare pensive mood and doesn’t press for details. I manage to get through the short car ride to the restaurant by staring at the home screen of my phone, with Mom none the wiser.
The relief doesn’t last long, however.
“Yumi, go help your sister,” Dad barks as soon as I enter. “She’s in the back.”
Yuri’s here again? The expression on his face tells me he is in no mood for answering questions. Dang, what’s with my parents today?
I grab an apron and swing around to the dark and dank corner off to the side of the kitchen. Immediately I hear the lumbering sounds of the industrial dishwasher, which is not unlike a very small drive-thru car wash. It thrums and hisses as steam randomly escapes from the sides.
“Hey again,” I call out to my sister, whose back is turned to me.
“Oh, thank God you’re here!” Yuri shouts from behind a mountain range of dirty dishes, pots, and grills. “I’m drowning. Do you want to scrape or wash?”
Tough decision. It’s like having to choose between using the porta-potty or going in the bushes. “Uh. Wash, I guess.”
“Suit yourself.” She steps aside so I can squeeze by the trash can on wheels. I wash my hands in the double sink.
“So, why are you here again? And what’s up with Mom and Dad? Why are they both so mad?”
“Let’s just say it’s been quite a day around here.” She bangs a plate against the side of the trash can, sending bits of rice and banchan flying.
“Where are Tony and Joaquin?” They usually bus the tables and wash the dishes.
“They quit.”
Oh shoot.
She hands me the scraped plate.
“Today?” I dunk it in the soapy water and place it upright in the pegged tray. “Just like that? No notice or anything?”
“Yup,” Yuri says, clenching her teeth as she swipes the next dish with her rubber-gloved hand. “Mom and Dad called me in a panic a few hours ago, begging me to come in and help.”
“They did?” A ripple of guilt runs through me. While I was giggling my butt off during improv warm-ups, my family has been in a state of crisis trying to keep this restaurant afloat.
My sister wipes the debris off another plate in one swift motion. “I mean, I’m happy to help and everything, but they’ve been calling me every other day with emergencies like this. It’s like they don’t understand that I have my own life now.”
“That really sucks, Yuri.” I spray the remaining sludge off the plates and send them down the conveyor belt into the dishwasher. “And you’re so busy with the research you’re doing in the lab, too.”
She gets quiet. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. What’s going on with you?
”
A smile creeps over my face.
“What?” She puts down her plate. “Yumi Chung, tell me right now. What’s the secret?”
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad, but I had the most epic day of my life,” I say in a lowered voice.
I load the next crate, yammering nonstop, filling her in on all the details of my wild afternoon as Kay Nakamura.
“You’re so silly!” my sister says, laughing. She jiggles the trash can to make room for more waste. “Why didn’t you tell them that you weren’t Kay right away?”
“You know how I get sometimes. I just froze.” I squirt some more detergent into the bucket of silverware.
“Only my little sister could accidentally steal someone’s identity.” She shakes her head with what looks like half amusement and half horror. “And I thought this sort of thing only happens in the movies.”
“Right?” I gush. “That’s exactly how it felt, like I was an actor playing someone in a role.” I get the chills remembering the feeling of being in control, of being heard and maybe even appreciated. “It’s weird, but I actually sort of liked it. A lot. It’s as if I’ve discovered what I was born to do.”
“That’s phenomenal. People go their whole lives searching for that.”
A faraway look passes over my sister’s face. “Listen, I think you should seriously pursue this.” Her wild eyes pierce into me with conviction.
“What are you talking about?” Who is this person, and what has she done with my goody-two-shoes sister?
“I’ve been thinking about this lately, and we all need to follow our passions.”
Passions? Who’s talking about passions? Maybe Mom was right. Yuri does have a boyfriend.
She talks fast, and her rubber-gloved hands are moving even faster.
“Like, we can’t live for our parents for the rest of our lives. At some point, we need to do what makes us happy!” She smacks the top of the trash can for emphasis.
It’s like she’s talking to me, but she’s not.
“Oooookay . . .” I tilt my head. “What are you suggesting?”
“You need to ask Mom and Dad to sign you up for comedy camp.”
I burst into laughter, nearly dropping my sink hose. My sister has lost it. Completely.
“No way.”
I mean, yes, of course I wish I could go to comedy camp, but has she forgotten who we’re talking about? The same unnecessarily strict parental units that forbid us from painting our nails, borrowing friends’ clothes, and going to sleepovers?
“I’m serious. Yumi, if you never stand up for yourself and go along blindly with whatever Mom and Dad say, you’ll be chasing their dreams, not your own.”
Dang, that’s intense.
She slides off her rubber glove and touches my shoulder gently. “You should do comedy. Really. You owe it to yourself. Mom and Dad will support you eventually.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Trust me. You just have to put an educational spin on it. I’ll talk to them for you.”
I shrug. What’s the point? I already know what they’re going to say.
Manuel comes in with another cart full of dirty dishes. “Ey, if it isn’t the Chung sisters working the dish pit!”
I give him a soapy-handed high five. “Yuri just told me the bad news about Tony and Joaquin.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna miss those guys.” Manuel unloads the bussing buckets onto the counter.
“What the heck, though? They couldn’t give us a little more notice? We’re down to four part-time employees now. Did they have to leave us in the ditch like that?”
Yuri knots up the bulging trash bag. “I’m sure they had their reasons.”
“She’s right. Can’t really blame them, cipota.” He lifts the bag and flings it over his shoulder like Santa Claus. “Mr. Shin from the new gastropub down the street offered them a pay raise if they started right away. They gotta feed their families, too.”
“Did he really?” Yuri asks.
“Did he offer you a job, too?”
“He did, but he couldn’t offer me flexible hours for Sofia.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Mom lets Manuel set his own schedule because she knows no one can cook as well as he can.
“But if I left, you know I’d always be your uncle Manuel, right?” He flexes his biceps.
I giggle, flexing my muscles, too.
“C’mon, Yuri! Don’t be too cool for us!” Manuel prods.
Yuri reluctantly holds up her arm and gives it a half-hearted pump.
“Atta girls!” He’s halfway out of the room when he pokes his head back in. “Yuri, did you tell your parents about your . . . uh . . . thing?”
Her mouth curves into a shy smile. “No, not yet.”
Um. What thing?
His eyes squint with disapproval.
Yuri sighs, and all the energy goes out of her body with it. “I don’t know if they’re going to understand . . .”
Oooh. This must be about her secret boyfriend!
“Can’t keep them in the dark forever,” he says before he leaves.
Why doesn’t she want to tell Mom and Dad about this guy? Is he some kind of bad boy who cusses a lot? Does he have long hair, tattoo sleeves, and ride a Harley like the bad boys on TV? I need to know.
As soon as Manuel is out of earshot, I ask suggestively, “What was that about?”
She loudly shakes open a new bag and secures it around the lip of the trash can. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“Fine, then.”
So she gets to ask me about my secrets, but she doesn’t tell me anything about hers? I mean, honestly, she told Manuel about her boyfriend before me?
I guess I’ll always be a baby to her.
We finish the rest of the dishes in silence.
* * *
• • •
A while later, Mom hollers at us, “Come eat!”
My stomach grumbles on cue.
Having grown up in a restaurant, I automatically get hungry at four o’clock on the dot, when the lunch shift leaves and we close the restaurant for an hour between meals. This is when we eat dinner.
My sister and I take our seats around the folding table in the office.
“Where’s Manuel?” Mom asks.
“He couldn’t make it today,” I say. “He had to go pick up his granddaughter from day care.”
“Aigoo, he should have told me so I can pack some for Sofia. She loves my bulgogi fried rice.” Mom is a total sucker for chubby toddlers who eat well.
She fluffs the rice with a wooden spoon. “Eat a lot,” she says, handing me a heaping plate.
As if she even had to tell me. I could honestly eat my weight in fried rice. Mom’s got the gift of knowing exactly what’ll hit the spot. I swear, she has a sixth sense about it. Her personal touch and hospitality were what made our restaurant the place to be. Back in its heyday, Park Chang Ro, the Korean pitcher from the Dodgers, even rented out our place for his wedding banquet. But as the new restaurants got sleeker and trendier around us, our cavernous place, packed to the gills with traditional Korean knickknacks, got left behind. The food’s still on point, though.
Yuri takes the bowl from her. “Here, Mom. You sit down and relax. I’ll do this.”
Mom nods and takes a load off.
“How was dishwashing?” She pounds her knee, massaging out the weariness.
“Well, it took us a bajillion times longer than it takes Tony and Joaquin, but we finished it.” I shovel the rice down, savoring the crispy bits toasted by the bottom of the bowl.
“Hopefully we can find new dishwashers soon,” Mom says, the worry lines creasing her face.
“I can put up a job posting on the UCLA classifieds,” Yuri suggests.
“Ah, yes. Good ide
a.” Mom’s face brightens suddenly. “Speaking of the UCLA, how is your research job going?”
My sister pushes her dinner around with a spoon. “Same,” she replies, without looking up.
Mom leans in. “There must be many Korean students in your laboratory. Are there any smart young men . . . ?”
Wow, subtlety is definitely not her strong suit.
“I have no idea.” Yuri coughs once into her fist, and her eyes dart over to me. “Mom, did Yumi tell you about what happened today?”
I nearly choke on my fried rice.
“Why? What happened?” Mom’s face contorts with concern.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s important to you. You should tell her,” Yuri urges.
I glare at her, bristling. Is she really going to throw me under the bus? Just because she doesn’t want to tell us about her love affair with Bad Boy, she has to tell Mom my secret? And for what? She knows more than anyone that our parents aren’t the freewheeling types who spend big bucks to send their kids to fun places like Disneyland or comedy camp. Mom’s idea of recreation is washing the dishes with the TV on. How am I supposed to explain something like the Haha Club to them?
“I—I . . .” The words jam in my throat like traffic on the 101 freeway during rush hour.
“I know.” Mom’s voice rises, full of hope. “You got the one hundred percent on your practice test today?”
“No, it’s not that,” I say, irritated that was her first guess. I scrunch the napkin into a tight little ball. “So there’s this cool new place near the library.” I gulp. “It’s a . . . comedy club.”
“Go on, Yumi.” Yuri lowers her chin, coaxing me to continue.
“And it turns out they have this summer camp thingy there.”
I look to my sister for help.
“Seems fun. Maybe you could sign me up?” I squeak.
The door swings open, and Dad trudges into the office.
“Sign up for what?” He plops down at the desk and clicks around on the mouse.
“This summer camp. Where I can learn how to tell jokes and stuff,” I try to explain.