by Jessica Kim
He circles the spot on the blueprint by the back wall. “So we will put in a karaoke stage here in the corner.”
“A karaoke stage?” Yuri and I look at each other with clenched teeth. This is a whole new level of out there, even for Dad.
“Imagine it.” He swipes his hand in the air in the shape of an arc. “Entertainment! Big stage! Microphone! Big TV with song words!” His eyes brim with hope as he looks over at the dark corner of the restaurant where dusty calligraphy scrolls and bamboo fans hang on the walls alongside stacked boxes of soy sauce and cooking oil. “No restaurant has this kind of entertainment in Koreatown.”
“Dad, I know you love karaoke and all, but . . .” Yuri’s voice trails off. “You think that’ll work? Here? At our restaurant?”
Dad scoffs. “Yes, it’s perfect. Everybody loves to sing. And get great meal at fair price at same time. Best combo!”
I pull the blueprint closer to me. “So you’re converting that area into an event space?”
Makes sense. It’s kind of off to the side, semiprivate. And the acoustics are great.
“I actually think some artsy types might be into this,” I admit. Maybe his idea isn’t so wild this time.
“Yes, Chung’s Barbecue will not just be a place to eat.” He takes a breath. “It will be a place to be a star.”
“People could rent it for poetry slams, open mic-nights, private parties . . . maybe even stand-up comedy,” I add, my excitement growing with Dad’s.
“Yumi, please. This is adult talk.” Mom chastises me as she reaches to point at the middle section of the restaurant. “Yobo, this is terrible idea. If you build stage, you have to take out all these tables. We have to fill the tables. Not take it out!”
“Humph,” Dad says, not appreciating her naysaying.
Mom clucks her tongue. She isn’t done. “And what about construction cost? Too expensive.”
“Manuel’s brother, Oscar, is a contractor. He said he will give us a good deal.”
“We don’t need a stage. We need to update decoration. Take out antique furniture, put in new tile, paint the walls. Feels so old in here. Needs makeover. So much cheaper than construction. We have too many expenses right now. Yumi’s hagwon, Yuri’s medical school—”
Then, out of nowhere, Yuri drops a bomb.
“Actually, that’s why I came here. I need to talk to you about that.”
She swallows hard.
“You don’t have to pay for medical school anymore,” she declares, sucking out all the air in the room. “I dropped out.”
We all freeze.
She did what?
We are too stunned to speak. The only sound comes from the clock ticktocking from the wall.
Yuri Chung has never quit anything in her life. This is the girl who limped the last quarter mile of her cross-country meet on a sprained ankle because she wanted to finish what she started.
Finally, Dad breaks the silence. “What do you mean?” he asks slowly, like he’s talking to someone who’s holding a loaded gun.
“I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you.” My sister tugs at her cardigan. “I quit two weeks ago,” she says, her voice hardly above a whisper.
My eyes dart between Mom and Dad.
“You quit the medical school?” Mom repeats, like Yuri has confessed to committing a crime. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be a doctor.”
Mom’s voice gets louder. “Want? What do you mean, want? To be doctor is a great privilege!”
“Not for me. I hate it.”
Yuri looks up at Mom, her eyes shining but unafraid. “Maybe I’ve never wanted to be a doctor. I only went to med school to make you happy.”
I can’t believe my ears.
“How can you say that?” Dad demands. “This for you, your future. You worked so hard already. Why you give up now?”
“Dad, I tried to make it through my first year. I tried so hard to like it, but it never got better.” She takes a breath. “I can’t sleep or eat. I’m constantly stressed and anxious. I’m losing hair and weight. I’m sorry, but it’s—it’s just not for me.” She wipes her eyes.
Mom plants one hand on the tabletop to steady herself.
“What’re you saying? You failed your classes? You need more books?” Dad yells frantically. “We can buy you more books.”
Yuri exhales long and slow. “No, no. It’s not that. My grades are perfect. I’m—I’m not happy. I just don’t want to be there. I hate the blood. The cadavers. The guts. The organs.”
She rubs her temples in circles. “I don’t belong there.”
I get it. This is exactly how I feel about going to Winston. Sometimes you just know when you don’t belong.
“Maybe you’re not happy now,” Dad says, “but you will be happy later when you are the doctor. You must be patient. It will pay off later.”
“Don’t you see?” Yuri’s face is splotchy and red. “It’s everything. I can’t take the pressure to make someone well. I can’t handle the burden of someone’s life or death. I know for certain this is not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”
“What you going to do, then?” Dad takes a seat next to mine and folds his arms in front of him. “How you gonna pay your rent and your bills?”
She sniffs. “I’ve been working at Starbucks on campus.”
Mom clutches her chest with one hand.
“You’re working in coffee shop?” She looks like she might collapse.
“Yes, right now I am,” she snaps. “Look, I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet. I still need time to figure it out. I need to get out of Los Angeles for once. I need to travel and see the world. I need to make my own choices.”
Dad opens his mouth to say something, but then presses his lips shut, breathing hard through his nose.
“That’s why,” Yuri starts, looking them in the eye, “I’ve decided to join the Peace Corps. I’m leaving for Nepal at the end of the month.”
A collective gasp swells up from the three of us.
“What is Peace Corps?” Mom and Dad ask at the same time.
“It’s a program that sends volunteers to promote social and economic development in other countries.” Yuri pushes away from the table and stands up. “I’m going to South Asia to help rural farmers develop clean agricultural methods that promote soil conservation. I’ll be there for two years.”
She gathers her jacket from the chair and takes the keys out of her pocket.
“I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She starts for the door but stops, her back still to us. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but I have to do this . . . for myself,” she says before slamming the door on her way out.
What just happened?
CHAPTER 11
When Ginny asks me if I want to swing by Boba Love with her after hagwon, I cannot refuse. A frosty, sugary drink with soft, chewy tapioca balls is exactly what I need to get my mind off my family drama before camp.
It’s been full-on crisis mode since Yuri broke her Peace Corps news yesterday. Stressful doesn’t begin to describe it. My parents have been relentless trying to get her to reconsider. They’ve attempted every strategy in the book: reasoning with her, begging her, even scolding her like a little kid. But Yuri hasn’t budged one bit. To make matters worse, after the last blowup, she stopped answering her phone altogether. Every call, even mine, goes straight to voicemail.
My sister did the same thing last year when she was stressed out about her MCAT exam. She locked herself in her room and wouldn’t answer the phone or door for a solid week. I wish she didn’t feel the need to block everyone out, especially me. It’s not like I did anything to her.
Hopefully they’ll figure things out soon. I really need my sister back in my life.
If ever
there was a time for a boba break, it’s now.
The moment I open the door to Boba Love, the sweet aroma of milk tea greets me like a warm hug. The soft-pastel-colored walls and the upbeat K-pop music video playing on the TV instantly boost my mood.
“I love this song. J-Hope is basically my idea of the perfect human,” Ginny says, sliding next to me in line. “Look at his cheekbones.”
“I know, right?” I bop my head to the beat of the catchy music. Personally, I’m more Team Jungkook, but there’s no denying J-Hope’s appeal.
“What flavor are you going to get?”
“Taro slush.” I don’t bother looking at the menu on the giant wall-mounted LCD screen. There is no other flavor for me.
“I’m getting the mango. It’s dairy-free.” Ginny sifts through her zebra-print backpack for her wallet. “You know, because I’m vegan now,” she reminds me.
Ginny has been a born-again vegan since she read an article about the cruel truth of the egg and dairy industry a few weeks ago.
I giggle. “So, if two vegans get into an argument, do they still have beef?”
“Gosh, Yumi, your jokes are so corny,” Ginny groans. “I’ll tell you who I have beef with. My mom.”
“Uh-oh. Again?”
“You know it. She refuses to take my veganism seriously. She claims I need to eat meat to grow taller. Fake news!” Ginny stabs her extra-wide straw through the plastic lid. “I can’t even. Just because I’m the shortest one in my class, she thinks I should eat animals and animal products?” She rolls her eyes. “Um, hello. It’s called genetics. I’m short because she’s short.”
She takes a long sip of her boba drink.
Ginny’s parents are paranoid about her being small for her age. I remember her telling me how they had her drinking this expensive mystery tea from a Chinese medicine herbalist—until she found out it was made from ground deer antlers—to stimulate her growth plates or something like that. Understandably, it didn’t go over well when Ginny discovered what the ingredients were. She’s been squabbling with them about it nonstop ever since.
“My mom said if I bring up veganism one more time, I’m grounded.”
“Oh shoot. So what happened?”
“Now I’m on screen restriction.” She shakes the boba balls loose from her straw. “I can’t believe I’m on her bad side for wanting to prevent suffering.” She sighs loudly.
The door jingles, and I nearly choke on my boba.
It’s Felipe.
I don’t want him seeing me outside of the Haha Club. It’s too risky. I turn around in my chair so my back is to him and try my best to blend into the wall, but my disappearing act doesn’t work.
Felipe calls out, “Hello!” and comes toward our table.
I have no choice but to wave back. “Hi, Fel—”
His eyes jump to my side. “Ginny?” he says, interrupting me.
“Felipe?” Ginny seems caught off guard.
“How do you guys know each other?” we all say at the same time.
We laugh, but inside I’m filled with terror.
Felipe thinks I’m Kay, and Ginny knows I’m Yumi.
There is no easy way to explain this. I have to think fast.
“This is so random,” I say in my best confident Kay voice. “Such a small world. Ginny and I go to the same tutoring center,” I explain to Felipe. Then I turn to Ginny. “And Felipe and I go to . . . are in the same . . . extracurricular activity thing.”
“No kidding? Felipe was in my class last year,” Ginny says. “What activity are you doing together?”
“Kay and I are in the same—”
“Kay?” Ginny’s forehead puckers like she heard white rhinos are no longer endangered. “Who’s Kay?”
Ack. There it is. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
“Kay?” I chuckle nervously. I go with the first thing that pops into my head. “Oh, that? Kay is, uh . . . It’s my English name.”
I’m hot under my skin.
“You mean, like an alias? Like Clark Kent?” Felipe suggests.
“What the heck, Yumi? You never told me that you have an English name.”
I suddenly feel out of breath. “Yeah. Sure do. I go by Kay sometimes . . .”
I clasp my hands together to stop fidgeting.
“Isn’t it fascinating how there’s multiple names for the same thing? Like boba tea is also known as bubble tea, tapioca tea. I’ve even heard it called pearl tea once. Like in Taiwan or something. Which, if you think about it, is odd, since boba balls are soft and chewy and pearls are so . . . not.” I clench my teeth into a fake smile. “Isn’t that ironic?”
Ginny and Felipe give me the same confused look.
“Um, okay.” Ginny arches her eyebrow. “Wait, what activity did you say you guys were in together?”
So much for my attempt to divert the conversation. At this rate, Ginny’s going to make me blow my cover in front of Felipe before my boba is done. I need to get out of here.
I slide my thumb around the edge of my drink, gently popping off the lid. Then I let out the loudest sneeze of all time. I throw my whole body into it like I’m the Big Bad Wolf.
“AAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOO!”
There’s so much force that it sends a tidal wave of freezing purple slush and bouncy brown tapioca balls right onto the front of my shirt.
“AHHH!” I yelp. I’m not even acting. It’s way colder and messier than I anticipated. “It’s so cold! It’s so cold!”
“Oh no!” Ginny shrieks, grabbing napkins by the handful from the dispenser on the table.
Felipe is too stunned to speak.
“No, no. I’m fine.” I get up from my seat. “I’ll go see if I can wash it out in the bathroom. Excuse me.”
“Here, you can wear this.” Ginny starts taking off her shirt. “I have a tank top on underneath.”
Felipe’s face burns bright red, and he suddenly becomes super interested with whatever is on his phone.
“No, I couldn’t do that.”
“Yumi, please.” She nods so hard and so fast I’m afraid she’s going to make herself dizzy. “I insist.”
She shoves the shirt into my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no way you can study at the library in that,” she says, pointing to the giant purple splotch freezing my entire chest. “The librarian keeps the air-conditioning on full blast.”
“Library?” Felipe asks, glancing at his watch. “But aren’t you going—”
“Ahh!” I shout again. “Sorry, the slush is seeping into the shirt.” I pull at my hem. “Brr. Yeah, that’s cold. I should probably get changed before I get frostbite.”
I point to the bathroom. “Ginny, can you help me?”
“Sure,” she says, gathering her stuff and following me down the hall.
“I’ll catch up with you later, then?” Felipe says.
“Okay!” I call behind me as I rush to the bathroom with Ginny, feeling equal parts relieved and ashamed.
Crisis averted . . . for now.
CHAPTER 12
Getting cleaned up in the boba shop bathroom takes longer than intended, and by the time I get to the Haha Club, camp has already started.
I find a seat in the back row, hoping that no one notices the shirt Ginny lent me, which has EAT FRUIT, NOT FRIENDS loudly silk-screened across the front in hot pink letters. Quietly I take out my notebook and pen and try to follow along with the lesson Jasmine’s teaching.
“There is no one braver than a comedian, and that’s the truth. Think about it. We share things about ourselves that other people try to keep secret. Sad things. Controversial things. Even embarrassing things. For us, that’s just more material for the show.”
Eeesh, not sure what I missed earlier, but what she’s saying feels wrong on so many levels. Mom and
Dad raised me to hide my flaws, not broadcast them. Show your best face. What will others think? Excel and bring your family honor. These are the things my parents have etched into my brain since I was in diapers.
“So why do you think comics share this kind of stuff?” she asks us. “Why do we just love to lay it all out there for everyone to see?”
No one volunteers to answer.
“Let me ask you something. What do you do when someone offers to tell you a secret?” She pauses, then leans to the side with her hand cupped over her ear. “We are all about it, aren’t we? Because who can resist a juicy secret? No one.”
I giggle. So true.
“See, comics know this and feed off of that nosiness because it’s a surefire way to hook the audience.” She clicks the remote control in her hands, and a paused video appears on the screen behind her.
“Let me show you what I mean.”
I recognize it right away. It’s blurry and pixelated, but you can make out a slightly younger Jasmine opening as the emcee of the Kids’ Comedy Festival. It’s from her website. I’ve seen it so many times, I can practically recite the whole thing by heart.
JASMINE
How many of you guys grew up poor?
(tugs on the microphone cord)
People in the crowd hoot in response.
JASMINE
I grew up poor, but the funny thing is, I had no idea. I just thought we were environmentalists.
That’s the way my mom spun it to us. Reduce, reuse, recycle.
Taking too long in the shower: reduce. “You won’t blame a drought on us,” she’d say.
All done with that food container: reuse. Boom—instant Tupperware.
Got holes in your clothes: sew some patches on those jeans and recycle. Because landfills.
It made sense to me.
(walks casually from one end of the stage to the other and waits for the crowd’s laughter to fade)
JASMINE
We’d even pretend to be survivalists at night. We’d set up a tent in the living room and play cards by candlelight, and just for an added challenge, we wouldn’t use any electricity at all.