by Jessica Kim
It wasn’t until I started going over to friends’ houses, where they didn’t do any of this, that I figured it out: we weren’t trying to protect the planet—we were just poor. Poor people are saving this world! My mom is the true Captain Planet.
* * *
• • •
Jasmine clicks the remote again, and the video cuts to black.
“Did you see that?” she asks us. “My story made you feel like I was letting you in on something real, right? Like we’re good friends and I’m okay being vulnerable with you because I trust you.”
Whoa.
“See, when you share something authentic about yourself, people connect to you. And chances are, you’re not the only person who has felt the way you’re feeling.” She walks slowly across the stage. “When you open up, the audience will listen and laugh with you because you’ve gotten them to care.”
Her words nestle deep into the hungry cracks of my heart.
“Y’all ready to give it a try for yourselves?” Jasmine gives directions for our activity. “I want you to brainstorm some things you can use for your own stand-up material. Protip: the more raw it is, the better it’s going to work onstage. Start with the things you’re afraid to say out loud.”
I rummage through my hagwon index cards and test-prep books and take out my Super-Secret Comedy Notebook from my backpack. For the longest time, I thump the back of my pen on a blank page. I mean, obviously I have buttloads of cringey stories, but none that I’d be comfortable sharing in front of perfect strangers. What would my parents think? Dad would probably walk on the hot charcoals of his own barbecue grills before admitting to anyone that our family is anything less than perfect.
But Jasmine Jasper is telling me to get vulnerable, which means I need to get vulnerable. With fifty thousand subscribers who love her on YouTube, it’s clear she knows what she’s talking about. If I’m serious about wanting people to listen to me, I have to do this.
The only failure is not trying.
I grip my pen and power through, listing the first things that I think of without stopping.
At Winston, I eat lunch in the bathroom because I have no one to sit with.
My sister is way smarter and prettier than me and everyone knows it.
My parents have never told me that they’re proud of me.
No one has ever had a crush on me.
I wish I really was Kay Nakamura.
I look over what I’ve written, and my eyes burn at the sight of my deepest, darkest secrets listed out on the page. It’s official: I’m the biggest loser in Koreatown.
I blow my bangs out of my face.
There’s no way I can work any of this into my act. It’s way too pathetic.
I’m staring at my pitiful list, waiting for the minutes to tick by, when Jasmine’s shadow falls over my page.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“Fine,” I fib, keeping a stiff upper lip.
She sees right through my fake fine.
“It’s hard to put yourself out there, isn’t it?” She sits in the empty seat next to me. “Some stuff is so embarrassing that you’d rather forget it ever happened, right?”
“My stuff isn’t even funny. No one wants to hear about someone having a tough time.”
She pats my back. “What about a broke mom raising five kids by herself? That sounds pretty tough to me.”
My cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean—”
“Listen, you can find humor in just about any situation. That’s why comedy can be so healing. You just have to describe things in a way that is totally different from—sometimes the opposite of—the way people expect you to describe it. And I know you can do that.” Then she says something that outright makes me blush. “Because you’re original, and that’s the best kind of funny.”
Eeep. Is she serious?
“Me? You, uh, really think so?”
“Absolutely. Just remember: you have a unique point of view. There is only one Kay Nakamura.”
Uhhh. Well, two, technically.
“You have to believe in your story and your voice.” She winks at me. “Once you’ve got that figured out, you’re going to bring down the house. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for the showcase. Your parents are going to be so proud of you.”
Her words sink into me, filling me with brightness and hope.
For a moment, I dare to imagine how that’d go. I picture Mom and Dad sitting in the front row, watching from a full house. I’d tell some killer jokes, and they’d be so funny my parents wouldn’t be able to hold it in. Mom would try to be demure by holding her hand over her mouth, and Dad would let his laugh-bark rip. I’d keep the one-liners coming until they were totally cracking up. By the end, they’d jump to their feet, applauding. For me.
That would mean everything.
Too bad it would never happen.
Or could it?
My brain whirls feverishly into motion.
Would it be such a crazy idea to invite my parents to the showcase? Granted, they’ll go ballistic when they figure out that I’ve been lying to them. But maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, if I blow them away with my act like Jasmine said I would, they’ll understand why I had to do it. Then they’ll see why I need to go to PAMS.
But first, I have to convince my parents to listen with the one thing I can count on to get their attention: my education. From now on, I’ll have to study extra hard so I can ace that stupid SSAT. I’ll do whatever I have to do to prove to Mom and Dad that I can get good grades and do comedy at the same time. I don’t need to go to a fancy school like Winston to ace standardized tests or get accepted into a “prestigious” college. I don’t even know if I want to go to a “prestigious” college. I have to prove to them that I can do things my own way.
Yes. The hairs on my arm stand up. This might work.
For the first time since I started camp, I feel a bolt of confidence shoot through me.
A storm of thoughts spiral around as I rack my brain. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to pull this off. All I know for sure is if I want a shot at going to PAMS, I have to give it all I’ve got.
I open to a blank page of my notebook and start plotting the details of Operation Show-My-Case.
OPERATION SHOW-MY-CASE
Who: Mom and Dad
What: Trick Mom and Dad to come see me perform at the Haha Club Comedy Camp Showcase
When: August 13
Where: Haha Club
Why: So they’ll see my passion and talent for comedy and transfer me to PAMS
STEP ONE: Trick parents into going to the showcase
—Tell them it’s a karaoke contest. Dad will care, Mom won’t.
—Tell them it’s where Yuri’s secret boyfriend works. Mom will care, Dad won’t.
—Tell them I’m getting an award for hagwon.
Explain that Mrs. Pak is having an awards ceremony for her top students at the new venue next to the library. (Do not mention it’s called the Haha Club!)
STEP TWO: Perform my best material at the showcase
—Come up with and perfect my top jokes.
—Mom and Dad will watch me perform.
—They will be very confused but impressed.
—Tell them the truth about camp.
—Tell Jasmine about it, too.
STEP THREE: Ace the SSAT
—Study every night at least three hours after dinner.
—Ask Mrs. Pak for extra homework and additional practice tests. (Gulp!)
STEP FOUR: PAMS
—Ask Mom and Dad to let me audition for PAMS; they’ll say yes because it’s free and because of the showcase.
—Attend PAMS with Sienna
and Felipe, get great grades, become world-class comedian.
Live happily ever after.
Me: Want to hear a joke?
Me: What’s a Korean parent’s favorite pastry?
Me: The HONOR ROLL!
Me: c’mon, that was funny
Me: . . .
Me: Yuri, you can’t give us the silent treatment forever
Me: I know you secretly miss me to pieces
Me: Hello?
Me: you’re really going to keep ignoring me?
Me: Fine. Be like that, then
CHAPTER 13
Felipe, Sienna, and I are hanging out in the Haha Club lobby after Jasmine dismisses us from camp a little early.
“Hey, are you going on the nursing home field trip with Jasmine tomorrow?”
“Yep, I’ll be there,” Sienna says, uncapping a purple Sharpie. “Sounds fun.”
Felipe says, “Me too. What about you, Kay?”
Now that I know they’re going to be there, I’ll have to find a way to go . . . I just haven’t figured out that part yet. “I’ll try to make it.”
Suddenly, Felipe’s phone goes off.
“Oh, hey! Do you know what today is?” He bounces his eyebrows up and down and doesn’t wait for us to answer. “Today is the day the new Beetleman comes out!” He says this with jazz hands.
“Who’s that?” Sienna looks up from her elaborate flower designs she’s drawn across the front of her Converse.
He draws back in disbelief. “You don’t know who Beetleman is?”
Sienna shakes her head.
“Nope, never heard of him,” I say. From the sound of it, I’m not sure I want to. Beetles are basically my least favorite living thing, and I’d be totally fine if they all went extinct. But a man-sized beetle? I don’t know if I can support that. Still, I’m kind of curious.
“Then you guys haven’t lived. Come with me, friends. Allow me to introduce you two to the wonder that is Beetleman!”
I check the time. I still have fifteen whole minutes before I need to meet Mom at the library parking lot. “Sure, why not?”
Felipe leads us next door to Comic Underworld. I’ve peered through the windows once or twice, but I’ve always been too intimidated to enter. Let’s just say it’s not the most user-friendly store. First of all, it’s laid out like an intricate maze in what feels like someone’s garage, complete with obscure indie-rock music blaring from the speakers. The aisles consist of floor-to-ceiling shelves that are jam-packed with cardboard boxes of comic books. There are banners and signs labeling the genres: METACOMICS, PANTOMIME, FUMETTI NERI. Which are not at all helpful. They sound more like terms that would be on my vocab lists at Mrs. Pak’s.
“This way, my ladies.” Felipe heads straight back to the superhero section. He has definitely been here before. Then he stops abruptly. “Behold!” he says, waving his arms like a magician.
I look over his shoulder to see what the fuss is all about, and Sienna and I collapse into a hysterical fit of giggles.
OMG! Beetleman looks exactly like Felipe. Right down to his long sideburns and curly hair and everything.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’re the star of a comic book series?” Sienna holds the issue right next to his head to show the side-by-side resemblance.
“It’s freakish,” I admit, my eyes bouncing back and forth. “Felipe, he’s your doppelganger,” I say.
He studies the picture with new eyes. “No way. I’m much better-looking.”
Spurred by Felipe’s find, Sienna starts digging through the bins with the same fervor as my mom plowing through clearance racks. “I wonder if they’ve got one that looks like me,” she says.
“I doubt they’ll have an Asian girl one.” I pick through a box on the low table. “They never have Asian anything.”
Even the Japanese manga bin is filled with mostly blond-haired, huge-eyed girls.
Out of nowhere, there’s a gasp from behind me.
It’s Sienna. Her eyes meet mine, and she lifts a comic book with both hands slowly. “Look,” she whispers.
Felipe pivots on his heel and says, “What the . . .” under his breath.
My jaw drops. “You’re Chameleon Girl!”
“What kind of sorcery is this, Felipe?” she asks, flipping through the pages. “I mean, what are the odds we’d both find superheroes that look just like us?”
Chameleon Girl has got the same freckles, big hair, and long skinny limbs. And, to top it off, her superpower is the ability to change colors to blend in with her environment. It’s uncanny.
“That’s it.” I plow back into my bin with a renewed sense of mission. “I’ve got to find mine, too.”
“I know.” Felipe scoots over a few rows and rifles through the stacks until he finds the one he’s looking for.
“Here.” He hands me a comic book from the anime section.
Sienna watches me for my reaction.
I burst out laughing when I see a busty ninja girl wearing a tight kimono and brandishing a huge samurai sword on the cover.
“Not even! C’mon, she’s not me. She’s Japanese!” Geez, why does everyone always think all Asians are the same?
“I thought you were Japanese.” Felipe gives me a funny look. “Nakamura . . . That’s a Japanese last name, right?”
The tips of my ears burn, and my mouth goes bone-dry.
“Yes, it is. You’re right.” I force a chuckle. “My name is Japanese, and so am I. Yup,” I continue, instantly recognizing how stupid I sound. “What I meant was, I, Kay Nakamura, though I am of Japanese descent, am not a ninja. Yes, that’s what I was trying to say.”
“And I’m not really a chameleon,” Sienna says with pursed lips, smelling my steaming hot pile of phoniness from a mile away.
“Or a beetle.” Felipe thumps his puffed-up chest and then winces from the impact.
“The truth is,” I cough out the words, scrambling for what to say next. “I don’t understand why girl superheroes are drawn this way. I mean, who really has proportions like that?”
Both of their heads snap back to take a second look at the comic book.
Felipe’s ears turn sundubu red, and Sienna giggles, breaking the tension. “You know what, she needs more support to run and jump and kick butt.” She gestures to her chest area with cupped hands. “At least that’s what my mom says.”
“C’mon, let’s get going,” Felipe says, like he’s trying to change the subject. “My dad will be here any minute.”
We head outside just as Mom’s tan minivan pulls into the parking lot between the library and the comic book store.
Honk! Honk!
She rolls down the window and unlocks the door. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.” I hope against hope that she won’t ask about my new friends. But alas, her eyes immediately zero in on them.
“Who are your new friends?” She looks them up and down from behind her oversized aviator sunglasses.
“This is Sienna and Felipe.” I don’t need her knowing any more about them than that.
“Hello,” they say at the same time.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nak—”
“Mom!” I blurt out, cutting Felipe off before he has a chance to finish. “I’m hungry. Like, really hungry. What are we having for dinner? Bibimbap?” I hate to use Mom’s penchant for feeding me against her, but I’m desperate.
Felipe shoots me a look I can’t quite read.
Mom’s face brightens. “I can make for you, if you want bibimbap.”
“The kind with the long brown stuff?” I open the car door and hop inside.
“Okay, but we have to go to Korean market, then,” Mom says, suddenly distracted. “We are out of gosari namul.” She checks the time on her phone. “Oh! We should hurry before too much traffic. Nice to meet you,
kids,” she says, before she puts the car in reverse.
“Bye!” I yell to them, raising the car window as fast as I can.
Dodged a bullet there.
As we’re pulling away, Mom asks, “Why did that boy call me Mrs. Nak?”
I answer quickly, “Oh, that? Nak probably means ‘friend’s mom’ or something in Spanish. He’s bilingual.”
Mom nods slowly as she drives.
I can’t tell if she’s buying it or not.
“Those kids are students at Winston? I do not remember their faces.”
Shoot, what do I say? I can’t tell her they’re from Winston. Knowing Mom, she’d try to look them up in the student directory to snoop. “Nope, uh. I know Sienna and Felipe from . . . er, hagwon.”
Hagwon? Really, Yumi? Really?
“Those kids go to a Korean hagwon?” Mom looks at me warily with one hand on the wheel.
“Yes.” My heart is speeding, but I have to go with it. What other choice do I have? I keep my voice and my eyeballs controlled the way I learned to do for the skits at camp.
“Haven’t you heard? Mrs. Pak has been recruiting kids from the middle school to be peer tutors.” It actually sounds halfway convincing the way it rolls off my tongue. “She selects only the most advanced kids with top grades and pays them to tutor us in study groups.” I close my eyes and inhale deeply for effect. “I hope I get to be a peer tutor someday. Maybe if I study extremely hard . . .”
My delivery is downright Oscar-worthy.
“Advanced?” Mom’s eyebrows do that furrow thing. “They must be such smart kids if Mrs. Pak pays them to work at top hagwon.”
“Yeah, they’re already learning trigonometry.” I don’t know why I added that. There was no need.
“Trigonometry?” Mom’s head tilts to the side. She pauses a moment. “You should hang around with those kids, Yumi. Maybe they can help you with your work, and you can join the advanced group, too.”