by Jessica Kim
The door flings open. “Hey, Kay,” Jasmine says with her phone to her ear.
My body temperature plummets. Now that we’re face-to-face, my confidence drains from me like dishwater through a grease trap.
“I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something, but since you’re on the phone . . .” My voice falters. “I can come back later.”
She gestures for me to join her in the empty lounge. “Don’t be silly. Come on in. I’ll only be a minute. I’m on hold.”
“Okay.”
I follow her into the staff lounge.
To be honest, I’ve always wondered what it was like in here, but it’s kind of anticlimactic. It’s nothing but a plain, boring room with a huge conference table littered with paper piles, empty pizza boxes, Doritos bags, and soda cans. Not that I was expecting whoopee cushions and beanbag chairs, but this doesn’t quite live up to the mystique.
“Ignore the mess. Comedians are such pigs.” She wanders to the kitchen area. “Make yourself at home.”
I sit down and get out my Super-Secret Comedy Notebook with Yuri’s check inside the front flap. If only I could just throw it at her like a paperboy and run away.
Then I hear Jasmine say, “No, that’s okay,” into the phone. Her face shrivels in disgust. “What? You know I can’t do that, Mark.”
My ears perk.
She paces back and forth in the kitchen like a cat stalking a mouse hole. “I am not going to sue her. She’s my former student!”
Sue? That sounds pretty serious. I look away and study the old promo posters that line the wall, trying not to eavesdrop. I recognize a bunch of famous comedians and some I don’t know, too. They all stand in front of the same red velvet curtain, holding a microphone, doing a set. Living the dream.
“No, listen. There’s got to be another way we can work this out.” Jasmine glances in my direction. “Call me back when you get more information.” She hangs up without saying goodbye and comes my way.
My heart bangs in my chest at warp speed.
“Thanks for waiting.” She sits in a chair next to mine. “Important call from my lawyer. Legal stuff.”
She sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes like a dead toad.
I let out a nervous chuckle.
“So much drama today.” Jasmine covers her eyes with both hands. “Apparently, a former student is stealing my jokes.”
“Really?” What kind of monster would plagiarize her own teacher?
“Yeah, it’s some hot-buttered nonsense.”
“That does sound buttery. Er, nonsensical. I mean, bad.” I’m not used to adults telling me their private business. I wonder if Jasmine can tell.
Jasmine has a bewildered look in her eyes, like she’s wound up and needs to vent. “The red flags were everywhere, now that I think about it. She comes over to the club out of the blue to say hi, and after she leaves, my notebook has gone missing. And pretty soon videos start popping up all over the internet of her doing stand-up with my material. At first I thought it was a coincidence, because I didn’t want to believe she was the one who took my notebook. But now it’s crystal clear. She stole from me.”
“Wow.” This person has some gall. Everyone knows that notebooks are off-limits. Some things are sacred.
I hold tightly to my own notebook, the very one I started last year after watching Jasmine’s Improving Your Craft vlog episode number four: “Recording Your Comedy Material.”
If anyone ever stole it, I’d die. My obituary would read Yumi Chung, age eleven, tragically perished from overembarrassment when her most intimate thoughts and dreams were read by others.
“And to think, I was her mentor for three years . . . She shakes her head slowly.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“What’s worse is when I called her out, she had the nerve to deny it.”
“She did?”
“Mm-hmm. Said it wasn’t her.” Jasmine grimaces. “After all the time and energy I’d invested in her, she lied to my face.” She throws up her arms. “Lied!”
My fingernails dig into my thighs.
“That’s the part I still can’t get over.” Her mouth bunches to the side in disdain. “Lord knows I try to be a forgiving person, but if there’s one kind of person I cannot stand, it’s liars.”
Suddenly, the walls start closing in on me.
She looks directly at me. “You think you know someone . . .”
I can’t breathe.
“Sorry, I’m oversharing again.” She leans in close to me. “Tell me, Kay, what did you come here to talk to me about?”
The sight of my comedy notebook in my lap makes me feel sick. Its scuffed cover and worn pages. The check is right there, right inside the flap. All I have to do is open it and give it to her.
But I can’t.
I can’t!
She’ll know I’m a liar. Another liar she cannot stand.
She’ll never forgive me. And she’ll tell Mom and Dad, and they’ll make me leave camp, and I’ll lose everything.
I clear my throat, and against my better judgment, I do it again—I lie through my teeth. “I—I, uh . . . was going to ask you to write me a letter of recommendation for the Performing Arts Magnet School.”
Jasmine’s face lights up.
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about!” She smiles. “I’m writing letters for Felipe and Sienna, too.”
All I can do is shrug. I feel like scum. No, lower than scum. I feel like the sludge that comes from the scum’s ears and armpits.
“Look at you, putting yourself out there. I’m so glad you’re auditioning for this. Fear of failure is a real thing, but you’re not letting it scare you anymore.”
I want to cover my ears to block her out. I can’t stand to hear her say one more nice thing about me. “No. Please . . . stop.”
“You don’t have to be so modest.” Jasmine beams at me. “You deserve all the watermelon Jelly Bellies, Kay.”
I clench my teeth to keep from falling apart.
“You got this.” The lightness in her voice pierces me with guilt. “I believe in you.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, getting to my feet.
“You’re very welcome,” she says warmly. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I put my notebook back into my bag.
The check and the truth still in it.
MRS. PAK’S HAGWON
REACHING FOR IVY LEAGUE DREAMS
Midterm Progress Report
Comments: Yumi is making continued progress, she is beginning to participate more in class, and she is showing more confidence in her answers. She has been consistent with turning in her assignments.
Areas of Concern: Yumi needs to work on staying awake in class and take notes of only class-related matters.
Parent Signature
Date
CHAPTER 18
“If I don’t eat something in the next four seconds, I’m going to die,” Ginny says, dropping her backpack onto the table in the hagwon student lounge.
“I’m hungry, too.” Well, I was until I unlatched my plastic bento box to find cold rice, kimchi, limp pickled cucumbers, and sad beef strips in soy sauce.
“Blech.” I feel a prick of guilt for complaining, knowing Mom gets up early to make me these home-cooked lunches. I bet it was really tasty when she packed it, but now . . . not so much.
Ginny opens her own container, and she’s got rice, soggy edamame soybean pods, floppy tofu rectangles, and, to her horror, Spam slices.
Okay, Ginny has it worse.
“Seriously, Spam? It’s like she’s gets her kicks by torturing me with these processed meat products. This is literally a vegan’s worst nightmare! She might as well put some lard on top for garnish.”
“Maybe she thinks it’
ll help you get taller,” I joke.
“Well, she should know by now that this is the last thing on earth I’d ever want to eat.” She pokes at it with her fork like it might come to life and eat her. “Cancel that. I’d rather starve to death.
“Wanna get tacos?” she suggests.
“Yes.”
I feel bad dumping my lunch, but the taco truck around the corner is so cheap and delicious, it’s impossible to say no.
I am practically salivating when I get my plate of tiny corn tortillas piled high with chopped onions, cilantro, and sizzling beef topped with a generous drizzle of spicy salsa verde and radish slices on the side. Ginny gets her usual vegan black bean torta.
We carry our trays over to the plastic lawn chairs set up in the shady corner of the parking lot. We’re the only ones here today. Which works for me, because I want nothing more than to drown my troubles in Mexican food and not think about yesterday’s botched confession attempt at the Haha Club.
I squeeze a lime wedge over my tacos and dive in as Ginny goes on and on about her mom and her vegan lifestyle. I’m licking my fingers when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I put down my plate and reach for my phone.
Immediately, I break into a cold sweat.
There’s a string of unopened text messages from Yuri.
Yuri: Did you tell Jasmine Jasper yet?
Yuri: How did it go?
Yuri: I checked my bank account, she hasn’t cashed the check.
Yuri: You didn’t do it yet, did you?
Yuri: Hello? Yumi?
Yuri: YUMI
Yuri: Why aren’t you returning my texts?
Yuri: Are you trying to get back at me because I didn’t reply to yours?
Yuri: I’m really sorry about that, btw
Yuri: Seriously though, I need you to follow through with this. It’s the right thing to do.
Yuri: I hate to do this to you, but if you can’t take responsibility, I’m going to have to talk to Mom and Dad.
Yuri: Call me
I panic.
Seriously, she’s threatening to snitch on me now?
I should have known this might happen. Things were a little off last night when my sister came over to patch things up with Mom and Dad. I listened in from the top of the stairs for the whole hour as they talked in hushed voices in the living room. Yuri apologized for her disappearing act. Then Dad explained that while he doesn’t agree with her quitting school, he’ll support her decision to join the Peace Corps.
I was about to head back to my room after I thought a truce had been reached, but then Mom started confiding in Yuri about how concerned she was about me. How I’ve been so stressed and tired all the time. How I waste so much time on the computer and how she isn’t sure if I’m going to get the scholarship. And Yuri just sat there and did not say one word to defend me. I swear, it was as if she was debating whether or not to tell them about what I’ve been up to at the Haha Club.
Some ally!
My whole life I’ve trusted Yuri with my secrets, and she’s always been on my side, but I’ve never put her in a situation that required her to be my accomplice. This does not bode well for me, being that my sister is the world’s biggest rule follower. She can’t even get through a game of Monopoly without consulting the official directions a dozen times. Not to mention she’s an adult and adults are prone to act irrationally when they’re worried. And based on this thread of texts, Yuri is more than a little bit worried.
Terror grips me at the realization that my own sister, my own flesh and blood, might rat me out.
I drop my head into my hands. Then what’ll I do?
Ginny puts down her torta. “Whoa, Yumi. Is everything okay?”
I wish I could say yes and play it off like everything is fine, but it’s too much. My plans are teetering like Jenga bricks, and I’m going to get caught under the rubble of my deception if I don’t find a way out. Fast.
“What’s the matter?”
So I tell Ginny. I tell her everything. It comes out in one piece, like a giant run-on sentence. The more I say, the more her face scrunches up like she’s majorly constipated. I don’t take a breath until it’s all out. The whole ugly, twisted truth.
I cringe, waiting for her response.
“Yumi . . . that’s a lot to take in,” she finally says, which doesn’t exactly give me the weight-off-my-shoulders feeling I was hoping for. She takes a swig from her Jarritos orange soda and pauses for another moment to absorb the horrific details of my dilemma.
“I don’t know how I got caught up in it.” I put down the half-eaten taco on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone.
“Ginny, if you were me, what would you do?” I ask desperately.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“If I were you, I’d leave the check for Jasmine whatever-her-name-is at the club office and then never return.”
My whole body lurches. Never return?
“What about the showcase? And my parents and PAMS? And the New Me?”
“I’d drop it. All of it,” she says, unblinking.
“But . . . PAMS . . .”
“This is probably not what you want to hear right now.” She dabs the sides of her mouth with a napkin. “But, c’mon. Winston is literally the best school around, and you’re so close to getting the scholarship. Why would you consider giving that up?”
“Winston is not that great, Ginny. I’ve been there a whole year, remember?” Heat rises in my cheeks. “The kids . . . they’re cliquey, and the teachers are demanding. It’s stressful and lonely there. Sixth grade was the worst.”
“But it’ll get you into a good college,” she says, sounding like my parents. “Your mom and dad aren’t going to let you give that up to tell some jokes. No matter how well you do at this showcase thing.”
“But Jasmine Jasper said that I’m talented and that I have to keep working at it if I want to get the watermelon Jelly Bellies.”
Ginny pauses for a moment as if she’s searching for the right words.
“You totally lost me with the candy reference, but all I’m trying to say is Jasmine Jasper isn’t Korean. She will never understand our parents.” Ginny puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look at us. We can barely make sense of them, and they’re our parents.”
“B-but—”
She puts up her hand. “I’m your friend, so I hate to say this, but I honestly think you need let the comedy thing go. Or at least put it on pause. That’s what my brother is doing with his DJing. You can do it when you’re in college or something.”
My head jerks. College? That’s a lifetime away. Is Ginny trying to say I’m not allowed to be happy until I’m eighteen?
“Have you thought realistically about how freaked out your parents would be if they found out you’ve been lying to them this whole time?”
Flashes of Dad yelling, red in the face, pop into my head. I see Mom’s thin lips pressed together in silent disappointment. Their matching horrified expressions burn in my mind.
“Why would you do this?” they’d ask me.
I search within myself for the answer to their question, and I still don’t have one that’ll satisfy them. How can I make them see that I’m not doing this to hurt them? I’m doing this because this is what I love to do.
Ginny is right, they’d never understand. Not in a million years.
“You know it, and I know it. They’re never going to change their minds about the Winston thing.”
I close my eyes. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
“Well.” She takes another gulp of her drink. “Look on the bright side: they don’t know anything yet. You should get out while you still can.”
Her words ring in my ears.
Get out while you still can. Get out while you still can.
Get out while you still can.
* * *
• • •
Later that night, I’m back in the restaurant office trying to go over my vocabulary flash cards, but I can’t focus. I’m too spooked by what Ginny said at lunch.
This whole time, I’ve been busting my butt running between hagwon and the Haha Club and the restaurant, trying to do it all. Practicing my jokes. Staying up late at night finishing my homework. Plus helping out at the restaurant. For what? For the hope that maybe my parents might finally see what a stellar daughter I am and agree to send me to PAMS?
What gave me the idea they’d ever do that in the first place? All they’ve ever cared about is me getting good grades and going to a good school. Nothing else matters to them. They’re quick to tamp down on anything that takes away from my academics, especially anything “risky.” And what is comedy? It’s nothing but risk.
Did I really think a few funny lines would change all that? Since when have Mom and Dad ever listened to anything I had to say? Why would they start now?
I hurl my index cards onto the floor.
I should just quit. The sooner the better.
It’s decided. Tomorrow after camp, I’ll do like Ginny suggested. At dismissal, I’ll slip Yuri’s check into Jasmine Jasper’s bag and disappear forever. And that’ll be the end of this whole fiasco.
Done and done.
I’m picking up my flash cards from the ground right as Manuel comes into the office.
He grabs his time card from the shelf. “How’s it going?”
“You know, the usual,” I reply, my voice noticeably flat.
His eyebrows collide in concern. “You got something on your mind?”
“Nothing much, you know, just my life is blowing up. That’s all.” I bury my head in my arms.
It’s quiet for a moment.
“Things will turn around,” he says.
“Manuel, what would you do if you had to choose between making yourself happy or your parents happy?”
“That’s tough.” He rubs his chin. “But it’s not something I can answer for you. I think you gotta follow your heart on that one.”