Since You Asked...

by Maurene Goo

  Ah, the beauty of Christmas.

  I sulked in my bed, flipping channels until it landed on Home Alone. Oh, geez. Yet I couldn’t stop watching because everything about the movie looked so darn Christmasy and cozy that I was able to transport myself out of this place.

  Ann eventually came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and ready for the day. “BYE-BYE, CRAZY!” she hollered before leaving the room with another loud slam. Damn, those doors were heavy.

  I refused to leave my bed and finished watching Home Alone. Around three o’clock my dad came into the room. “STILL sleeping?!” he asked incredulously.

  “Noooo, I’m watching classic American cinema, can’t you see?” I said.

  “Okay, well, the uncles are going golfing. I think your mom and the aunts are shopping.”

  “Wow. You guys have really changed up your extracurricular activities on vacation.”

  My dad just looked at me, probably wondering how to communicate with this alien creature in front of him. He eventually shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, as always. Don’t forget to eat!” He pulled a couple boxes of cookies and crackers and a banana from a shopping bag he was carrying and left them on the table before walking out. I looked at the snacks with guilt. And then ate them because I was starving.

  I picked up the remote and changed the channel again. “Ooh, a Downton Abbey marathon!” I exclaimed to myself, submerging deeper into the blankets. I wondered if this was the first time in history that someone in a Vegas hotel room was watching an English countryside drama. I didn’t realize I had dozed off until the bleep of my cell phone woke me up.

  WHEARE YOU?

  I blinked and read it again.

  WHEARE YOU?

  My mom was the worst texter ever.

  I looked at the time. “Oh, crap.” It was 6:06, and I was late for dinner. I typed “On my way” and got up with a lazy stretch. I threw on a pair of skinny jeans without holes in them and a loose tank with a long gray cardigan, and stepped into my black combat boots. This was dressy for me — I hoped it was appreciated. I put on a neon-pink braided bracelet from Liz for a festive touch and ran out the door.

  When the elevator reached the lobby, I squeezed myself between an old woman and a little boy and headed toward the casino. I took a moment to survey the scene before me. Slot machines were noisily going off at every turn, and everyone seemed to be drunk already. A large group of girls wearing tiaras and beauty pageant sashes stumbled by in mile-high heels. Wow, when did bachelorette parties become bigger skankfests than Halloween? Behind them, ironically, was a wedding party. Wow, a winter wonderland wedding in Vegas. So jealous.

  I stood in the casino for a minute, reading all the signs and “roadmaps,” looking for the buffet. What was WITH these hotels? It was like navigating through a city designed by a really excited four-year-old. WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN AN ARROW POINTS DOWN? Where in God’s name is that pointing to???

  Before I could smash the signs to bits with my bare hands, I felt a slight bump against my right leg and looked down.

  It was the little boy from the elevator. He was smiling toothily up at me. I smiled back politely and continued to study the maps. Two seconds later, I felt someone tug on the bottom of my sweater.

  “What the —?!” It was the little boy again. He clutched a beanbag replica of a Coca-Cola bottle and repeatedly poked me in the thigh with it. I was looking around for his parents when he poked me extra hard in the knee.

  “Ow! You little twerp!” I stared down at him again. He seemed about three years old, and was wearing a neon-green nylon backpack with a matching neon-green nylon cap, a sweatshirt that said LAS VEGAS! on it, and tiny khaki shorts. I felt a sympathetic pang of understanding. Poor little Asian dude.

  I tried to escape by walking extra fast in between the “Roman” pillars and slot machines. I glanced behind me and was relieved to see that he was nowhere in sight. I tried to reorient myself, looking for more signs.

  I almost jumped a mile when I felt a familiar poke in my leg. The boy had magically reappeared by my side.

  “How in the world?! Where are your parents, kid?” There was a sea of Asians walking throughout the casino and sitting down at slot machines and blackjack tables. They could be anywhere.

  I knelt before him and asked in slow English, “Where. Are. Your. PARENTS? Mommy, Daddy?”

  He just smiled, poked me in the nose with his Coca-Cola toy, and ran off.

  “Crap! Come back here!” I chased after him, keeping my eye on the darting neon-green spot ahead of me. He was fast, and I had to sprint to keep up with him. When he bumped into people, his little neon hat momentarily came to a halt, and then he quickly darted around them.

  I had finally gotten to about two feet behind him, where he was standing next to a couple sitting down at a slot machine called Nickel Heaven!!!, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around to see an elderly man in a Caesars Palace polo shirt looking at me sternly. He was a good three inches shorter than me and had a giant white mustache, looking like Mario and Luigi’s grandfather.

  “You’re not allowed in the casino, young lady.”

  At first I got scared of being “in trouble,” but then a flash of irritation whipped through me. “I know, I’m just trying to find this kid —”

  “I don’t care what you’re doing. There is a strict policy of no minors on the casino floor.”

  “Can you just listen to me for a second? I’m not gambling. I mean, how many fifteen-year-olds come here and go buck wild on the slot machines? I just —”

  “That’s it! I’m walkin’ you out!” he said with his hands on his hips.

  “Excuse me? Walk me out to where? I have to meet my family for dinner at the buffet. And I just lost this little kid who is roaming around alone!”

  Then, amazingly, the old dude had the nerve to push me from behind, toward the row of doors leading out of the casino and onto the strip. Grandpa was pretty damn strong. I slid across the burgundy-and-gold carpets, bumping into the glass doors at the very end. “HEY! I have to meet my family for dinner! I’m a guest at this hotel!” I started yelling, hoping to attract enough attention to flee this Casino Nazi. Unfortunately, everybody seemed way too busy to notice. What happens to people when they come here?!

  I was ceremoniously dumped outside with a final stern look from the “security guard,” who I could have sworn dusted off his hands like a Warner Brothers cartoon character. “Learn to listen to your elders, young lady!”

  Before the shock of what just happened could wear off, I spotted a neon-green flash in the reflection of the glass double doors. I spun around to see the twerp right in front of me, in runner’s position. He waved at me and started off down the Vegas strip, dodging a few cars in the hotel’s massive driveway.

  Ugh ugh ugh! I wanted to kill this little kid. As I crossed an intersection, a huge Escalade honked at me and something in me snapped. I flipped it off as I sprinted away. Don’t even. With my eyes focused on the neon dot of the kid’s hat, I ran by groups of people drinking out of huge margarita cups the length of broomsticks. Seriously? I mean, you need to drink that badly? To the point where you must keep a barrel’s worth of alcohol in a bright-red never-ending tube with you at all times? Also, it was so hot, it felt like a blow-dryer was blasting me in the face. I had heard how the desert could be freezing in the winter, but of course Vegas had been unseasonably warm since we got here. HURRAY.

  Bitter thoughts continued to pulse through me as I jogged down the strip. I lost sight of the kid and stopped in front of the New York–New York hotel. The roller coaster in front zoomed by, and I heard the fleeting joyful screams of its passengers.

  I glared at it. Was everyone really having that good of a time here? Was there something wrong with them, or something wrong with me?

  That’s when I noticed the kid. He was across the street, heading back toward our hotel. GAH!

  I sprinted off again, almost running over entire families and couples holding ha
nds. I had reached the Bellagio when I noticed that everyone was strangely hushed and the air felt thick and still. I slowed down to see what all the fuss was about, when I saw him again. He was leaning against the railing between two large tourists, his little feet on tippy toes and his cap pushed back off his forehead. I shoved my way up to him and tapped his backpack, my mouth open, ready to start scolding.

  But before I could say anything, he grabbed my arm, pointed at the still “lagoon” in front of us, and said, “Look!”

  A swell of soft violins and trembling cellos filled the hot night. The music was quiet at first, slowly growing louder and more dramatic. I looked around, confused. Was this some sort of concert? But then I realized there was no band — the music was being piped in through stereos hidden around the front of the ornately manicured garden.

  The still, dark water in front of us turned shades of deep purples and greens, and arcs of water shot across each other. I hoisted my body over the railing to get a better look. The lights and streams of water followed every dip and peak of the music perfectly. They were synchronized, like dancers, and I couldn’t look away. A cheesy opera song was playing, but it sounded beautiful and strangely poetic. The lights glowed in every color and the music vibrated through the ground, into my toes, and into the railing I was holding on to. A spray of water hit my face and I felt truly cooled down for the first time since I arrived in Vegas.

  I looked at the kid, who was completely entranced by the water show. Everyone near us had the same awestruck expressions on their faces. Some were pointing at things, oohing and aahing, while others were taking photos and videos with their cell phones.

  When the music faded out and the water grew still again, everyone started clapping and cheering. And then a weird thing happened. Suddenly all the immigrant families around me weren’t embarrassing. They weren’t misguided. They weren’t pathetic.

  They were just happy.

  * * *

  Not only did the kid speak English, he wouldn’t shut up. The entire walk back to the hotel, he talked nonstop — about his turtle, his teacher, his shoes, his backyard, his favorite dinosaur, and his favorite water show — the Bellagio’s.

  “And sometimes, it plays Fank Sonata instead of the orchestra. Because then the water is fast.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s cool. We have to find your parents now. They’re probably very worried about you,” I told him as we walked back into Caesars Palace. As soon as we were in the lobby, I saw a huge group of people in a panic.

  Oh crap.

  A teenage girl yelled out, “Benny!” All the heads swiveled and a stampede of feet rushed toward us. A woman who was in tears swooped him up and started half-yelling/half-talking to him rapidly in Chinese. There were several Caesars Palace workers nearby, looking relieved. One of them was that geezer who had thrown me out. I made a face at him, and he looked away hastily.

  “Benny! Where were you! Thank God, oh thank God!” the woman clutching him kept saying over and over again. I assumed she was his mom.

  Benny pointed at me. “I was with her! Her name is Holly!”

  His mother looked up at me, wiping her face. “Who are you?”

  I rushed to explain so that they wouldn’t think I was some teenage kidnapper weirdo. “I saw him run out of the hotel alone, so I chased after him. He’s okay!”

  Benny’s mom gripped my arm with both her hands. “I can’t thank you enough! His grandmother has been feeling so guilty!” The old woman from the elevator was lying down on a lobby sofa, with relatives hovering over her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said instinctively.

  She waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, we are so grateful!”

  I was getting really embarrassed and starting to mumble something unintelligible when I heard someone yell my name.

  It was my mom, running across the lobby. “Holly! Where have you been?” She was all disheveled and out of breath. Oops.

  “Sorry, Mom. First I got lost, and then I found this kid, and then he ran away, and then I had to get him, and now —”

  “I called and called you! What’s wrong with you?! Why didn’t you answer your phone? Do you know how worried we’ve all been?” Her voice had reached epic angry-mom mode, and everyone was staring.

  “I know, I’m sorry! The thing is —”

  “You always have some excuse. Always, always! You’ve ruined this trip from the first day! Are you happy now?” I honestly thought my mom was going to start crying. I was speechless.

  “Excuse me,” Benny’s mom said. “I think maybe there is a misunderstanding. Please be kind to your daughter. She was helping us — she found my son who got lost!”

  My mom looked startled. “What?”

  I totally got uncomfortable, just like I always did when people said nice things about me in front of a lot of people. I tried to steer my mom away. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Benny’s mother continued talking, though. “Our son, Benny, left the hotel and she ran after him. If she didn’t do that, who knows what could have happened!”

  My mom looked at me. “Is this true?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “That’s why you were late? Why didn’t you just say so?” she asked, throwing up her arms.

  “I was trying to but you didn’t give me a chance!”

  She turned red as she looked around at Benny’s family, who were all watching us curiously. The one person who hated making a spectacle in public more than me was my mother.

  “You are very lucky to have such a good daughter like her,” Benny’s mom said with a wink.

  I almost died.

  My mom regarded me for a second. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “Okaaay. Come on, let’s go, I’m starving,” I said, tugging on my mom’s arm.

  I felt a tug on my own arm, and saw Benny waving good-bye to me with his Coca-Cola bottle. I smiled and gave him a little hug, then hurriedly waved good-bye to everyone else. His mother embraced me in a huge, embarrassing hug.

  “Are you okay, then?” my mom asked as we walked to the buffet.

  “Yes, of course, I’m fine!”

  “Well, just … don’t disappear like that again. I don’t care how old you are, a parent is always going to worry about their child. Especially one who doesn’t have a good sense of direction.”

  Ah, and there it was. Can’t be too mushy in the Kim household.

  At one point I looked back and saw Benny’s family walking toward the casino. They were all wearing variations of denim shorts and khakis with Las Vegas sweatshirts, surrounded by gold mirrors and jewel tones, women in skintight dresses, and old men in baseball caps.

  And you know what? It really looked like Christmas.

  My family and I went to Aspen, and then my brother Joey broke his ribs. My parents got really pissed and we had to have Christmas dinner in the hospital cafeteria.

  — HEATHER A., FRESHMAN

  My grandparents came over and I had to eat fruitcake, which I fed to the cat. And then he threw up. The end.

  — MARK R., SENIOR

  We went to Paris. I got Chanel sunglasses.

  — LAUREN P., JUNIOR

  I went to Las Vegas and rescued a child. It was okay.

  — HOLLY K., SOPHOMORE

  Dear Loving Classmates,

  Okay, who is it? I’m serious, if this is a joke I will hunt you down and torture you with my bare hands. And maybe some rusty tools.

  What am I referring to, you ask? Oh, just the “mysterious” cliché notes and crap everywhere I go. This has to be a joke — I mean, who in the world likes me that much? Making a mockery of me? That I understand. Irritation and exasperation are sentiments that are shot my way daily, and I’ve become totally accustomed to them by now. If this isn’t a joke, I apologize for making fun of your adolescent longings, but enough is enough. Valentine’s Day is slowly approaching, and it’s freaking me out.

  Everyone hates on Valentine’s Day, and I am the Queen Hatemonger of this day. Not only is it comple
tely superficial and torturous for single people everywhere, I just find it so embarrassing. Flowers and declarations of love? WE’RE IN HIGH SCHOOL. Nobody really cares about anybody that much — it’s impossible. Our self-absorbed, pimply heads can’t really feel that strongly for anyone other than ourselves.

  It’s sad but true, and it’s about time somebody admitted it. And reading crap like Romeo and Juliet only reinforces these myths about teenage love. So does every episode of The Vampire Diaries, 90210, and every other television show that pretends that teenagers have any notions of love.

  So as everyone gets all hormonal and pressured to swap ridiculous Hallmark cards and find someone to take to another lame dance, I’ll be sitting here, counting the hours until this charade is over and we can move on to St. Patrick’s Day.

  Wearing green? Now that’s a holiday I can support.

  Barf and kisses,

  The secret admirer farce began with a heart-shaped Post-it note. It was hot pink and stuck to the outside of my locker like a shining beacon of embarrassment. Carrie snatched it off before I could read what was on it.

  “Dear Holly of my heart — WHAT?!” She burst out laughing before she could finish reading.

  I swung my backpack really hard against her arm before grabbing it out of her hands. What the heck was this?!

  Carrie peered over my shoulder and finished reading the message. She stared at me for a second before cracking up again. “Holy crap! Someone loves you! PUAHahahahah!”

  I elbowed her and darted my eyes around to see if anyone had heard. “Shut up! No one loves me! This has to be a joke. It’s probably D.”

  “What’s probably D?” David asked as he rode up on his skateboard, gently nudging the row of lockers with the tip of his board as he came to a stop.

  “Nothing. What’s up?” I answered before Carrie could open her mouth. I shoved the Post-it into my jacket pocket and looked at David innocently. He regarded both of us suspiciously, and then shrugged. “Nothing. Do you guys wanna head over to PB to grab some burritos?”