This Zahra body embraces who she is. A girl who loves to ride. She knows riding her bike still brings great risk to her honor and safety, but she continues riding to hopefully encourage other girls to find their voice. And someday she hopes to make the national team, and then the Olympics. Even though many think she shouldn’t ride and think she should be someone she’s not, she chooses not to listen to them.
She chooses to be herself.
I wish I could do that. I wish I could just be me. But then I would have to be a girl with an anxiety disorder who feels everything. And I don’t think I can do that. I understand how joy and pain can thrive together here in Kabul, and even in the love Mailka and Mum have with their spouses, but I’m not ready. I can’t handle the sad. Or the pain. Or the anger. I still just want to be happy.
I gaze over at the snowcapped peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains. They tower over Kabul like a caring mother, spreading her arms wide in a protective way as she whispers, “Don’t worry, my sweet child. After all we’ve been through, I am still here with you. Together, we will get through this. And together we will succeed.”
And I have to close my eyes, murmur a silent prayer, and hope she’s right.
CHAPTER 32
It’s my birthday, and I want to be happy
I open my eyes to find hundreds of people staring up at me, chanting, “Make a wish! Make a wish! Make a wish!”
I’ve soul jumped again. I’m a little out of breath, and my belly quivers with what I think is excitement, but I feel more grounded than I have in days.
I’m standing on a stage above a large crowd. A marble table in front of me barely contains a gigantic, five-tiered cake, each layer a different color of blue. A girl sporting a neon-pink bob and cartoonishly-long eyelashes is grinning at me.
“Did you think of a good wish?” she asks above the chanting, tucking her arm into mine.
I pause before I answer. I’m not quite sure where I am or what’s going on yet.
“Well?” she prods. “Do you know what to wish for?”
Wish for?
I see the candles blazing on top of the cake, and my brain kicks in. I grin a mile wide. It’s finally my sixteenth birthday!
Blue and silver metallic ribbons hang from every inch of the ceiling. Bubbles float out of machines surrounding a blue-and-black tiled dance floor. A DJ is blasting tunes. And the place is jam-packed with very attractive, very hip people grinning up at me like they’re having the time of their lives.
My name is Ling. I’m Indonesian-Chinese. I live in Singapore, and I’m celebrating my sixteenth birthday party at the Marina Bay Sands with two hundred of my closest friends. And this girl with the pink hair is my older sister, Huan, who just legally changed her name to Pinkie last year.
I inhale a deep breath and blow out all the candles. Pinkie jumps up and down.
“You did it! You have to tell me what you wished for.” She stops jumping, and taps her chin. “No, on second thought, don’t tell or it might not come true.”
I grin. “Don’t worry, it will.”
“Oh my god! The pop are here!” Pinkie cries.
The pop? Who are the pop? And why don’t I know this? I thought I was tuning into my new bodies faster.
Pinkie yanks me around so my back is to the crowd, but she does it so fast that I almost topple over.
Why I am so unsteady on my feet? I look down. OH… MY… GOD. I’m in love. I’m wearing the most insanely gorgeous, sky-high, Jimmy Choo sandals. They’re powder-blue with white laces wrapped delicately around my ankles.
Pinch me now! This body has exquisite taste!
“I knew they’d come,” Pinkie burbles, pulling out her phone. “I mean, your sassy sixteen party is like the hottest thing to happen in Singapore since that Insta guy moved here!”
Pinkie opens the camera and uses it as a mirror to check her makeup. She and I are both wearing skinny, black leather pants and silk tanks. Hers is pale-pink and mine is powder-blue. She hands me the phone.
“Your turn, birthday girl,” she sings.
Pinkie is really pretty. I hope that runs in the family. I take the phone and look at my new body. My hair falls almost to my waist with streaks of blue dancing among the glossy black. My brown eyes are wide and angular, and I’m totally rockin’ it with a bright-blue cat-eye. I grin. Awesome.
Pinkie peeks over my shoulder. “We look good!” she giggles. She purses her plump, pink lips and snaps a selfie. “Now let’s give the pop our sexy sisters pose,” she purrs, and tucks the phone into the waistband of her pants.
I can’t help it. I’m still drawing a blank. “And who are the pop?”
She arches one of her black, pencil-thin eyebrows. “Really, Ling? Who are the paparazzi?” She rolls her eyes. “They’ve only been following us around since forever.”
“They have?”
Why would the paparazzi follow this body? Am I famous? And again, why don’t I know this? Why can’t I get a feel for this body? Is it because I’ve been thinking so much about Lottie?
Pinkie tucks my hair behind my ear. “It’s okay. Today’s a big day. You turn sixteen, and suddenly you’re an entirely different person.”
You can say that again.
She grins. “Stick with your big sister. I’ll take care of you.” She links her arm in mine. “Ready?”
I nod, and she twists us around so fast that I almost lose my balance again, teetering on my heels. My sister squeals with joy as light bulbs flash in our eyes. She kicks her leg out to the side and flings one arm over my head. The flashes go crazy.
“What’s wrong?” she mutters out the side of her mouth.
I smile at the cameras and mumble, “Nothing.”
She lowers her leg. “Then why aren’t you doing it?”
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Our sexy sisters pose!” She leans over, grabs my hand, raises it over our heads, and kicks her leg out to the side again. “Do your kick!” she pleads.
We do this all the time? I find myself blushing.
Pinkie raises her eyebrows at me, pleading, so I sigh, kick my leg out to the side like her, and the light bulb frenzy explodes like the grand finale at a fireworks show. After a few more seconds, she drops my hand and lowers her leg.
“That’s all,” she sings sweetly to the paparazzi.
Five, beefy men wearing black suits descend upon the pop, and corral them away from the stage.
She turns to me and pouts her pink lips. “What was that? I’m trying to make you look good, and you get stage fright?”
That was making me look good? Oh-kay. I get the feeling that this body despises that sexy sisters pose, but it’s my birthday and I want everything to be happy. I’m about to apologize when she shakes her head and grins.
“Don’t worry about it. The pop knows if they post anything unflattering Father will just close them down.”
“Ling,” a man’s voice rises up from the crowd. “How do you feel about spending over a million dollars on a birthday party when your father just laid off most of Indonesia? Do you…”
I never hear the end of his question because more beefy men surround him in a cage of suits and lead him away.
I turn to my sister. “This party cost a million dollars?”
She suddenly looks serious and grabs my hands. “I know you told Father that was too much to spend, but I convinced him you didn’t mean it. You know he only wants us to be happy.” She motions to the crowd. “And look how much fun everyone is having! Look at how happy they all are!”
I glance around. She’s right. Everyone looks pretty happy. They are all smiling. There’s no frowning. No sadness. No anger. No pain. Just joy, and lots of laughing.
Just like I’ve always wanted.
I can’t help but grin. This is the perfect body. Everyone is happy. I have a cool sister. And it’s my birthday!
Thanks, Soul. Good choice.
My heart squeezes with delight, and oddly, a little hiccup of something I can’t
place. It’s like something is missing.
It must be cake!
I search around on the marble table. “Where’s the knife?”
My sister’s eyes widen. “Why do you need a knife?”
I chuckle at her shocked expression. “How else can I cut my cake?”
She waves her hand in a vague gesture, and tsks. “Ling, we hire people to do that for us.” She juts out her lower lip. “I’m tired of being up here. Come on, let’s go dance!”
Dancing does sound like fun. I can eat cake later.
She grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs and into the crowd. The first girl we pass is wearing the black-and-white Jimmy Choo sandals Lottie saw in Morocco. I screech to a stop.
“Oh my god! I love those!” I shriek at the girl wearing them.
“I know,” the girl yawns. She’s dressed in a slim, black dress almost the same color as her long, shiny hair. She gives me a crooked smile that definitely doesn’t reach her eyes. “I got the first pair.” She turns to my sister. “Um, nice hair… Pinkie.”
I wait for my sister to get angry at the insult, but she just tilts her head to the side. “Oh, thanks.” She pats her bob. “Javi said pink is what black used to be.”
The girl’s eyes widen, but then she composes herself. “When did Javi say that? I was just in his spa a few days ago, and I didn’t hear that.”
Pinkie nods her head like she’s speaking to a kindergartener. “Oh, you were at his spa? That must have been nice. Ling and I never go there because Javi just comes to our house.” She grins wide and leans in like she’s sharing a secret. “Like he did this morning.” She air kisses the girl on both cheeks. “Sooo good to see you,” she gushes, and then links her arm through mine, and pulls me away. “Ugh,” Pinkie whispers close to my ear. “I so wanted to smack her upside that botoxed face.”
She leads me through the crowd of people I think must be my friends if they’re at my party, but no one says hi or wishes me a happy birthday. Or really even looks our way. It’s a little odd.
Pinkie sighs. “Too bad Father made us promise to be nice. Although, I heard her dad only made 2 bill last year which is peanuts compared to what Father made.”
Two bill?! She can’t mean two billion dollars?! Holy crap!
Her face suddenly lights up. “There’s Father now!”
A man wearing tailored, black slacks and a crisp, white shirt strides towards us. His black hair is trimmed short, and carefully styled off his wide, smooth forehead. Their Father is quite handsome, but when he grins at us, he doesn’t have any smile wrinkles like my Daddy.
I mean, Lottie’s Daddy.
“There are my girls,” Father gushes. He’s just tall enough to place his arms over our shoulders and pull us both into a hug. His cologne smells of sandalwood, and musk; and his shirt feels like smooth silk. I feel safe and happy in his embrace like Lottie always did with her daddy. I exhale into him. I like this father.
He pulls back and beams at me. “And I know the birthday girl must be having a fabulous time?”
I grin. “Yes! It’s so wonderful!” I’m just about to thank him for my party when someone bumps into me and spills what looks like icky, brown liquid all over my beautiful, blue-and-white sandals.
“Oh no,” I cry.
Father leans into me. “Remember,” he murmurs quietly through gritted teeth. “Happy image.”
I look up, startled. What?
The man who dumped his drink doubles over and points at my shoes. “Thoth were blue before,” he slurs. “But now they look slo much better.” He hoots, obviously finding himself hilarious. He rights himself and leers at me. His dark hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a pale green shirt tucked into crisp, denim jeans. His dark eyes turn into slits as he purrs, “Well, hellooo there, thexy lady.”
Me? A thexy lady? Um, I don’t think so! First of all, you’re like forty, and second of all, I don’t go for drunken jerks. Especially one that Mama would tell me is waay too old for me.
“Stay happy,” Father croons in my ear. “Remember our image.” He grins widely at the jerk, extends his hand, and booms, “Hi, Philip! Glad you could make it.”
Philip bobs his head back and forth, probably trying to get his drunken eyes to focus. “Oh, iths you!” he laughs. He shakes Father’s hand. “Wouldn’t mith a party thrown by your famous aths.” Then he turns his attention back to me.
Lucky, lucky me.
Philip wraps his arm around my waist. “Now where were we? Ah, yeth.” He strokes my cheek. “Thoth heels would look bether in my thuite.”
My eyes widen. I know I want everyone to be happy and have a good time, but this is going way too far.
I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I reply, trying to sound happy like Father requested.
Philip leans closer. “Yeth, please,” he purrs.
Ew. And then an extra EWWW!
“Father, did we need to see to those details?” I ask, raising my eyebrows, hoping he understands that his daughter needs help.
He doesn’t. Father just stands there, a smile pasted on his face. I can see his hands are fisted and his lips are pursed, but he doesn’t do anything. Is he that worried about his freaking happy image that he can’t even help his daughter? My daddy would have already kicked this drunk jerk to the door.
Guess I’m on my own.
“Well, thank you for coming to my party,” I say politely, “but I must be going. Party details to attend to, you know.” I try to wiggle out from under Philip’s arm, but instead of letting me go, the drunken jerk grabs the back of my head, pulls me to him, and plants a slobbery, bourbon-laced kiss right on… my… lips.
When Philip’s tongue punches into my lip, I remember the self-defense Daddy taught me and kick him square in his family jewels. He drops to the floor quicker than I did when I saw Dillon kissing that boy. I’m feeling proud of myself, but Father just gapes wide-eyed at me and Pinkie’s mouth is stuck in a perfect, pink O.
The dance beat thumps in my heart, building and pulsing a little too fast until my heart starts racing and the pressure builds in my chest just like I’m back to my Oh my GAD days, embarrassed of what I did and who I am.
CHAPTER 33
Who am I really?
The beefy suits arrive and treat nasty Philip like a guest of honor while Father quickly leads Pinkie and me through my oblivious guests and into a corner. I hope he’s going to congratulate me on sticking up for myself and tuck me into a hug to help me feel better, but instead he just grins at me.
“That was definitely not good for our image,” he says. He’s obviously angry with me, but he looks and sounds like he’s delighted. His creepy, fake grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is calm. And he’s even chuckling a little.
I feel my anxiety building, so I watch the bubbles float over my head and force myself to inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. I’m happy. I’m good. I can take care of myself.
“Ling,” Father continues, “you need to remember our image. Our family must always be happy and having fun. We are never angry. We are never sad. We are only happy.”
Hmmm… that sounds familiar.
He pats my arm. “Okay. I love you. When your party is over you can buy whatever you want to help you feel happy again. Now, let’s all hug in case anyone is watching, and then…” he pauses. “Excuse me, please.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell. Whatever he sees on the screen makes his eyes widen before he looks up at us with a real grin. “It is time!”
Pinkie jumps up and down. “It is?”
He sighs happily. “Yes.” He squeezes my arm. “Enjoy your party. I’m sure Kim will be in labor for some time. You and your sister please come later to meet your new brother.” He kisses us each on the cheek and strides away.
I grin at Pinkie. “We’re going to have a baby brother?”
Pinkie shrugs. “Well, half-brother.”
I’m going to have a baby brother! I adore my l
ittle brother, Berg. The thought of getting to have a little brother in this body makes my heart soar.
I’m grinning ear to ear. “This is so exciting!” I burble.
She shrugs. “I guess.”
I tilt my head. “You guess? You’re not happy about a little brother?”
She pastes on a fake smile. “I will be happy because that’s what Father wants.”
I don’t understand why she doesn’t want a sweet, baby brother, but I do understand wanting to make Father happy. I want to make everyone happy. When I was Lottie, I would have done anything to make Daddy happy. That’s why I worked so hard to stop worrying. I would have done anything for Mama and Berg, too. Even though I screwed up and made everyone angry. IF I had chosen to go back there, I would have made it better. I would have made sure everyone was happy again.
Ugh. Stop thinking about the past. You made your decision. Think about the now. The happy, happy now!
I clap my hands together. “Well, I bet once you meet him you’ll be happy!”
Pinkie shrugs. “Probably. But like Father says,” she deepens her voice, “we must be happy in order to uphold our happy image. And life is better when you’re happy all the time.”
“So, true,” I agree. That’s what I always said. It’s what I always strived for when I was Lottie. It’s why I’m here now.
She sighs. “But a little brother means less time for us. Just like when Father married Kim.” Her face droops a little and I think she’s going to be sad, but she surprises me and pastes on a grin and wiggles her hips. “Let’s go dance!”
Huh. I don’t know exactly why, but watching her ignore her sadness bugs me a little.
She bounces up and down. “Come on, Ling! This is your night! Your sixteenth birthday party! It’s barely eleven, and we’re going to party until the sun comes up.” She grabs my hands and squeals. “And then we’ll go shopping! Father said you could buy anything. Maybe that new, quilted Chanel handbag? Or that pink, polka-dotted one from Givenchy?” She squeals again. “Or both!”
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