It's Not Like It's a Secret

by Misa Sugiura

  “No.”

  “Why else would he come? Is he a cross-country fan?” I can’t answer that one.

  “Aww, that’s so cute! He totally came to see you!” I scowl at her. I have a feeling she’s right but I shake my head no. “Totally! Hey, Melinda! Sruthi! You guys! Come here!” Four red-faced girls trot over and Janet gives them her opinion and her evidence.

  Melinda immediately starts singing, “Sana has a boy-friend! Sana has a boy-friend!”

  “Seriously, Melinda. What are we, second-graders?” Janet says.

  “Thank you, Janet,” I say. “God, Melinda. Grow up.” Then I turn to Janet so we can share an amirite? moment, but Janet has started reciting that old Justin Bieber song, “Boyfriend.”

  If I was your boyfriend I’d never let you go

  I can take you places you ain’t never been befo’. . . .

  Man, did I misjudge her. “Omigod.” I stalk off with as much dignity as I can muster, but Janet comes with me, spouting more Justin. In fact, she seems determined to prove to the world that she’s memorized the entire song, and by the time we reach the team tent, where the varsity runners are lounging, she’s reached the part about how I should just spend a week with Justin and he’d be calling me his girlfriend.

  The varsity runners look up. “What up, Biebs?” says Jag.

  “Sana has a boyfriend,” Melinda announces to the tent, looking extremely pleased with herself.

  Jamie looks at me.

  “NO! No boyfriend!” I splutter.

  But it’s lost in a chorus of “Caleb Miller came to watch her run! He was totally cheering for her! He left right after she finished!”

  “Do you like him?” Arjun bats his eyes at me.

  “No, not at all! Never!”

  Jamie is watching me closely and my cheeks start to tingle. Melinda yelps, “Oh, Sana, you’re blushing! Look at you! You do like him!”

  I’m surrounded by the team ooh-ing and ahh-ing at me and all I can do is cover my face and say, “No, no, no!”

  “Why are you blushing then?” asks Janet pointedly.

  “Yeah, why are you blushing?”

  “I don’t know! Jeez, leave me alone!”

  “Why are you blushing?”

  “Why are you blushing?”

  “Why are you blushing?”

  I’m about to give up when I see Jamie, still watching me. I can’t let her think I’m interested in Caleb. “I like someone else,” I blurt, looking right at Jamie. And she turns her head away, but not before her cheeks flush and a smile spreads across her face, not a big, laughing, public smile, but a small, shy, private one just for me.

  And now Arjun is preening and telling me he’s sorry to have to break my heart but he really only likes me as a friend, and everyone else is clamoring to know who I really like, and I don’t even care because Jamie Ramirez smiled and blushed when I (kind of) said I liked her.

  When I get home, Dad’s car is in the driveway. He’s home for a quick bite and a shower before he goes back to work. Apparently there’s some big presentation with a venture capital firm tomorrow, and the robots still have a glitch or two that need cleaning up.

  “They could give us fifty million dollars,” Dad says between slurps of his udon noodles.

  “Usō!” says Mom incredulously. I can hardly believe him, either.

  Mom’s busy making onigiri, one of my favorite snacks, for Dad to take back with him tonight. She presses some salmon into a handful of salted rice and starts pressing the rice into a ball around the salmon. As it comes together, she turns it once, then presses again. Turn, press. Turn, press.

  “Honma,” replies Dad, nodding, so I know he’s not kidding. Fifty million dollars hanging on one meeting. I guess that would make it worth going back to work after dinner.

  “What time do you think you’ll come home?” I ask.

  “Very late—probably past midnight.”

  “See how hard Dad works?” Mom says, looking at me as if somehow I’ve been slacking off my whole life, and my laziness has caused the robots to glitch. “You should work just as hard.”

  “I do work hard,” I grumble as I head back to my room to do my homework. I hate it when she does this—it’s like she’s speaking in code. Does she think she’s being encouraging? Is she making excuses for Dad not ever being home? Or does she really just think I’m lazy? As I pass through the living room, Dad’s cell pings from the pocket of his jacket, which is slung over a chair by the front door. “Hey, Dad,” I say, reaching into his jacket for the phone. I glance at it as I walk back to the kitchen. Then I stop.

  The phone number from my lacquer box is flashing at the top of the screen.

  Quickly, I type in Dad’s passcode.

  Jiro-chan! 金曜日 7時ね。

  Jiro is my dad’s name. “Chan” is something you add onto someone’s name when you’re close to them. No one calls Dad “Jiro-chan” except Mom, and my grandmother, who lives in Japan and doesn’t own a cell phone. I’m not very literate in Japanese, but I know what “7:00 on Friday” looks like. And I don’t need to be able to read to know what the emojis mean.

  “Oi, Sana. Nan’ya?”

  “Oh, um. Nothing, never mind.” I put the phone back in Dad’s jacket and go to my room. Please don’t let this be what it looks like. I could ignore it four years ago, but now I don’t know if I can.

  I try to put it out of my head and focus on trig.

  Solve sin(x) + 2 = 3 for 0° < x < 360°

  Who is sending those texts?

  Solve 2cos^2(x)—sqrt[3]cos(x) = 0 on 0° < x < 360°

  Is this why we moved out here?

  Solve tan2(x) + 3 = 0 for 0° < x < 360°

  What am I supposed to do?

  My head is spinning. I can’t do any of these. I give up.

  15

  THERE IS A SEMI-AWKWARD MOMENT WITH Caleb in trig this morning. I thank him for coming to the meet, and he says, “Oh, my cousin is on the cross-country team at Cupertino High, so that’s why I was there.”

  And I’m blushing again, furious at myself for being so foolish (though also a little relieved that he wasn’t there for me). “Oh! I wondered. I mean I thought you hated school sports and school spirit and stuff.”

  “I do.”

  Caleb doesn’t say anything else, but Elaine, Hanh, and Reggie attack me at lunch and Hanh says, “You were totally blushing when you were talking to Caleb during trig! Janet says he came to your meet yesterday to cheer for you—is that true? Do you like him?”

  “God! No! Why do people keep asking me? It’s so annoying!”

  “Okay, okay! Jeez-us Christ! Don’t get so offended!” Hanh raises her hands up protectively.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  We eat in silence for a few seconds before Reggie asks, “Hey, are you okay? You seem a little out of it today.”

  The truth is, I’ve been worrying about Dad’s mysterious text almost nonstop since last night. But it’s not like I can just come right out and accuse him of having an affair. Or make a big announcement at breakfast. Why couldn’t yesterday evening not have happened? Until dinnertime, I got to daydream about Jamie, and about how she smiled at me when I said I liked someone who wasn’t Caleb. Then Dad and his stupid texter had to go ruin it all by having a rendezvous with lips and wine tonight.

  For a moment I’m tempted to tell them everything—about Dad’s text and how it was from the same number as the one I saw four years ago, about how I convinced myself back then it wasn’t what I thought it was, and how now I’m afraid that the real reason we moved out here wasn’t just another job, but another woman. But I can’t. It’s too humiliating. And somehow, just like last time, I feel like if I keep quiet, if I keep it a secret, it’s still a question. Telling will turn it into an answer.

  Señor Reyes catches me off guard twice during class, which never happens. I can feel Reggie looking at me, and I actually catch her and Elaine exchanging worried glances. I don’t care. This is my problem
to solve, and it’s none of their business anyway.

  After practice, I go straight home without taking a shower. I just want to be alone. Or with Jamie, I guess, but she had to head right home, too, to babysit her niece. Besides, now that I’m in a place where, when I’m near her, all I can think about is kissing her, it’s confusing to also be worried about Dad. One thing at a time. After a long shower during which I come up with zero ideas about what to do about Dad, I ask Mom, “Is Dad working late again tonight?”

  She nods over the chicken she’s dredging in potato starch. “Probably. VC presentation went well, so maybe they will celebrate.” Yeah, I’ll bet he’s celebrating. With Emoji Woman. Mom slides a few pieces of chicken into a wok full of oil, and as they bubble and spatter she turns and looks closely at me. “Sana, kibun warui?”

  Well, yes, actually, I feel terrible. I’m worried that Dad is having an affair.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” Mom turns back to the stove, this time to lift the lid on a pot of kabocha simmering in sweetened soy broth. Then she turns again and comes to me, her face concerned. “Just tired, Honma-ni?” She puts her hand on my forehead.

  “Yes, really.” I’m annoyed that she has no idea, annoyed that I can’t tell her without potentially ruining everything, but I submit to her touch. It feels nice to be babied a little.

  “Go lie down,” she says. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

  So I do, and while I’m on the couch, I make up my mind. I get out my phone and text Dad.

  Hi, Dad. Heard the presentation went well. When are you coming home?

  The phone makes a whooshing sound as the message is sent, and I sit and stare at the screen, willing Dad to respond. It’s six thirty. I wait two minutes. Nothing. Jeez. The least he could do is answer. Even if he’s lying. I’m his daughter, for crying out loud. Then a car door slams outside, and a few seconds later, Dad walks in the door looking tired and pale.

  “Jiro-chan mo shindoi no?” says Mom, wiping her hands on her apron as she comes out of the kitchen.

  “Mmm. Chotto . . .” Dad shakes his head a little. “I’m feeling a little sick,” he says, and heads toward the bedroom. “I’m just going to lie down.”

  Mom scoops the last of the chicken out of the oil, and the pumpkin out of its broth, and spends the next twenty minutes fussing over Dad. It turns out that Dad and his colleagues went out for sushi right after the presentation, and Dad didn’t even make it to the end of dinner. Bad sea urchin, he jokes weakly. I’m relieved that he’s home, and comforted to see how tenderly Mom takes care of him, and how he thanks her. Maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe they do love each other. Maybe things are okay.

  But I can’t ignore the feeling that they’re not. It was easy to convince myself that things were okay when I was twelve. Not anymore.

  On Saturday Dad is too sick to get out of bed, too sick to do anything but sleep. Mom makes him rice porridge, and brews a concoction of pickled plums, green tea, ginger, and soy sauce. I wonder if this will remind them of how they fell in love. By Sunday evening, Dad is feeling well enough to sit on the couch in the living room, and we all eat ice cream and watch My Neighbor Totoro. It makes me long to have a family like the one in the movie: the handsome, devoted father; the sweet, understanding mother; and two carefree girls, all looked after by magical forest creatures. We could have that. We could. Well, just one carefree girl. And maybe without the magical forest creatures, though that would be nice.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve had an evening like this,” observes Mom.

  “Mmm,” Dad says, nodding his head. “We should do this more often.” He ruffles my hair and gives it a tug and says, “I’ll have to try to spend more time at home. I’ve been working too hard. What do you think?”

  “Yes!!” I practically shout. This is great. Dad home more often. I can keep track of him. Maybe we can have a family like the one in the movie, after all. It occurs to me that this means that I’ll have to stay home, too, but that’s a small price to pay if it means Dad isn’t having an affair. Dad stretches and goes to take a bath. Mom sits down with her laptop and starts catching up on her email. It’s almost as sweet and cozy as the family in Totoro. Please, please let this be enough. Please let things stay this way. “Good night, Mom.”

  “Oyasumi,” she says, and smiles at me.

  I’m headed down the hallway to my room when I hear the familiar ping of Dad’s text alert. I pause. Dad probably can’t hear it over the water running into the bath. It’s probably a colleague texting to check on him or ask if he’s well enough to get some report done. Probably nothing. I turn to go into my room. The phone pings again. Hmm. It won’t hurt to check—I’m sure it’s nothing. Dad’s in the bath, the phone’s charging on his bedside table. He wouldn’t just leave it lying around if there were private texts coming in. Unless he didn’t expect them.

  I rush in and snatch up the phone.

  Jiro-chan, 元気？ 木曜日!

  Thursday. She’s having dinner with him on Thursday.

  16

  THE KNOWLEDGE THAT DAD HAS A DATE tomorrow night has been digging into me all week like a pebble in my shoe. What’s worse, Jamie hasn’t been coming over after practice. Her sister Sarah has the same flu that Dad had over the weekend, which means that Jamie has to go straight home every day and babysit her niece, Ariella. Sarah’s a teacher, so even though her husband can drop Ariella off at daycare, someone still has to pick her up and take care of her in the afternoon. Dad has been coming home early every night—still not in time for dinner, but early enough to check my math homework and watch the news. We’ve even planned a family day for Saturday: go out for pancakes, maybe drive to the beach, and come back and watch a movie at home together. But he’s supposed to meet Emoji Woman tomorrow night.

  The girls and I walk into trig just as the first-period bell rings; Caleb walks in right after us. “Hey, you got another meet tomorrow?” he asks, and Reggie, Elaine, and Hanh exchange significant glances.

  “Yeah, she does. Are you going to be there?” says Hanh, with a voice like silk.

  “He was only there last week to watch his cousin,” I remind her with a glare.

  “Yeah.” Caleb shrugs. “I dunno, it’s kind of fun hanging out at the park, you know? And seeing all these weirdos running by. It’s entertaining. God, why do you do it? Why put yourself through that on purpose?”

  Reggie nods. “Right? Exactly.”

  “It’s fun. It feels good.”

  Caleb shakes his head. “Suit yourself. Where’s your meet tomorrow, anyway?” He threads his way to his seat, and I shoot a glare at Hahn, Reggie, and Elaine as they huddle up and begin whispering.

  “Silver Creek. You’d have to drive or take the bus there.”

  Caleb nods thoughtfully. “Thom’s dad’s house is in Silver Creek. I drive him down there sometimes. Maybe we’ll stop by.”

  I’m about to tell him not to bother, when something he said hits me, and I get an idea. “You have a car?”

  “Yeah. It’s a piece of shit, but it works.”

  Okay. Here goes nothing. “Do you think you could do me a huge favor? Like, huge?”

  Caleb leans back and eyes me skeptically. “I don’t know. What’s it worth to you?”

  “What? I—” This is ridiculous. “No, forget it. It’s a bad idea.” Bad and risky and . . . just bad.

  “No, what? Now I’m curious. Just tell me. You won’t owe me anything.”

  “No,” I insist. “Really. Just forget it.”

  “All right, class, good morning! Let’s get started.” It’s Mr. Green, thank goodness. I’m off the hook. I shrug my shoulders at Caleb and he scowls at me, but then presses and cajoles at every opportunity, of which there are many, because as luck would have it, it’s a partner-work day and we’re partners.

  We finish figuring out the width of a south-flowing river being measured by surveyors across the river from a tree, and finall
y I give in. Partly because I owe Caleb for doing most of the work on the problem, partly because I’m sick of the pestering, and partly—okay, mostly—because I just can’t help it, I have to know what Dad is up to.

  “I need a ride to my—to this company after my meet tomorrow. And then, um, I need you to wait with me outside and uh, follow someone when they leave.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I realize how kooky they sound. “Actually, no. I just heard myself and I sound . . . yeah. So, yeah, just—”

  “No, no, no!” Caleb cuts in. “That sounds sick! Like a stakeout, right? I’m totally down for that. Who’re you following? What are you trying to find out? Let’s do it. It sounds fun.”

  “No, no, it’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s gonna be fun. We can, like, eat sandwiches and drink Red Bull, you know? I’ll bring binoculars—”

  “No! No binoculars!” I don’t need him figuring out who it is we’re tailing.

  “What? Come on! We need binoculars if we’re gonna be like real detect—”

  “We’re not real detectives. I know what his car looks like. That’s all we need.”

  Caleb slumps in his chair and pouts. “Okay, fine. But it sounds like you’re going for it. Right? We’re on for tomorrow, right?”

  “Ugh. Fine. Meet me in the parking lot at six.” Then I remember that I’m the one who asked him to do this. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Thursday passes as if the whole school is underwater. Everything moves slowly. Nothing anyone says penetrates or makes any sense. I feel like I can’t breathe properly, like my lungs are bursting and I just need to get out, out, out of there. Elaine, Hanh, and Reggie keep giving me funny looks during lunch and asking if I’m okay, but I just shake my head and look away. “I’m fine,” is all I can manage, because if I say any more, my worries about Dad will come tumbling out. Worse, I might start crying right out there in front of everyone, and there’s nothing more attention-grabbing than a teary-eyed drama queen at lunch. And attention is the last thing I want right now.