Emergency Contact

by Mary H. K. Choi

  Bastian rolled his eyes. “She’s been here for over twenty years, dumbass,” he said. “You can’t tell anyone. It’s effed up, and every day she’s mad paranoid that someone’s going to ask for her papers.”

  To Sam it sounded like Germany in World War II.

  “That’s insane,” Sam said. Still, he’d heard the news reports on ICE raids all over Texas but had never properly paid attention. He hadn’t had to.

  “Can’t she apply for a green card since she’s been here so long and you were born here?” Sam asked.

  Bastian shook his head.

  “Nah, she might as well try winning the lottery,” he said. “And with everything that’s going on, if she gets busted now and deported, then what happens to me?”

  With the pity parties Sam threw himself on a weekly basis and the panic attack he had about being “almost” homeless and “almost” a dad, there was a woman and countless others like her with real problems.

  “Can’t you fake it?” Bastian asked. “Shit, I’ll sign it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “It’s not that deep.”

  • • •

  Sam had been on hold for thirty-six minutes when he realized it was that deep. Alamo Community College’s film department was lax about everything except their beloved red tape.

  “The releases for your subjects and the rights for your work need to accompany the submission. The department automatically enrolls you into a series of fellowships and festivals, along with . . .”

  The lady on the phone kept talking about the department as if it were some ancient secret society with fanatical rules.

  “So, let me get this straight, Lydia,” he said. “Lydia, that’s your name, right?”

  “Yes,” said Lydia. “That’s right.”

  “So simply by turning in my project to get a grade I’m automatically enrolled in this other stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you mean the rights for my work?”

  “This is what I’m trying to tell you,” said Lydia slowly. “You grant ACC and its affiliates the copyright in the work, and the department is granted the exclusive worldwide right in perpetuity to view, perform, display, distribute, stream, transmit, make available for download, rent, disseminate, issue or communicate copies to the public, telecast by air, cable, or otherwise import, adapt, enhance, show, translate, compile or otherwise use in any media and to adapt as a musical or a stage show.”

  “Wait,” he interrupted. “A musical?”

  “Yes,” said Lydia. “A musical.”

  “If they turn my documentary about a fourteen-year-old Mexican kid living on the East Side painting pictures with his dirtbag friends into Hamilton or whatever, the department gets all the money?”

  “The chance of that is slim to none,” she said. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a certifiable genius and you . . .” Lydia cleared her throat. “But yes, seeing as you’ve granted the department the copyright.”

  “And I don’t have to sign anything,” he said. “Just by turning in my project they get to do this.”

  “Well, turning in your project with the accompanying releases. It’s very clear in the course curriculum. And as you know, your project is a large percentage of your grade, as determined by your professor, Dr. Lindstrom. I believe it’s eighty percent,” she said.

  “Lydia, have you met Dr. Lindstrom?”

  “Actually, no,” she said.

  “Well, neither have I,” he said, and hung up.

  There was no way Sam was going to risk Luz and Bastian’s future for this. Screw the tuition. Besides which, musicals were the worst.

  PENNY.

  Penny was anxious about seeing Andy. He’d texted her after asking her out but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to date him—that much she knew—but she realized that for the past week she’d been looking forward to class with nervous anticipation because he’d admitted to liking her. It was on the record and everything. She chose an extra-clean pair of black leggings and showed up ten minutes early.

  He came in just before the bell and sat in the seat in front of her. Penny noticed he needed a haircut. A five-o’clock shadow crept south on his tanned neck. He was dressed in a white sweatshirt and matching white sweats and sneakers, and Penny couldn’t believe how pristine it all was. He practically shone.

  Penny thought about how next year she might never see him again and how future-her would be pissed off at present-day her for screwing the pooch right now.

  She squinted forcefully at the back of Andy’s neck. It was a good neck. His shoulders were killer too. Muscly but nothing that said vain or obsessive. As if he could sense her attention boring a hole at the base of his skull, Andy suddenly turned around.

  Shit.

  Penny bared her teeth in a rigid smile to indicate everything was perfectly fine. He turned back around and texted her.

  Wait for me after class.

  “Okay, Penny, am I making things bizarre or is it you?” They were standing on the edge of the quad lawn, though not far enough in that Andy would stain his shoes on the grass. “It’s probably you,” he said.

  “It’s probably me,” Penny agreed, and suddenly needed a nap. It was astounding the ways in which her body reacted to confrontation.

  “It’s not that big a deal, you know.” Andy pulled a matte black cylinder out of his book bag, twisted the top off, and out slid a pair of sunglasses. He put them on. Penny was immediately struck by the competitive advantage of people not being able to see your eyes in a fight. Not that this was a fight. Or maybe it was. Penny had no idea. She made an awning with her hands and squinted up at him.

  “Okay, so what’s the protocol now?” she asked.

  “Protocol?” Andy laughed. “Well, I think we still hold value for each other in our roles as cronies. Colleagues. Writerly peers.”

  This was news to Penny. Positive news.

  “So we can still collaborate and talk about work?”

  He nodded. Penny was elated. “Because I need your help on act two,” she said. “It’s a mess logistically and there are certain inconsistencies I can’t reconcile, and I made a spreadsheet the way you told me except then I read this thing about how your narrative should be a snowflake and I’m not that good at math.”

  “Ugh, loser. Okay, send it to me,” he said. “I’ll have it back to you by the weekend, but you have to help me with my dialogue. I’m holding your pages hostage until you get mine back.”

  Penny duffed him on the arm as she imagined a pal would. “I love the protocol!” she said.

  “Great,” he said, socking her back lightly. “This is probably for the best anyway. You’re so strange.”

  Penny practically skipped home.

  When she got back to her room from class, she was stoked to find Jude reading a magazine and eating goldfish.

  “Suup, slut,” she said before turning back to flip through the pages.

  “Do you want to go do something?” Penny said, sitting on Jude’s bed. Penny was still high from her talk with Andy. She was batting a thousand when it came to friendship. “I’ll drive.”

  Jude studied her face. “Really?”

  Penny nodded and smiled wide.

  “What, did you and your secret boyfriend break up or something?” asked Jude.

  Penny kept her smile in place and barreled on. “Going once, going twice . . . ,” she said.

  “Just kidding, yes.” Jude sprang into action and tossed her magazine aside. “I’m dying of boredom and have to read The Communist Manifesto by tomorrow and yeah, no. Why isn’t there an animated movie version?”

  Penny shrugged.

  “We gotta get Mal too,” she said.

  They swung by Twombly. “Where are we going?” asked Mallory, jumping in the back. It was such a new dynamic, to have Penny in charge of the night for once.

  “I want to see the ocean,” Penny announced.

  “Yay!” the girls chorused. Penny felt as if she could’ve
suggested anything from the zoo to the airport and they would’ve been game.

  The closest beach was three and a half hours away, but Penny was hell-bent on making it to Galveston in under three. Jude was responsible for the music and directions. Mallory was responsible for making them stop every half hour so she could pee. The girl had the smallest bladder in the world.

  “Penny, I haven’t seen you in one thousand years.” Mallory handed her a Red Vine. The only benefit to stopping every thirty miles was the snack haul remained bountiful. “That party was so fun.”

  “Yeah,” said Jude. “Speaking of which, what’s up with Andy? He’s so hot.”

  By dusk they’d made it to the halfway point, where there was a glowing power plant up ahead. It was beautiful, like a space station on the cover of a sci-fi paperback from the seventies.

  “Seriously, what or who have you been doing?” Mallory poked Penny’s cheek with the wet end of her Vine.

  “Stop,” yawped Penny. Mallory cackled. “Nothing. And yeah, Andy’s great. He’s helping me with my project.”

  “I wish he’d help me with my project,” retorted Jude, and they laughed.

  “I’m up to my eyeballs in homework and ignoring my mother,” said Penny. “Same as everyone.”

  “Oh!” said Jude, swatting Penny’s arm. “Your mom friend requested me on Facebook.”

  “Shut up.” Penny groaned.

  “Yuck!” exclaimed Mallory. “That’s such a violation. You didn’t accept, did you?”

  “No,” said Jude. “I mean, Celeste is adorable but, yeah, no way. Obvious violation. She did it literally the night we hung out.”

  Penny felt her cheeks redden. “Did I tell you she sent Mark, as in my ex-boyfriend Mark, a message after we broke up?”

  “Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!”

  “Not only that.” Penny got worked up again. “But she went on a full lurk and told me he was dating someone new. Why would you tell your daughter that?”

  “That’s egregious,” Mallory confirmed.

  Jude patted her shoulder in sympathy. “Completely egregious.”

  “I mean, your mom’s cool, but sometimes I can’t tell if a cool mom is better than a completely out-of-touch Stepford Wife mom like mine,” said Jude. “At least Nicole isn’t thirsty.”

  “Well, she’s obviously not hungry,” agreed Mallory. “I’m pretty sure the only food Nicole eats is Ativan.”

  “I love my mom.” Mallory rummaged in her shopping bag for a bottle of Big Red. “She’s completely out to lunch, like all moms. I don’t know, though. At some point in high school we became friends. The thing is, P, you can’t ignore them.”

  Penny couldn’t believe that the craziest girl in the car probably had the healthiest relationship with her mother.

  “Moms are like cows,” Mallory said. Jude shot a glance at Penny. This was going to be good. “You’ve got to milk them or they lose their minds.”

  Mallory leaned into the front of the car so the girls could feel the full weight of her wise words.

  “They’re shoplifting teens,” she pressed.

  “Wait, I thought they were cows,” Jude said. Penny couldn’t meet her eyes for fear of a giggle fit.

  “They’re both. However, they’re more shoplifting teens because it’s not about the intention. It’s about the at-tention.”

  That did Jude in. She cackled boisterously.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Wait, I actually think I know what you’re getting at, Mal,” said Penny. “You’re saying that ignoring my mom isn’t the right way to go because her cow milk or need for attention or whatever gets insane and she’ll burst or do something stupid. But if I pay consistent attention to her, she’ll chill the F out.”

  “Exactly,” said Mallory, leaning back into her seat satisfied.

  There were worse theories.

  “But what if your mom is the most annoying human in the universe?” asked Penny.

  “Dude.” Jude knew the answer to this one. “Every mom is the most annoying human in the universe, but most of them, besides the super-abusive genuinely bad ones, are in your corner.”

  “You know what I do that helps?” Apparently Mallory wasn’t done dispensing gems. “I imagine how my mom would feel if she could overhear the mean shit I said about her. It makes me say way less mean shit, which makes me think way less mean shit. It works.”

  Penny’s heart sank. It would destroy Celeste to know how she felt about her and what she’d been keeping from her. Pushing her away was Penny’s way of protecting her. Of protecting them both.

  “Okay,” said Mallory, interrupting her thoughts. “Enough about moms. We’re going to play a game. We’re going to go around in a circle and ask questions and answer them truthfully.”

  “So, truth or truth?” asked Penny.

  “Yeah,” said Jude. “Although I already know everything about Mal because she and I are the oversharing queens of the universe.”

  “How very dare you!” said Mallory in mock outrage. “Though in the spirit of full disclosure: Everyone may as well know that I have a UTI and am drinking boatloads of cranberry juice because of the sheer volume of sex I had this past week. Hence my current rate of peeing.”

  “Wait, I thought Ben left,” said Jude.

  “He did,” replied Mallory. “That’s why it’s a particularly sordid truth.”

  “J’accuse!” exclaimed Jude.

  “Okay, me first,” said Jude, flipping on the dome light so the car resembled an interrogation room. “Penny,” she boomed in a TV-announcer voice, “did you or did you not recently sleep with someone who is responsible for giving you that radiant, highly irritating glow?”

  That was easy. “No,” she said.

  “I’m dubious,” said Mallory. Penny glanced at Mallory in the rearview.

  “I’m a bad liar,” Penny told her.

  “That’s true,” confirmed Jude. “And it’s not Andy?”

  Penny smiled.

  “It is Andy!” Jude swatted her arm.

  Penny wiped the grin off her face. “It isn’t. I promise!”

  “My turn,” said Mallory.

  “Wait, isn’t it my turn?” asked Penny. She wondered if this was a thinly veiled attempt to ask her a series of deeply invasive questions.

  “You’ll go right after,” said Mallory. “Besides, this question is for Jude.”

  “I’m ready,” said Jude, turning to her bestie.

  “In a parallel universe in which the practice wasn’t frowned upon and utterly Appalachian, would you or would you not have sex with Uncle Sam?”

  Penny’s stomach lurched.

  “Eeeeeeeeew,” screamed Jude. “Mallory, why are you such a perv?”

  “I take it that’s a no?” said Mallory, grinning evilly.

  “No!” said Jude.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mallory, still smiling. “I just couldn’t stop leching on him this morning. He was making matcha with this little whisk and he looked so deliciously annoyed. You do acknowledge that he’s hot though, like, objectively?” asked Mallory. “Because I would bang the ever-living shit out of him if he’d give me the time of day.”

  Mal cracked open a bag of chips.

  “Back me up, Penny. Sam’s hot,” said Mallory in between crunches.

  “He’s a type,” Penny agreed. “Great hair.”

  “Ew, no, guys,” said Jude. “And, Mal, don’t forget you’re promise-bound on pain of death, no banging.”

  “I know,” said Mal. “This is a hypothetical.”

  “Also, come on. I know he’s technically not my uncle anymore, but I think of him as a brother. You wouldn’t be allowed to bang my brother either, Mallory. You’d demolish him.”

  Mallory sighed. “It’s true, I am a man-eater.”

  “Okay, my turn,” said Penny, desperate to change the subject. “You guys are going to make fun of me.”

  “Probably,” said Jude, reaching back to grab Mallory’s chips. She offered some t
o Penny, who shook her head. She felt as though she was constantly telling her no.

  “Why do you guys want to know anything about me?” she asked.

  The car went silent. And then Mallory started laughing. Jude joined in.

  “How are you so awkward?” asked Mallory.

  “Friends tell each other things, dummy,” said Jude. “And cello? We’re friends.”

  “Why though?”

  “Oh my God, Penny. Stop being so emo. Are you going to make us talk about feelings?” asked Mallory. “Seriously, you are so homeschooled sometimes.”

  “Wait, what do you mean?” asked Jude. “You actually don’t know why anyone would like you?”

  “Yeah,” said Penny. “Genuine question. You guys are this official thing. You’re a unit. But you keep asking me to do stuff even though I know I’m boring compared to you, and I want to know why.”

  Mallory switched off the interior car light.

  “Okay.” Mallory took a deep breath. “At the beginning I only liked you as much as you liked me, which wasn’t very much.”

  That made sense.

  “But then I felt bad for my dear friend Jude, who had to live with you.” Mallory laughed.

  “And I’ve always liked you,” said Jude. “You’re mysterious. You’re the hella metal dude in high school who’s sexy even though he sneers and doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  “But now I enjoy your company because you’re smart,” said Mallory. “And dark. You do seem seriously tormented.”

  “And you’re a good egg,” said Jude simply.

  Penny crumpled inwardly when Jude said that. She wasn’t a good egg. Penny didn’t have to tell Jude everything, that she was desperately, hopelessly in love with Sam, but she should have told her they were friends. Penny knew it would hurt Jude to have been kept in the dark this long.

  “Oh my God, can you guys smell that?” Mallory rolled down her windows. Penny could hear the waves crashing in the dark. The moonlight turned everything blue.

  They got out of the car and stretched. The salt air was sticky.

  “Do you have towels?” asked Jude, kicking off her shoes.

  Penny nodded. Mallory laughed. “Of course you do.”

  “You’re going actual swimming?” Penny asked. “Now?”