by Meg Xuemei X
My face burns like an open furnace, and yet my eyes turn the coldest. Will he ever stop insulting me like this? I’ll let him have a taste of what provocativeness is! I remove my interlinked hands from behind his neck. But before I strike him, I see light magnifying in his eyes, pulling me in. There is no deception inside the glamorous, golden spectrums surrounding his deep irises. Instead, I see adoration, and beneath it, passion rises like burning lava.
The flame licks at me. I flinch at its heat, but it doesn’t burn me. Amid the flame, I see a girl—she is uniquely lovely. It strikes me like lightning—she’s my reflection in Kai’s eyes.
What is happening? Is this a trick? I leap off Kai’s lap and walk toward the mirror on the façade of a wooden chest.
I see myself for the first time. I’m the morning dew on the most glorious blossom, reflecting the first glimpse of sunlight. My eyes glisten like stars in the deepest sky. Before I’m aware, God has breathed life into them.
My hand flies to my heart-shaped face, and the girl in the mirror also presses her palm against her high cheekbone. Sunset burns under her creamy, nearly transparent skin.
I turn to Kai. And I smile. He looks at me as if I am his existence. And it is all I can do not to fall into his dazzling eyes—they’re made of the same material as the stars.
THE ENEMY’S LINE
I glide through the doorway, trying to be as graceful as I can. Ever since Kai said that I’m exquisite, I try to live up to it. A hand from behind the door hauls me into the studio and I stumble forward. Luckily, I don’t fall, for I’ve crashed into a well-muscled chest.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Kai,” I chide. Now that I have an image to keep, I’m not thrilled with being clumsy in front of him.
Ignoring my protest, he leads me to the tea table, sits me down, and pushes a wooden square box tied with an American rose colored ribbon into my hands. “Open it,” he orders.
I look at him in suspicion.
“Xirena, by now, you should have gotten over your trust issues,” he says.
I untie the ribbon and open the box with nimble fingers, revealing a wood heart-shaped music box with red floral inlay inside.
I open the lid; the music of Alice escapes the box and flows through the air.
A small cry escapes me. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, next to Tudor and Judor, my mother’s twin puppy dogs. Eight years ago, some bastard stole them and ate them. My brother found their small bones in the garbage site several blocks away from our home.
That was the first seed of hatred planted in me toward the townspeople.
I watch as a pair of lovers in a black tuxedo and a red evening gown spin to the tune.
“It came in today. My buddy Randi shipped it from Shanghai.” He brushes a loose strand of my hair away from my forehead. “He’s coming to visit next month, but I couldn’t wait that long. I knew you’d like it.”
No one has ever given me a gift before, not on my birthday, not on any day. He must be joking. With a crestfallen look, I close the lid. The music vanishes with the happy couple. I put the music box back in the square packing box.
“You don’t like it?” His smile fades.
“I do!” I say. “But—”
“I ordered it especially for you, Xirena,” he says. “I wanted to give you a gift.”
I don’t know how to accept a gift in a normal manner. As a kid, when I coveted something, I either stole it or took it through coercion, threats, or manipulation. “I don’t have anything to give to you,” I say.
“You don’t need to give me anything.” His warm smile returns. “It’s a gift. Gift means it’s freely given.”
I swallow. “I don’t accept free stuff.”
“Because?”
“There’s no free lunch!”
“Then I have to tell you,” his gentle smile turns a teasing one, “that you’ve paid for the lunch.”
A puzzled look hovers on my face.
“You make me happy, and that’s your lunch price.” He takes my hand and plants a soft, warm kiss on my palm, sending ecstasy coursing through my blood.
But my mind panics. I jerk my hand back.
An unsettled look eclipses his complexion. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I got caught in the moment. It won’t happen again . . . that is,” he gives me a thoughtful look, “without your permission first.”
“You don’t need me to make you happy,” I say.
Being with Kai is like an afternoon nap on a swinging hammock. The sunlight is on my face, the breeze strokes my hair, and wine lingers on my tongue. Is this what he means by happiness?
“Then you underestimate yourself.” He looks intensely at my mask as if wanting to tear it off.
“You look like a happy peacock every day,” I say wryly, which breaks the unreadable expression on my face.
“Have you just complimented me or insulted me?” Kai throws his head back and laughs. “Xirena, you’re never dull for a second. But if you insist on refusing this lovely music box I picked especially for you, I’ll just donate it to—the poor.”
“No!” I lift the music box. “I . . . I’m the poor.” After I’m sure Kai won’t take it away, I put it on my lap and open the lid. The melody of Alice floats out. The lovers twirl. “Thank you.” I send Kai a shy and appreciative glance.
“Now may I have permission to kiss your other palm,” a mischievous look bounces in his eyes, “for the sake of fairness?”
Fair? Two kisses on palms exchanging for a music box? I widen my eyes, assessing.
“Your other hand might protest missing out on the magic touch of my soft lips,” he says.
“You’re impossible!” My face flaming, I take the singing box and waltz away from him.
I can’t bring the gift home. Kai understands and empties a drawer for me. “You can keep your stuff here if you want.” He looks at me with a considerate look. “And you can lock it.”
I do lock the drawer. But soon I find that I can’t seal away all my secrets.
* * *
Never take your eyes off your enemies. But I’m not as vigilant as I used to be. Kai has a way of making me feel at ease, even though I have a hunch it’s going to end badly when I agree to see him.
Secrecy and discretion are my conditions of meeting with Kai. Whenever I visit him, I disguise myself as one of his models. The act is intended to confuse watchful eyes. I’ve made use of hats, scarves, and glasses, but soon I’m met with obstacles. I can’t bring my gear home. And it becomes troublesome to run to my hideout for my kit every time I want to see Kai. Another inconvenience is scheduling. Sometimes after I cloak myself, someone else is in his studio with him.
With his apartment at the end of the open corridor, everyone can see who is entering and who is leaving his place. The neighbors routinely gather outside their homes to exchange trifle information and vulgar jokes. The act of masquerading loses its appeal as Kai and I begin to meet almost every day, whenever we can.
With nothing to do and too much time on their hands, the neighbors watch with open interest.
The developing dynamic between the northern boy and me feeds the gossip machine. When I walk through the common area, the flock of neighbors watches me with disapproval. They used to overlook my insolence, for they believed it was my nature. Until they saw how I treat Kai. I couldn’t care less about their animosity, but when their sourness overflows, they’re eager to act as my mother’s eyes and ears.
I’m made.
My mother carries on in her usual style of “shoot first, ask questions later.” The punch she lands on my face fans flames in me, but I bottle my emotion. My tolerance to pain isn’t half as strong as when I was a kid. When I was around six years old, I even grinned at her when she hit me. In my teens, my nerves have swung to the hypersensitive side.
Disregarding the sharp pain, I maintain a bored look. I won’t let her learn that I now can feel every impact of her punch. Fortunately, my face doesn
’t show bruises easily, unless the woman overstretches herself.
“Do you deny it?” she demands, fixing her stare under my jaw. Her fist is itching to go a second round.
Denial is my go-to approach when I’m sure she doesn’t have proof. In this case, it’s a bad move since she has many enthusiastic witnesses.
“I went to the painter’s studio.” I say. My face is impassive. “I’m thinking of learning oil painting.”
Disappointment rolls across her face. She doesn’t expect me to admit it and she doesn’t like my answer. Her eyes throw daggers at me. I pray that her negative emotion adds more hard lines around her eyes. She’s been mourning her fading youth.
“So, you want to be a painter?” She hits me with another tricky question. Evidently, she’s trying to have a real conversation with me, bored with the usual routine of just smacking me.
I want to be an astronaut, idiot! Why do you think I study physics and work so hard for my excellent grades? I curse under my breath, and I want to spit on you! But I hold back.
I have no illusions of getting her off my back easily this time, especially when a hot boy is involved. “Not really,” I say in a flat tone. “I’m only trying to broaden my horizons.” Ambiguity is a form of art in Chinese culture. It’s a required survival skill.
Nastiness coils in her eyes, and I instantly know no matter which direction I go, I’m in a no-win situation. My smoke screen will not divert the callous-hearted woman’s attention away from Kai.
“So you went to his studio alone and often,” the woman says.
“Not often,” I say. At least I can deny this part. “Not really alone. But sometimes there weren’t many others around.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Her eyes glue to my face, endeavoring to read every subtle change of my emotion. I’ll have to disappoint her. I have perfected the skill of masking my emotions over many years.
“The boy arranged for you to be alone with him,” she says. “My friends saw him kick everyone out before you popped up, and when you snuck into his room like a rat whore, he quickly shut the door. And I notice you went to see him only when your father and I were out.” She shows her perfect white teeth with a smirk. “So tell me. What did the two of you do behind the closed door?”
“The neighbors are rumor carriers.” I shrug. “I was doing homework most of the time at Gaohong’s house. You can go ask her if you don’t believe me.”
That is a bold lie on my side. My mother knows that my classmate, Gaohong, is a high-ranking officer’s daughter. She’d never have the nerve to check with that haughty girl. On the other hand, it’s strange that she’s never questioned why such a privileged girl would be hanging out with me. Parents, even the worst ones, can have a blind spot when it comes to their children.
For a minute, she looks unsure. Then anger cracks her face—she’s still trapped in the stale loop of our twisted mother and daughter relationship.
“Lies!” she spits. “Ever since you were six years old, all you’ve ever done is con me! You make me look bad, with your dead look. But now I know it’s all a con.” Black anger clouds her eyes. “The neighbors say you aren’t a dead fish when you visit that devil boy’s room. You’re more alive than . . . you’re like a dormant snake waking up!” She advances toward me, “How are we going to deal with a waking viper, huh?” and reaches out, about to grab my hair.
A knock bangs on the door. My mother’s hand freezes in the air, shaking with infuriation. She snaps her head toward the door, displeased with the interruption.
“Are you in, Yinyin?” a voice shouts outside the door. It’s one of her Mahjong companions. My parents are addicted to Mahjong gambling lately.
“I thought I lost my spot because I was late,” my mother answers.
“We’re adding one more table,” the voice continues.
The annoyance on my mother’s face switches to a grin. “Yes! Yes! Of course I’m in.”
“Hurry up then,” the voice says. And the footsteps withdraw.
“Coming! Coming!” my mother calls, grabbing her ring of keys on the table. Before she’s out of door, she remembers her unfinished business with me. She turns to me at the door, eyes harsh again. “That hot shit has quite a reputation with dumb girls like you! He’ll eat someone dumb and hideous like you alive and spit out your bones. Don’t ever think he’d fancy you. Not even a farm boy wants the like of you.” Then over my unimpressed expression, she hisses, “Let me catch you crawling to his place again, and I’ll break your leg!” Feeling a threat isn’t enough to make a point, she marches back to me and slaps me with the back of her hand before taking off.
Enmity smolders in my eyes. I spit at her retreating figure the moment she closes the door, and then I run to the sink and use a rough washcloth to scrub off her touch.
In my dim, cold room, I sink to the hard edge of my bed, pull up my knees, and hug myself, until a blanket of noise outside draws me to the window.
Through the crack in the dark brown curtain, I watch the party start to unfold in Kai’s studio. Laughter and guitar music pour out with the blazing light. The night will never end there. In the center of the room, hot girls stream like butterflies, and teenage boys mill around like excited puppy dogs. The twins are the life of the party.
Near the window, Kai is strumming his guitar, singing a love song, with the majority of the girls surrounding him. One of the twins stands too close to him, her hand resting on the back of his chair, suggesting a close relationship. I believe that twin is Sha Sha.
She wears a white wool skirt, its hem reaching her ankles. Standing beside Kai, who is clad in black, she looks like his angel. A breeze must have passed through the room at that very moment. Her emerald jade earrings swing under her ears, and her long, curly hair flies gently toward him. He doesn’t move an inch, until he finishes the song.
Then he seems to recall something. He carefully places his guitar against a corner of the wall and moves to the window. Leaning against the windowsill, he looks up at my silent, dark room. I stare back at him, knowing he can’t see me. The laughter and joy are all theirs; I have no part. This boy and I live in different universes that don’t mingle.
My face, which still burns from the pain my mother inflicted, is devoid of expression.
DUCKLINGS’ NEST
Kai stops me when I come out of the school’s double gate.
“Have I wronged you?” he demands, with unmistaken hurt in his voice. “Have I offended you so much that you refuse to even speak to me?”
My heart flits at the sight of him, but I quicken my pace to avoid him. With two long strides, he falls in step beside me.
“It’s about the party a few nights ago, isn’t it?” he asks. When I ignore him, he continues, “I threw the party to show my appreciation. The models posed for me for free. Think of the time they’ve put in. And I’ve been ignoring them. I invited you, but you didn’t like the crowd.” He draws a breath. “Besides, you still want everything about you to be wrapped in secret!”
“I don’t care about your parties!” I say.
“Is it about Sha Sha?” he asks.
“What is she to me?” I hiss.
“Then what’s wrong?” he asks. “You gotta tell me straight. I can’t read your mind.”
“I just want to be alone,” I say.
Many heads turn to us. I can’t blame their open curiosity. We’re such an odd pair standing together. Kai is a stallion, and I’m a homeless cat. An oversized, nearly worn-through coat covers me, and its ugly, dark green makes my face look unhealthily bluish. On the contrary, he wears a gray cashmere sweater and a pair of dark denim jeans, with an unbuttoned black overcoat, exposing the expanse of his well-built chest. As my eyes give him a quick sweep, my body reacts to his magnetic pull again. It craves to melt into his arms, remembering the feel of his tight abdomen and firm legs. Shaking off my desire, I let my stare turn hard to mask the blur of emotions.
“No, you don’t. That’s not the reason,�
� he says, his eyes fixed on me like hot wax. “You want my company. Your eyes can’t lie to me anymore, Xirena.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t know me!”
“Yes, I do, more than you know,” he says.
After a moment of silence, I lower my voice. “I can’t be seen with you, Kai.”
“Then meet me tonight,” he says. “Let’s just talk it out. If you never want to talk to me again after that, I’ll respect your wish.” He takes his time letting his hot gaze roam over my face. Seeing my flaming cheeks, he wears a half smile. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“I can’t go to your studio anymore,” I hush my voice.
“Can you meet me at the Ducklings’ Nest?” He also lowers his voice. “You know where it is?”
As I consider his counteroffer, I feel more eyes on us. He notes it too and takes advantage of the situation to press me. His determined look tells me he won’t go away until I agree to meet him.
I don’t care about what other people think of me, but I have more at stake than this arrogant boy. I can’t let the school know about us. Suddenly, I’m irritated that he has the upper hand. “You think I don’t know where the Nest is?” I say. “For your information, I wasn’t raised in a witch’s tower!”
“Then say yes, Xirena, and I’ll disappear,” he whispers. “People are still watching.”
I snap my head and scan the crowd, releasing all the iciness. Everyone averts their eyes. Kai tries to put on a straight face, but he can’t hide the amused smile in his eyes. I stare hard at him, but my coldness can no longer touch him. I purse my lips and give a small nod.
His smile broadens.
“Now go away,” I say, warning him not to make a bigger scene.
“Eight o’clock sharp at the Ducklings’ Nest.” A light of triumph illuminates in his eyes. He still sucks at covering his emotion. “I’ll wait until the sun comes up, and if you still don’t show up, I’ll come to the witch’s tower to fetch you.” He then stalks away.