by Maurene Goo
And Rose? She was the epitome of all this high school drudgery. Everything about her rubbed me the wrong way: her inability to chill; her uptight, follow-the-rules compulsion; her stupid narc tendencies; and her need to get ahead in life. So, whenever I could, I made life very untidy and chaotic for her. Where I saw an opportunity to poke and irritate, I did. Like the time I coordinated a flash mob during her first dance competition. Or the time I added sugar to all the lettuce in the salad bar where she got her lunch every day. Any punishment handed to me was always worth it.
An eternity went by. I was dozing off with my neck bent at an impossible angle, my knees tucked under my long dress, when the office door flew open.
“Rose!” An elegant black woman ran over to her. She looked exactly like Rose except shorter, with long, wavy hair that was perfectly styled even in her harried state. Rose clearly got her height from her dad, a tall and ruggedly handsome black man with a little bit of dignified gray in his black hair.
“Are you okay?” Her mother grasped her by the shoulders, then widened her eyes. “Oh my God, why are you covered in blood?” She looked over at me. “Why are both of you covered in blood?”
“It’s fake, Mom. I’m fine, it’s not a big deal,” Rose said, with that arrogant self-confidence that usually drove me mad. Right now, however, I actually appreciated it. I hoped that it would get us out of this.
But her mother wasn’t fooled. She raised a thin, arched eyebrow, and her words came out measured and careful. “Not. A. Big. Deal?” For the first time ever, Rose was visibly uncomfortable and squirmed in her seat. Her hands stayed clenched.
Before anyone could react, the door opened again, and my dad’s cap-covered head popped in. Yessss, time to bust out of this joint.
“Come in, Mr. Shin,” Principal Sepulveda said, waving at him.
“Call me Adrian,” he said before stepping in reluctantly. My dad had gotten into so much trouble as a kid that he hadn’t graduated high school. So he never felt comfortable having to set foot on a high school campus.
He did a double take when he saw me. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”
“It’s fake blood,” Mrs. Carver said before I could answer. Bossy genes in full effect.
The adults stood around us awkwardly.
“So…” Rose’s dad started, clearing his throat.
Principal Sepulveda stepped around her desk and leaned against the edge of it, arms crossed and facing all of us. She was a tall woman who used to be an athlete—even in a nightgown she was an imposing presence. “Your daughters caused quite a scene at the prom tonight.”
“Is the cafeteria okay? How bad is the fire damage? Did anyone get injured?” Rose’s mom asked, her voice in professional lawyer mode. Joanne Carver was kind of a big deal around LA because she had been the prosecuting lawyer in a big police-beating case a few years back. She’d also been featured on the cover of Ebony magazine and was named one of People’s Most Beautiful People. So there was that.
“Well, Mrs. Carver, the fire was contained, and it was only the stage that was damaged. And, thank God, there were no injuries. No thanks to these two.”
My dad glanced over at me. “So what happened, exactly?”
Principal Sepulveda wagged a finger at both of us. “Why don’t you two let us know what happened? From Mr. Sinclair’s account, it was very confusing.”
From his corner, Mr. Sinclair began to stand, kind of crouching there and holding up a hand, like he was a student asking for permission. “Uh, I think it was because Clara won prom queen.”
“You won?” My dad whipped around to look at me.
I shrugged.
“Yes, she won,” Rose interrupted. “And it was a joke. She went up there on a skateboard and gave a speech. I mean, who does that? And then! The best part: one of her lackeys dropped a bucket of blood on her head.”
My dad let out a snort of laughter. Principal Sepulveda shot him a reproachful look, and he turned the laugh into a cough.
Rose’s mom threw her hands into the air. “So what, Rose?” At the same time, Rose’s dad looked over at me. “Oh, like Carrie?”
Betrayal flashed across Rose’s face for a second as she looked at her mom. “So what? Mom, she made the entire thing a joke.”
“Well, Rosie, it’s not exactly the most important thing in the world,” her dad said with exasperation.
Rose’s voice shook with emotion. “It’s important to me!”
The room grew silent, and I shifted in my seat. Rose’s feelings about prom were seriously cramping my prank style. In the many years I’d known Rose, I’d never seen her so rattled before.
“Okay, so then what happened?” her mom asked more gently. Rose stubbornly set her jaw.
Pivoting slowly on his sneakered heel, my dad looked at me. Pointedly.
I sighed, clomping my boots down onto the linoleum floor with a loud thud. “This nutjob attacked me.”
My dad rolled his eyes. “Clara, give me a break.”
“It’s true! Tell them, Mr. Sinclair!” I twisted around to look at him in the corner.
He cleared his throat. “Well, it does seem like Rose started the fight.”
Mrs. Carver stared at Rose. “Is this true?”
Rose looked straight ahead at a spot on the wall and nodded without saying anything.
“Yeah, you know it’s true,” I said. “She literally tried to take this stupid crown off my head and then we ended up … I dunno, fighting and stuff.”
Mrs. Carver looked at me. “Can you clarify that?” Dang, no wonder Rose was always so precise in her language. And even though I tried to remain cool, being the object of Mrs. Carver’s attention was like having the Eye of Freaking Sauron on you.
“We fought.”
“Physically?” she asked, her voice a little more high-pitched this time.
“Yup. Your daughter sure knows how to fight dirty.”
My dad poked me. “Watch it.” He looked over at Rose’s parents, his face a mask of deep shame for having me as a child. “Listen, I’m sure it was all Clara’s fault. She pulled that Carrie stunt to provoke people, which is exactly what happened. She can take full responsibility.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
But Mrs. Carver was already shaking her head. “No, Rose is to blame, too, for losing her cool.” She turned to Rose again. “We’re having a little discussion later.”
Principal Sepulveda raised her hands. “Both of the girls are at fault here. Clara, you pulled another crazy stunt that was not only … disturbing, but dangerous, with the fake blood. Which happened to be flammable.” My dad dropped his head and shook it. Principal Sepulveda looked over at Rose. “Rose, you started a fight. And all those things added up to almost burning down the cafeteria. You are both suspended for a week.”
“Suspended?” Rose cried, jumping out of her seat. “I cannot be suspended! This is ridiculous!”
“YOU. STARTED. A. FIRE!”
Principal Sepulveda’s booming voice startled us, and I let out an involuntary nervous laugh. Everyone’s heads swiveled toward me.
My dad stared at me with an unrecognizable stony expression. Something had transformed since he walked in—his typical loose, relaxed demeanor had solidified into something tougher, more stern. “This one isn’t going to learn anything from another suspension,” he said calmly.
Pardon? This one?! I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand. “Quiet. Not another word. You’re going to pay back the damages for the cafeteria. And you’re going to do it by working the KoBra. All summer.”
“WHAT!” This time it was my turn to jump out of my seat. “There’s no freaking way. What about Tulum?” I sputtered to my dad, standing directly in front of him.
But Pai shook his head, resolute. “This is what a punishment is. All your wages from this summer will go toward paying back the school.”
Before I could respond, Mr. Carver snapped his fingers together, the sound reverberating through the room li
ke a firecracker. “Wait! The KoBra? You mean the Brazilian Korean food truck?”
My dad blinked. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Are you the owner?” Mr. Carver asked, excitement propelling him as he stepped across the room toward us.
“Yeah, hi. Adrian Shin,” my dad said, holding out a hand. Mr. Carver shook it firmly. He was so tall that my dad looked twelve next to him.
Mr. Carver couldn’t stop grinning. “Jonathan Carver. Call me Jon. Amazing! Man, I love your food. I used to work downtown, at the bank building on Sixth, where you’d come by.”
My dad’s face lit up. “Oh wait! Yes, I recognize you. Kimchi pastel?”
“You got it!” The two laughed like old golf buddies.
I made a face. “Can we bromance later?”
Mr. Carver looked at me, and then a shrewd expression came over his features. “Adrian. Do you think Clara will need an extra hand this summer?”
My dad’s lopsided grin, which usually charmed everyone around him, sent a legit chill down my spine. “Yeah … she could definitely use a hand.” They both looked over at Rose, who was fanning her face.
She stopped and stared at them. “What?”
Her dad pointed at her. “If Adrian is cool with it, you’re also working for the KoBra this summer.”
Rose froze. “Huh?!” she screeched, arms outstretched.
“You heard me. You’ve been busy with summer school and internships since sixth grade—it’s time you learned how to work a good old-fashioned summer job. Minimum wage.” He looked for confirmation at my dad, who nodded.
Rose’s mom looked like she was going to protest, but Mr. Carver sent her some spousal-telepathy signal. She nodded her head slowly and said, “That’s a great idea. All the money you two earn will go to paying back the school. How does that sound to you, Principal Sepulveda?”
I was too stunned to speak. What was happening? Principal Sepulveda and our parents talked in a huddle, and Rose and I just stood there, helpless to our fates.
“Am I still suspended?” Rose asked, hands on her hips. “Hello?”
But they were absorbed in their conversation. I kicked the chair I had been sitting in, making it wobble but not fall over. Everyone ignored me.
The grown-up pack finally broke up, everyone looking satisfied. Principal Sepulveda pulled on her jacket. “All right, girls. Your parents have convinced me to hold off your suspensions since there are only two weeks left of school. If you work all summer to help us pay for the damages, we can revisit this in the fall when school starts.”
Rose looked relieved, but I wasn’t. “Just give me the suspension! Leave me out of this UN deal!” I cried.
Principal Sepulveda chuckled. “It’s going to be an interesting summer, Clara.”
I looked helplessly at my dad, whose grim expression wasn’t changing. He turned his back to me and headed toward the door. When I looked over at Rose, our eyes met. I scowled, and a spark of hate ignited in her eyes before she swept out of the room with a flourish, her skirt twirling around her.
This is some nonsense you’ve started, Rose Carver. Ready your body for the worst summer of your life.
CHAPTER 5
My dad grounded me for the last two weeks of school. I was forbidden to see Patrick and Felix outside of Elysian. They found that hilarious. I’d go to school then head straight home.
“What about Tulum?” Patrick had asked when I told them about my summer sentence. I swear he was more invested in my Tulum trip than I was. Patrick and Felix were kind of enamored of my mom. My mom’s life was, in general, #goals. Sometimes the only thing that got me through high school was knowing that a life like my mom’s was possible. Although she technically lived in São Paulo, she was barely home—never staying in one place long enough to get bored or bogged down by complicated relationships. If someone’s life could be a role model for us, it was hers.
I had assured Patrick there was no way my dad would hold me to this for the entire summer. He would cave, because that’s what he always did. Especially this year, when I wouldn’t get to see my mom as much as I usually did. Despite her schedule, my mom always made sure to show up for my birthday and the holidays. And I always got to visit her twice a year, usually in New York or some other big city. But last Christmas she was sick and stuck in Thailand, and I hadn’t been able to make it out to visit her during spring break because of a visit from my grandparents. So there was no way my dad could make me skip yet another visit with her.
With this in mind, I played along with the punishment. While grounded, I didn’t sneak out, especially since my next-door neighbor Mr. Ramirez would have snitched on me in a second. Mr. Ramirez basically lived by his front window. He was the first person to catch me drinking, with a boy over, and sneaking out of my bedroom window. I thought people like him only existed in 1950s suburbs.
So the last two weeks of school was Netflix and chill. Literally.
And every single day that passed was filled with more dread than the day before because I knew it brought me closer to my KoBra prison sentence with Rose. Even though I was sure this entire punishment would end prematurely, the thought of spending any time with her made me want to puke.
* * *
The first Monday of summer break, I woke up to the blinds snapping open and sunlight flooding my room. “Bom dia, daughter!” my dad announced cheerfully, sipping from a giant thermos of coffee.
“No!” I yelled, throwing my pillow at him.
He knocked it out of the way with a soft punch. “Yes.”
When my eyes adjusted to the ungodly amount of light, I saw my dad holding up a KoBra T-shirt and a matching cap. I groaned. “I’m not wearing that.”
“I’m sorry, do you think you have a choice in the matter?”
In this light, my dad looked like a merch-wielding devil-angel—the sunlight haloed around him majestically.
“What time is it?” I grumbled, grasping for my phone on my nightstand.
He took another sip. “Six a.m. We have to replenish our ingredients today, so it’s an early one.”
Ugh.
After dragging out my morning routine for as long as humanly possible, I met my dad downstairs in the kitchen, where he was making fried-egg sandwiches.
“So, I can’t believe you’re actually making me do this.” I set my elbows onto the kitchen counter, my feet kicking at the stool rung.
He cracked an egg over a cast-iron skillet, and it sizzled loudly. “Believe it.”
“You’re being so weird. Since when do you punish me?”
Pai looked up from the stove and leveled his gaze at me. The seriousness of his expression unsettled me. “You know, Shorty. That question itself is kind of a problem, don’t you think?”
“No,” I muttered while taking a sip of the milky Masala chai that my dad made. It was usually the only breakfast I had—Indian tea made with spices in a stained and chipped Dodgers mug as big as my head.
“It’s a problem because I am your dad.” He leaned against the counter. “Something happened while I was in that principal’s office. Rose’s parents? They acted like parents. And I was … embarrassed.”
The tea burned my tongue, and I put it down. “That’s nuts.”
“No, actually, it’s not. I know I was a little punk in school, but I had my reasons. My parents and I—the gap between us was, like, catastrophic. You and I, Clara? We don’t have that problem. There’s no good reason why you should get into so much trouble. The only reason is that I’ve been slacking, trying not to be overbearing like my parents were. But it’s clearly backfired. I’ve been getting my act together for the KoBra, but not with you.”
My dad talking like this made me feel itchy, and I looked beyond him, at a spot on the kitchen wall.
He plopped an egg sandwich in front of me. “I’m not slacking anymore. And it’s starting with breakfast. Eat up.” I wrinkled my nose and lifted the corner of the whole wheat bread. Sriracha mayo.
I sniffed. “Fin
e.” With every gulp, unease filled me in incremental doses. My dad’s moment of enlightenment didn’t bode well for my plan to get out of this punishment. Pai had told me he would e-mail my mom, but I hadn’t heard from her, so it was most likely an empty threat. Or she didn’t believe him. They didn’t get along, and I knew my mom thought my dad was kind of a nag.
Once I finished the dishes, we headed out. My dad was locking the door when Mr. Ramirez’s curtain flicked open and his face peeked through. “Good morning!” I said loudly. He cringed and closed the curtain.
“Remind me to bring him some food tonight as a thank-you,” my dad said with a sly grin as he shut the screen door.
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to poison it.”
We headed down the steps and said hello to the occasional neighbor on the way out of our complex. It was small, holding only twelve units arranged around a courtyard.
“Good morning, Adrian!” Mrs. Mishra called out as she watered her roses in a lavender Juicy Couture sweats combo. She glared at me. “Clara.”
I glared back at the little old Indian lady. “Mrs. Mishra.” The hose got an extra glare. A couple of years ago she had seen me making out with my boyfriend and drawn that same exact hose on us.
My entire apartment complex was basically a bunch of old-people narcs. Good thing there were only a few things that would actually piss my dad off: boyfriends in the apartment, drugs, and being a jerk to elders. Being a jerk to jerks was sanctioned, but old people were off-limits. My dad asked for very little, and I was pretty good at avoiding any of his major no-no’s. So this sudden, very strict grounding and his forcing me to have a summer job was something new. I hoped it wasn’t an alarming trend.
It was still early enough in the morning that there was a chill in the air. Our summers were brutal scorchers that lasted until Thanksgiving, but the evenings and mornings were almost always cool no matter how hot the day. I hugged my sweatshirt tighter around me as I kept in step with my dad. The parking lot where the KoBra lived, called the commissary, was a few blocks away from our apartment, and Rose was going to meet us there.