Parachutes

by Kelly Yang

  “Or maybe his phone got hacked,” adds Florence. “That happened to my dad once.”

  Jess glances at her but doesn’t say anything. I know she’s still processing Florence’s “situation,” but our friendship is so much stronger than labels. I smile and reach my hand out for a piece of gum from Nancy.

  After lunch, Nancy and Jess hurry back to class while I linger behind and walk with Florence.

  “Hey, I just wanted to say . . . I’m here for you,” I tell her.

  Florence grips her MCM backpack as she walks.

  “If there’s ever anything else you wanted to talk about,” I say.

  Florence stops walking. “Did Dani say something to you?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  I look around at the crowd of parachutes walking next to us and pull her into an empty staircase.

  “I saw you guys the other day,” I say to her when we’re alone.

  Florence’s face starts reddening. “OMG . . .”

  “No, it’s okay. I think it’s great,” I reassure her. “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell us.”

  Florence removes her backpack and takes a seat on the stairs. I sit down beside her. She reaches into her backpack for tissues.

  “I didn’t know how you guys would react,” she says, tearing up. “You don’t know what the last sixteen years have been like for me.” She dabs her eyes. “And I finally felt . . . like I belonged. Like I was part of this club. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

  “You’re not going to lose that,” I promise her, reaching over and hugging her tight.

  Florence grips my arm with her hand. “I just didn’t want it to get out . . . didn’t want to give my parents another reason to hide me, you know?”

  “Oh, Florence,” I say. As we hold each other, I tell Florence about my dad’s own infidelity.

  Florence hands me a tissue. “Who’s your dad?” she asks, joking. “Maybe we’re sisters.”

  I laugh through my tears.

  “We can check when he comes in two weeks.”

  “Your dad’s coming?”

  Florence nods. She says both her parents will be here for the spring concert. Her mom twisted her dad’s arm, saying there’s no chance he’ll bump into any of his colleagues here.

  “I’m kind of nervous. It’s their first time appearing at a school function together . . . ,” she confesses.

  I hug her and promise her everything will be fine. We stay in the staircase trading stories, long after the bell has rung and the hallways have emptied.

  After school, I Uber over to Jay’s. His door is unlocked and I let myself in. I find him in the downstairs study, watching random YouTube videos on cage fighting.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He clicks Pause on his computer. “Oh, hey,” he says. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your mom’s thing.”

  He says it like it’s an informal get-together at his dentist’s office rather than a sit-down dinner with my mom.

  “Where were you?” I ask, trying to keep my cool, even as the thunder goes off inside me. “I tried calling and texting you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, distractedly, turning back to YouTube. “I was at a friend’s.”

  He knew? And he didn’t pick up? I don’t know whether to be impressed with his honesty or offended that he doesn’t at least lie and say his phone was dead.

  “What friend?” I ask, getting out my phone and going to Insta. “A boy or a girl?”

  Jay clicks off YouTube. “What does it matter?” He shrugs. “We’re just friends.”

  So a girl then. “What’s her name?” I ask, scrolling through his many followers.

  Jay swirls in his chair and frowns at me. “Stop,” he says to me. “Don’t get all psycho on me.”

  My mouth hangs open. I can’t believe he just said that. I turn to leave.

  Jay calls after me. “Wait, Claire, stop—!” he says, but it’s too late. I’m already out the door.

  Jay comes up to me at school on Monday and pulls me aside. I had texted him last night saying, I think we need to take a break.

  “Please don’t do this,” he says. He puts his arms around me. Everyone is staring at us. Jess, Nancy, and Florence try to usher us into an empty classroom, but my feet remain stubbornly glued to the pavement. Jay seems oblivious to the many eyeballs on us and talks to me as if we’re the only two people in the courtyard.

  “Claire, I’m sorry,” he says. “But you’re the one who’s always making me wait. And I got mad.”

  Jess covers her eyes with her arm, like this is too much to watch.

  He pulls me in for another hug. “Please, Claire,” he says. I feel his neediness in his voice, his hands, the way they grip my back.

  I break free from his grasp and walk away.

  At lunch, he stares at me from across the cafeteria.

  “Look at him,” Nancy says, popping a carrot into her mouth. “It’s like he’s undressing you with his eyes.”

  “Yeah, well, he certainly didn’t undress her with his hands,” Jess says, giggling.

  I smack her arm lightly. “Stop.”

  The girls turn to me, all wide-eyed. “Is it true you didn’t put out?” Nancy asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

  “Leave her alone,” Florence says, casting the others a firm look. “It’s her body and her sexuality.”

  Despite what Florence says, Nancy gazes over at Jay and sighs, “Poor guy.”

  As I look around, the entire cafeteria of parachutes is making sad, puppy-dog faces at Jay.

  Jess suggests we go do karaoke to take my mind off things. After school, we pile into Jess’s Porsche and drive over to Monterey Park, where she knows a great karaoke bar with private rooms and soft white leather couches.

  The owner greets us warmly, showing us into a VIP room. We order food and drinks off the menu as we choose our songs.

  As Nancy and Florence sing, Jess bumps her knee into mine and asks me how I’m feeling. I shake my head. To be honest, I miss him. I keep thinking about our weekend in Newport, how he was so patient with me, so nice he even taught me how to drive. We were so good then. What happened?

  A tear trickles down my cheek.

  “I’m sorry, boo,” Jess says, hugging me and giving me a tissue.

  Nancy and Florence stop singing and wrap their arms around me too. Gently Florence reaches for my phone on the table.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to call him?” she asks. “Sometimes when my girlfriend and I get into a fight, talking it out helps.”

  Jess stares at her.

  “I mean boyfriend,” Florence quickly corrects. “From before. Like in China.”

  I look down longingly at the phone, debating.

  “Call him,” the girls urge. Before I know it, my hands are on my phone and I’m scrolling my contacts. I listen while it rings and rings. The girls huddle beside me. With each ring, I feel the words in my heart hardening, like a bulb that could have grown into something but now lies as shriveled as a toasted seed.

  And then I hear it. The phone’s ringing. In the room.

  I look up. It’s Jay. He’s standing in the middle of the karaoke bar.

  Florence, Jess, and Nancy look equally shocked. “We’ll give you two some privacy,” they say, and leave us.

  Jay walks over to me.

  “I’m sorry, I messed up,” he says, taking my hand in his.

  Cautiously, I look up at him.

  “I need you,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Jay searches for the words. “You’re not like the other girls. You’re the only one who sees beyond all this crap.” He waves his hand at the crystal chandelier hanging above the opulent karaoke bar. He pulls me into his arms and says, “You see me.”

  But do you see me? I want to ask. I needed you to text me back that night.

  He kisses me lightly on the lips. “Don’t you see what
you do to me?” he asks. “I’m crazy about you.”

  He rubs my runny mascara with his finger. As he hugs me tight, he breathes into my hair, “Please, Claire, I’m sorry. Give me another chance.”

  Fifty-Four

  Dani

  Zach calls me while I’m cleaning, says he needs help with his history homework. He can’t wait until Friday, when I’m supposed to tutor him. I’m in one of the houses in North Hills.

  “Where are you? Can I swing by?” Zach offers.

  “Um . . .” I glance around the big, empty house. Ming’s at extra violin practice for her solo, so it’s just me cleaning. “Okay.” I give him the address.

  Twenty minutes later, I answer the door in my maid’s uniform. Zach’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.

  “I feel like I’m stepping into a porno . . . ,” he jokes.

  I jab him lightly in the ribs and pull him inside before any of the neighbors see us. Zach puts his backpack down and whistles at the size of the house.

  “Hot damn,” he says, marveling at the size of the pool.

  He follows me up the stairs to the bedrooms. While I change the sheets, he asks me questions about American history. The time goes by faster with him here. Zach helps me tuck in the sheets and gets extra rolls of toilet paper for me from the downstairs supply closet. He asks me how debate’s going.

  “Not well,” I mutter. I can’t believe my teammates put a fake hand in my locker. It’s bad enough they changed practice on me. And the shit that they wrote? I’m tempted to skip the rest of the training sessions altogether. Lately, I’ve been wondering whether I should even go to Snider. “Sometimes I think about quitting. . . .”

  “You can’t quit!” Zach protests. “Then they’ll win!”

  I look over at him as I smooth the sheets. It’s nice how much he cares, though he still doesn’t know the full extent of it. He just thinks my teammates are all cheating. He doesn’t know what Mr. Connelly did.

  “Hang in there,” he urges, throwing the comforter on the bed. “Snider’s in what? Like three weeks?”

  I nod, taking a deep breath. I remind myself there’s quiet bravery in staying on the team. It’s not selling out.

  I climb onto the bed and carefully arrange the half-dozen pillows.

  “Why do rich people need so many pillows?” Zach chuckles. He looks out the double glass doors of the bedroom terrace at the trees and sparkling-blue pool below. “Man, can you imagine how different our lives would be if we lived in a place like this?”

  “That’d be sick,” I say.

  Zach gets up and starts strolling through the house. “My mom would sleep right there,” he says, pointing at the master bedroom, which has its own Jacuzzi. I follow him as he walks down the hallway, amused. “Home theater system in this room so I can watch the game with the guys,” he says, pointing to another bedroom.

  I chuckle. “I’d make this my debate-prep room,” I say. Zach flashes me a thumbs-up. We continue walking.

  “Gym!” he calls out when we pass the upstairs study, grinning as he runs a finger up and down his chest. “Gotta keep the ladies happy!”

  I pause. Zach sees my face and is quick to reassure me. “Hey, don’t worry. You’re going to have a bunch of guys lined up to date you too,” he assures me.

  I don’t want a bunch of guys. I only want one.

  Claire calls me later from her boyfriend’s, whom I’ve still not met. I know he drives a Lamborghini. But he never comes in. He just drives up, texts her, and waits in the car.

  “What’s up?” I ask Claire, scrolling through my email. A bunch of private schools got back to me, unfortunately none of them have a scholarship spot open at this time.

  Claire says in a hushed voice, “Hey, can you come over? I need you to bring me my makeup bag and . . . some tampons. I don’t want to have to run out and get some. That’s so embarrassing.”

  Isn’t it tragic that for all we’ve advanced, girls are still embarrassed by their menstrual cycles? I close my laptop.

  “No prob,” I say. “I’ll be right there.”

  I put her stuff together in a bag and catch the bus. As the bus inches up Mount Diablo Lane in North Hills, I gaze out the window at the familiar palm trees and perfectly manicured lawns. I’ve cleaned so many houses on this street.

  The bus drops me off, and I walk up the steep driveway to the address Claire gave me. It isn’t until I walk up the steps to ring the doorbell and nearly trip on a small dragon statue that my stomach plunges.

  Oh. My. God. This is the house where Ming and I walked in on the guy having sex!

  The front double doors open, and Claire steps out.

  “You’re here!” She smiles, taking the makeup bag from me. She takes my hand and leads me inside. “Come meet Jay.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s okay . . . ,” I say, but she drags me toward him.

  Claire’s boyfriend walks down from the top of the spiraling staircase. It’s him! I didn’t get a good look at him that day—I was too busy trying to shield my eyes from all the skin—but judging from the way he’s staring now, he recognizes me.

  “Jay, this is Dani, my roommate,” Claire says. “She just came to drop some stuff off for me. Can you give her a ride home?”

  “No, it’s okay. I can just take the bus,” I say.

  “Nonsense,” Jay insists, and grabs his keys. “I’ll take you.”

  Reluctantly, I follow him to his car. He waits until Claire’s back inside the house before confronting me. “You better not say a word to her,” he says. His tone is assertive, all power and privilege, and I cross my arms. My turn for cross-examination.

  “Who was that girl?” I ask him.

  “She’s nobody!” he exclaims, face reddening. “Look, if you tell Claire, she’s just going to freak out. And anyway, I wasn’t serious!”

  “Oh bullshit, you wanted a threesome,” I snap. Or a foursome. Whatever the technical term would be. Cautiously, I look at him. “Have you had them before, threesomes?”

  His pause says it all. Jay reaches for his wallet. “What’s it going to take?” he asks.

  It’s infuriating that he thinks he can buy my silence. “I don’t want your money!”

  He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was just joking around that day. It was the uniform! I didn’t really want you and your friend to sleep with me.” He looks me up and down. “No offense, but you’re not exactly my type.”

  What. An. Ass.

  “Please don’t tell her,” he begs. “Claire and I are very happy together.”

  “Who was the girl?” I ask him again.

  “Just some girl I hook up with from time to time,” he says with a shrug.

  From time to time?

  “But it’s over now!” he swears.

  I side-eye him, trying to decide if I believe him. I gaze back at the house toward Claire. “An essential part of a happy relationship is honesty and communication,” I remind him.

  He scoffs and throws back at me, “An essential part of being a good maid is discretion.”

  Fifty-Five

  Claire

  Something’s different after Jay and I get back together. He’s more on edge. I can feel it in the way he jerks away from me now whenever I touch him in the morning, like he doesn’t want to be teased. But I’m not teasing him. I’m working up the courage to take the next step with him. And I feel like I’m ready.

  That night, as we’re kissing in bed, I straddle him in my La Perla bra and panties. Slowly, I move my head down, kissing first his neck, then his chest, then his . . .

  “What are you doing?” Jay asks, sitting up.

  I bite my lips shyly.

  He studies my eyes. “I thought you wanted to wait . . . ,” he says.

  “I do,” I say. I cover my face with the silk comforter, embarrassed, and peek out. “But maybe we can try . . . other things . . . ?”

  Jay smiles. He lies back down and puts both hands behind his head, and I
scooch down on the bed. I’ll admit I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’ve read enough stuff online and seen enough movies. Jay watches me. It turns me on to see him so turned on. He groans as I take him in my hands and part my lips.

  Afterward, we lie side by side in the damp silence. I resist the urge to face him and ask him what’s wrong. I thought it was pretty hot, which was why I was so surprised when barely three minutes into it, he pulled his boxers back on and said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to do that. I’m good.”

  I’m good? What is that supposed to mean? Am I that bad at sex? I pull the covers up over my head, sighing into the night. I can feel his own labored, frustrated breathing next to me. I want to turn to him and ask for editorial comments, just like Ms. Jones always gives us on our writing.

  Instead, I think about the 129 girls on his phone. Who are they and what are they doing with him? He must be doing something, because he just turned down a blow job.

  At school the next day, I tell the girls what happened. Jess offers to give me tutorials with a banana, if it’ll help.

  “I feel like you guys are just in this weird sexual phase,” she says.

  I slump my shoulders forward and look over at Jay, sitting with his friends in the cafeteria. God, I hope they’re not also dissecting what happened. Do guys do that?

  “Maybe you should just have sex with him,” Jess says. “Get it over with!”

  “Yeah,” Nancy jumps in. “I think you’re building it up in your head. It’s too much pressure!”

  I shake my head. I can’t imagine having sex with him now. What if he stops in the middle and says, “I’m good”? I drop my face in my hands.

  “C’mon, it’ll be really hot. You can buy some candles and dress up for him in your sexiest lingerie. . . .”

  “I already did all that,” I say.

  Nancy cocks her head. “And what were his words exactly?”

  I repeat them verbatim to the girls.

  Jess sighs through her teeth, yikes. I put my head down on the table. I wish my mother were here. She’d know what to do. It’d be weird, but she’d tell me exactly what to do to fix this.

  “Maybe he’s just not into BJs?” Florence asks.

  “What guy is not into BJs?” I mutter from behind my arms.