by Jean Kwok
I pulled up my sweater as she took out a tape measure. I was embarrassed by my homemade undershirt, but at least this one didn’t have any holes in it. If the woman noticed, she didn’t say anything. I stared at the ground as she wrapped the tape measure around my chest.
“Thirty triple A,” she announced. The whole store could have heard her. She took a cardboard box out of a display and gave it to me. “You wanna try it on?”
“No, thank you.”
I grabbed the box, Ma and I paid fast, and we left.
When I tried the bra on at home, I saw it was only a piece of flat cotton, but when I put it on, it looked like what some of the other girls had been wearing.
But the new underwear came too late. The teasing had already begun and borne by its own momentum like a speeding train, it continued.
The complexities of these kids were beyond me, and I thought about telling Annette. She and I talked every day on the bus and at lunch, but she babbled about her classes and the kids who shared them with her, telling me often that none of them were as nice or smart as I was. Most of our talks consisted of my reassuring her that one boy or another didn’t hate her. She didn’t notice that I rarely said anything about myself, but I didn’t blame her for this. The truth was, I enjoyed not talking about myself. It was such a relief to be in her world and, by my silence, pretend I shared it. I didn’t want her to know what a hard time I was having.
I brought it up at my tutoring session with Kerry and she’d looked thoughtful.
“That is really not okay,” she said. “You should tell the teachers.”
I worried that if I complained, the school would see me as a problem and regret letting me come. And in Hong Kong at least, the teachers would ask the parents of the kids involved to talk to each other, and how could Ma possibly stand up against Greg’s parents?
I finally decided to ask Matt at the factory.
“I need your help,” I said.
“You know I’m the boss,” Matt said.
“There are kids at school who pick on me.” I was ashamed to have to admit this. “I want them to stop.”
His golden eyes were kind. “That’s not right. Some idiots tried that on me and Park too.” Now, his grin faded.
“What did you do?”
“I fought the leader. But that’s not a good solution for a girl.”
“I was in a fight once, with the biggest boy in my class.”
“You? Miss Skinny Arms?”
“Okay, it wasn’t much of a fight. It turned out he actually liked me.”
“Maybe that’s what’s happening now.”
“Oh no. Absolutely not.” Then I smiled. I was sure Greg did not have a crush on me, but Matt had still given me an idea.
And so I waited until the next gym class. Up to the last moment, I wasn’t sure if I would be brave enough to see my plan through. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I paused in the doorway of the huge indoor hall, then walked up to where he was standing in the midst of all his friends. “Greg.”
Hardly any of these kids had ever heard me speak at all, and certainly not directly to them. Everyone quieted down.
Greg looked at me.
Despite my trembling legs, I smiled as kindly as I could. “I’m very sorry.”
He looked confused and also the tiniest bit ashamed. He probably knew he should have been the one apologizing. “For what?”
“You keep try to get my attention but I just not like you in that way.” Then I reached up to give him what I hoped would look like a patronizing kiss on the cheek. I missed in my nervousness, though, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth instead, which must have made my performance more convincing to all of the spectators. Despite his bravado, Greg was also only twelve years old at the time, and he was so shocked by my kiss that he started to sputter violently, as if he’d been stung by a hive of bees, and all of the skin that was visible in between his freckles flushed a dark red.
I was still unaccustomed to the vivid colors that white people could turn and he scared me so much that I sprang backward, but by this time the entire hall had exploded in laughter.
“Greg’s got a crush on Kimberly, Greg’s got a crush on Kimberly,” the boys chanted.
“Oh, come on,” he finally got out, but he was touching his lower lip with his finger—I think out of surprise—and it only made the teasing worse.
“Still feeling the kiss?” Curt asked with a wicked smile.
I don’t know how many of the kids actually believed me and how many simply took the opportunity to get back at Greg, who’d been hurtful to almost everyone at one point or another, but this turned the tide. He started avoiding me, and the teasing stopped soon after that.
As much as I tried to avoid her, I crossed paths with Aunt Paula one day as I entered the factory. I was still in my Harrison clothes and she looked me over with speculation. I greeted her, then hurried into the bathroom to change.
Later, she came over to our workstation.
“Big sister,” Ma said, worried. It wasn’t time for the usual quality inspection yet. “Is there something wrong?”
“Of course not,” Aunt Paula said. “I was just thinking that it has been so long since you’ve eaten rice at our house.” Rice meant dinner. “Why don’t I have Uncle Bob pick you up on Sunday?”
Ma tried to hide her surprise at this generosity. Since we moved into our own place more than a year before, Aunt Paula had invited us to her house only once. “You give us so much face.”
“No, no. And let Kimberly wear something nice, maybe her school outfit.”
Now I was surprised as well. After Aunt Paula left, I turned to Ma. “I thought she was so angry that I was going to Harrison Prep.”
Ma thought for a moment. “Aunt Paula isn’t one to fight against things she cannot change. She’s too practical for that.”
“So she isn’t upset anymore?”
“I didn’t say that. You must be very small-hearted when we are at their house.” Ma was telling me I should be careful. “You must be humble.”
“If Aunt Paula is still calculating-self, why did she invite us over?” Calculating-self means jealous.
Ma sighed. “Ah-Kim, you are not supposed to ask such direct questions. That does not befit a well-behaved Chinese girl.”
“I just want to understand so I know how to act there.”
Ma hesitated, then decided to answer. “If Aunt Paula cannot alter something, then she will see how it can best benefit her and her family.”
I finally had it. “Nelson. She wants me to set a good example for him.”
Ma nodded. “Be nice to him.”
Aunt Paula’s house was deliciously warm. I found myself lingering by the radiator in the living room.
Nelson noticed me there and sauntered over. He was wearing his school uniform too, a dark green blazer and tan pants—and then I knew. We were both in our school clothes because Aunt Paula wanted to show off the fact that Nelson was in private school too. She’d made me wear my outfit so that he could wear his.
Nelson spoke softly so the adults wouldn’t hear. “When you see our home, your eyes glow red, don’t they?”
Nelson could never out-insult me, and certainly not in Chinese. I patted his arm. “What a pity your mind is like a cowhide lantern. No matter how often you try to light it, it will never be bright.”
Aunt Paula’s voice from the kitchen interrupted us. “Time to eat rice!”
We were all crowded around their table: Uncle Bob, Godfrey, Nelson, Aunt Paula, Ma and me. The table was loaded with delicacies like stir-fried shrimp with lichee nuts, steamed peppers stuffed with meat, and a whole sea bass poached with ginger and scallions.
“You’re serving us a golden dragon on a platter,” Ma said. My aunt had gone to elaborate lengths.
She had never made such an effort for us before, and I could see that our status in her mind had been raised. It wasn’t just that she was impressed by my achievements, though. I u
nderstood her well enough to know it couldn’t be that simple. Perhaps she realized I could become more of a threat to her now, and that she ought to treat Ma and me a bit better, just in case.
Over dinner, Aunt Paula wanted to know all of my standardized test scores and how exactly I had managed to get into Harrison Prep. I gave her a general impression of what had happened, leaving out most of the details.
“And what are your grades like, now that you’re at such an exclusive school?” she asked.
I stared at my bowl of rice. “The classes aren’t so easy.”
“Really? For such a smart girl?”
“I got a hundred on my last English test,” Nelson interjected. “What did you get?”
I had just put a lichee nut in my mouth, and I bit down so hard on my chopsticks I could feel my teeth imprint on the wood. “Nelson, we don’t even go to the same school.”
“I know. So what did you get?” he said.
I was ashamed but I had to be honest. “A sixty-seven.”
Nelson beamed. Uncle Bob paused in the middle of feeding Godfrey a spoonful of rice.
“Aaah.” Aunt Paula breathed out. There was relief and satisfaction in her sigh. Obviously, her wish for me to be unsuccessful was greater than her desire to use me to inspire Nelson.
Ma’s forehead was furrowed. She had never heard of me receiving such a score before. “You didn’t tell me that, ah-Kim.”
“It’s all right, Ma,” I said. “I’m working as hard as I can.”
“You must be careful with your scholarship, Kimberly,” Aunt Paula said, though I knew she would be glad if I actually lost the money. “You wouldn’t want to be disqualified.”
“I know,” I said. This was a secret worry of mine and I hadn’t wanted to share it with Ma. Of course Nelson and Aunt Paula had exposed me. I looked Aunt Paula in the eye. “I’m at the factory until so late, I don’t have much time to study.”
Ma interrupted us. “You can release your heart, older sister.” This meant that Aunt Paula didn’t need to worry. “Ah-Kim always tries her best in everything. Do take another piece of stuffed pepper.” She speared a piece with her chopsticks and put it in Aunt Paula’s bowl, while staring at me to be quiet.
I obeyed and Ma changed the subject.
Annette was having a hard time fitting in at Harrison too, although not in the same way I was. She came from an affluent family like most of the other kids, but she was too funny-looking and outspoken to fit in easily. Every morning on the bus I saved the seat next to me, and as soon as she boarded, we would spend the rest of the ride talking about our classes and the boys Annette thought were cute. I didn’t care for any boys. I was too busy struggling to keep up in my classes, and the boys in my class only seemed to be interested in playing around and teasing the girls.
The brown-haired girl, Tammy, glanced over at us sometimes on the bus, and in class she sat next to me once in a while.
“I tried to call you for the homework yesterday,” she whispered to me once in Math. “But I couldn’t find your number in the school directory.”
“Our phone number changed,” I said. These were the same lies that I had used with Annette until she stopped asking.
“What’s your new number? I’ll write it down.”
“Now we have a problem with the line. They are working on the road outside.”
“Oh.” Tammy looked at me strangely. After that, she sat more often with Sheryl, Greg and their group of friends.
I paid attention to everything my English tutor Kerry taught me, and she told me that she’d never seen anyone improve so fast. I knew there was still a long way for me to go, though, and I studied English in all of my spare time.
By the second semester of seventh grade, I had more trouble understanding my fellow students than I did my teachers. The combination of the kids’ use of slang and my lack of cultural context made their discussions bewildering. One day, I thought I’d found an opportunity to learn something about religion when I heard Curt, sitting at the end of the cafeteria table, talking about the afterlife.
I wasn’t really listening at the beginning because Annette had been chattering to me but I caught a few of Curt’s words like, “. . . Pearly Gates . . . nun meets Saint Peter . . . he says . . . Sister, life you led . . . go back to earth.”
I paid more attention then because I was interested in their faith. I hadn’t expected Curt to be so thoughtful.
Curt continued speaking. “‘I’d like to be Sara Pipeline in another life,’ the nun said. She pulled out a newspaper article and gave it to Saint Peter.
“He read it, then said, ‘No, dear, it was the Sahara Pipeline that got laid by fourteen hundred men in six months.’ ”
From the way the other boys laughed especially loudly, as if showing off their comprehension, I saw that what I’d thought was a spiritual discussion had actually been a dirty joke. I had no idea what in the world the Sahara Pipeline had to do with a nun, or how a pipeline could be dirty in a sexual sense. Annette had kept on talking the entire time so I couldn’t ask her about it without exposing the fact that I’d been distracted away from her.
Despite all of this, however, I was thrilled to go to Harrison Prep every day. When I left our graffiti-covered area in Brooklyn and arrived at school, with its green lawns and birds circling overhead, I felt like I had gone to paradise.
It was also a relief not to have “fun” assignments like dioramas and posters anymore. Instead, my assignments were tests and papers, which were easier and didn’t require any extra materials. I sometimes still missed the teachers’ sentences in class, but it mattered less because much schoolwork was based on reading I’d done at home, so I already had some background knowledge. When I made mistakes in my writing, the teachers were kind.
My teachers graded my English skills only by my improvement and not by how I compared with my classmates, who were all native speakers. Some teachers actually corrected the mistakes in my writing, which helped me enormously.
Mr. Jamali was rarely in the library itself when I was working, although I always knew I could find him in his office upstairs or at the theater if I needed him. Sometimes, though, he would suddenly appear behind my shoulder. When he found me studying books like How to Improve Your Vocabulary in 90 Days, Mr. Jamali started giving me old books and magazines the library threw away. They were a random assortment: Philosophy Through the Ages, Moll Flanders, The Wonders of Your Own Window Garden. I read them all and kept them in a pile by our nonworking radiator in the apartment.
By the end of the year, I had managed to do decently in most of my classes except for Social Studies, and Mr. Scoggins allowed me to write an extra paper to make up for the current events quizzes I’d failed. I hadn’t lost my scholarship and slowly, my talent for school was beginning to reassert itself. However, Ma and I were careful not to tell Aunt Paula.
When eighth grade began, the school told me I didn’t need an English tutor anymore. I would miss having someone like Kerry to advise me, but I took it for what it was: a compliment. My English had improved. In other ways, though, I still lived in a different world. Most of the kids in my homeroom were the same as from the previous year, but I didn’t really know them. As they participated in whole new activities and developed social lives after school, I could only observe. They were in plays, did lacrosse, basketball, tennis; there were football games and a whole group solely devoted to cheering. I overheard them enough to know that they also started going out places in groups at night. But what struck me most was how relaxed and happy the other kids all seemed together. I often saw Tammy laughing along with her friends, although she continued to be nice to me as well. Curt and Sheryl, the two coolest kids in the grade, flirted with each other like crazy, for the rest of us to see.
The other girls (with the exception of Annette, who thought Sheryl was shallow) regarded Sheryl with admiration and envy. When she pushed the limits of the dress code and came in with her skirt rolled up to mid-thigh, many of the other
girls did the same within a week, flashing their pale legs. And as for Curt, he just seemed to glow with promise. It wasn’t that he was so handsome, but the way he wore the knowledge that he was someone special.
In a way, I gave myself the excuse of not even trying to get close to the others because I knew I couldn’t be a part of their lives. I still had my responsibilities at the factory, but even without that, Ma wouldn’t have allowed me to go out anyway. That wasn’t what nice Chinese girls from her background did.
At the beginning of one lunch period, I happened to be walking down the hallway a bit behind Greg and a group of his friends, including Tammy.
“You going to Rocky Horror tonight?” Greg asked Tammy.
“Sure,” she said. “You guys could meet at my place beforehand, if you want.” To my surprise, she turned and smiled at me over her shoulder. “Do you want to come too, Kimberly?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, stalling for time. I knew I couldn’t go, but I wanted to pretend it was a possibility. “What time you are meeting?”
She glanced at Greg, who looked as shocked by her inclusion of me as I felt. “Around eleven, I guess?”
I blinked. Didn’t we have school at eleven o’clock in the morning? Luckily, I didn’t say anything to reveal my ignorance, because then Tammy continued, “It’ll take us less than half an hour to get to the city, so we’ll have plenty of time to make it to the Village by midnight.”
“No, let’s meet earlier. I can get some bears,” Greg said.
While they discussed the logistics of their evening, my mind whirled. A show that started at midnight. And some bears? Then I realized he had to mean the alcoholic drink, beer.
When I finally looked up, Tammy was saying something to me again. “So, can you make it?”
“It is not a problem for your parents?” I blurted out the question in my thoughts. “Beer?”
She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “My parents are divorced. I live with my dad. He’s out a lot, and almost anything goes, anyway.”