Blue Gold (22 page)

“You look really nice, honey,” said her mom, peering over her glasses from the kitchen table, where she was working at her computer.

“Don't sound so surprised,” remarked Fiona.

“Not surprised.
Impressed
,” she corrected. “Have fun. Back by midnight, right? And call my cell if you need to be picked up. No walking home alone.”

“Check, check, and check,” replied Fiona, heading out the door.

There was a crisp nip of fall in the air as Fiona made the short walk to Lacey's house. The last low rays of the sun turned her figure into a willowy shadow trailing her along the sidewalk, boosting Fiona's confidence in her new look. As she rounded the corner and Lacey's front walk came into view, she saw Megan and Brit out front and picked up her pace, but they both had their cell phones out, cutting up over something, and didn't see her approaching.

“Omigod!” shrieked Megan, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

“So embarrassing!” remarked Brit. “I would
die
!”

“Hey, guys. What's up?” asked Fiona with a curious smile as she reached them.

Megan and Brit looked up, like deer caught in headlights.

“Omigod. Fiona,” said Megan, oozing sympathy.

“Fee, we weren't laughing at you. Honest,” Brit assured her.

“Why would you be laughing at me?” asked Fiona, baffled.

An awkward look passed between Megan and Brit. Brit gave Fiona an ominous look.

“Have you checked Friendjam lately?”

“Not since last night.”

“So you don't know?”

“Know what?”

Brit handed her cell phone to Fiona carefully, as though it could explode at any moment. Fiona looked at the phone in the palm of her hand, and the world stopped—or, at least, Fiona's world. On the tiny screen, Fiona puckered her lips in a pouty, sexy pose, her pajama top pulled up—the boob shot, the one she had thought was just a bad memory. Fiona felt her stomach lurch.

“How many people have seen this?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“That depends,” replied Megan. “How many people are on Friendjam?”

It took Fiona a moment to understand. Then, squeezing the phone's screen image down with her thumb and finger, she saw that the photo had been posted to a Friendjam page. The “share picture with all friends” button flashed at the bottom of the page, like a tiny blinking death star.

“Who sent this?!” she blurted, her mind flooding with questions. Where did it come from? She'd deleted the photo off Ryan's phone. He must have made a copy! She knew he was mad at her, but posting the boob shot was beyond nasty. She looked up the walk to Lacey's house and saw her friends in the front window, talking and partying. Had they all seen her naked? Stupid, useless tears burned in her eyes.
I'm such an idiot for trusting him!
she thought, biting her lower lip to try to make it stop quivering.

“Don't worry about it, Fee,” Brit told her, seeing her about to cry. “I mean, everybody was doing it last year.”

“
I
wasn't,” Megan pointed out with a sharp glance at Brit. “Were you?”

“No,” admitted Brit. “But lots of people were.”

“You mean sluts,” said Fiona.

“No!” insisted Brit, a second too late and a tad too emphatically.

Lacey came running down the walk from the house, having spotted Fiona through the window. She looked gorgeous in a turquoise dress and high-heeled sandals, but the sophisticated effect was spoiled by her snorts of hysterical laughter. She grabbed hold of Fiona's arm.

“Holy crap! Can you believe that douche?”

“Does everybody know?” asked Fiona, suspecting the answer, but still hoping.

On cue, Rick Yee appeared on the front stoop from inside the house.

“Hey, Fiona,” he hollered, “give us a show!”

Just in case Fiona missed his meaning, he hauled up his own shirt to reveal his bare chest. Fiona wished she could disappear.

“C'mon, Fee,” said Lacey, low so only Fiona could hear. There was a sort of imploring desperation in her eyes. “You gotta laugh it off.”

For a moment, Fiona tried to reframe. So what if all of her friends, male and female, had now seen her naked? It wasn't the end of the world. She could see Lacey's point—if she laughed it off, everybody else would, too. In a way, it
was
funny. But then her heart sank. What if her parents found out? She wished she could be the type of girl who didn't care, but she wasn't—and she
did
.

“I have to go,” she told Lacey.

She fled back down the sidewalk. Lacey charged after her, teetering on her high heels.

“Fiona, wait!”

Fiona turned back, tears streaming down her face.

“I've never been so humiliated in my life!” she cried. “Why would he do that to me?”

“Because Ryan's a jerk! If people see you're upset, he wins,” Lacey pleaded with her. “C'mon back. It's a party!”

Fiona shook her head. “Tell everybody I had to go because I'm sick, okay?”

“Like that's going to fool anybody.”

“Then tell them what you want,” Fiona said.

She hurried away, faintly hoping that if she could just get to her room and pull the covers over her head, when she woke up in the morning Friendjam would never have been invented, and she and Ryan never would have met.

 

FIONA REACHED HOME
just as her mother was leaving to meet friends for dinner.

“Why are you home so early?” she asked, alarmed by Fiona's tear-stained face. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” replied Fiona, sniffling.

“Then why are you so upset?” She put down her bag and took off her jacket. Fiona knew that look on her face, ready to take on the world to defend her little girl.
This is a job for Supermom!
she used to joke when Fiona was little and came home crying over something mean another kid had said at school. Only this time there was nothing Super­mom could do to help.

“I'm okay. Just go,” pleaded Fiona. But the more Fiona insisted that she wanted to be by herself, the more determined her mom was to stay.

“I wouldn't have a good time, knowing you're here crying in your pillow,” she said.

Finally, Fiona snapped, yelling at her, “Just leave me alone!”

Her mother looked really hurt, which made Fiona feel all the more wretched.

“What happened to my beautiful little girl?” her mom asked.

“I'm sorry. Just go,” she said miserably. “I'll be fine.”

Her mother gave her a lingering look of concern. Shaking her head, she went out the door without evening saying goodbye. Fiona retreated to her room and flopped onto the bed, hot tears soaking the pillow, just as her mom had predicted. As she lay there replaying the night over and over in her mind, humiliation turned to shame at taking the picture in the first place. Shame turned to surreal disbelief that this could actually be happening to her. And, finally, surreal disbelief turned mercifully into sleep.

 

FIONA WOKE UP EARLY
on Saturday morning to sunshine streaming through her window. Drifting up from sleep, she felt cozy and safe—until the memory of the night before began to seep in. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was still lying on top of the covers, wearing her party outfit, but there was a blanket over her. Her mom must have come in to check on her.

Fiona sat up. Everything was less frightening in the daylight.
Morning has more wisdom than night
. She remembered the line from a Russian fairy tale her mother used to read to her.
Right
, she thought,
you've had your cry. Time to get over yourself
. She got up, showered, washed her hair. By the time she came out of the bathroom, her mom was up, reading the paper over coffee at the kitchen table.

“Good morning,” said her mother, using a tone that invited meaningful discussion.

“Hi,” replied Fiona, pouring cereal into a bowl. “Sorry about last night.”

“Do you want to discuss it?”

“No.”

Hell
no. Fiona had talked herself into believing that eventually her friends would forget about the boob shot. But if her parents ever found out, they'd make a huge deal about sexting and the dangers of the Internet. Maybe even try to take her laptop away. Definitely there'd be no new smartphone.

“Okay,” nodded her mom reluctantly. “But you know I'm always here if you want to talk, right?”

“I know. Thanks.”

“Want to hang out today? I'm going to the farmers' market.”

“Can't. I'm working at eleven. Then I'm going to Dad's tonight,” Fiona reminded her.

“Right,” she replied with a tight smile. She turned back to her newspaper, and asked a little too casually, “How's he handling the heat, by the way?”

“What heat?”

“Over their operations in the DRC.”

“The what?”

“Fiona,” she said, the frustration clear in her voice, “I thought you were following this. You know, the girl in the video, Sylvie. About the fighting over coltan.”

“What?”

“Coltan. It's used in electronics. Millions of people in the Congo have died because of it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, and headed toward her room with her bowl of cereal.

“Where are you going? Can't we at least have breakfast together?”

Not if you're going to rant at me
, thought Fiona. But she said, “I downloaded this show I want to watch.”

Mom pursed her lips, her I'm-so-disappointed-in-you look. “On your laptop.”

“Yeah.”

“Does that not strike you as a little ironic in light of this conversation?”

“I just want to watch my show.”

“So go.”

Gawd
, thought Fiona.

“I hate it when you roll your eyes at me like that,” said her mother.

“You use a laptop, Mom. Everybody does.”

“The point is we should be able to buy laptops and cell phones that are manufactured without causing endless human suffering.”

“Omigod, Mom! This is exactly why nobody likes you!”

It came out a lot harsher than Fiona intended. Her mom looked wounded for a brief moment, then her jaw tightened.

“I just want you to be a thinking person, Fiona.”

“Okay. I
think
I'll go to my room.”

“Fine. Be a smart-ass,” she replied, burying her face in the newspaper.

Fiona carried her cereal bowl to her room, seething. It felt like her mother was
constantly
disappointed with her for not being out there saving the world. But she had enough trouble dealing with her own problems. If only her mother knew.

Wait—rewind
, realized Fiona.
On second thought, thank God she doesn't know!

LAIPING HELD OFF UNTIL THURSDAY
before going back to Miss Jang's office to inquire about her overtime pay.

“You must be patient,” said Miss Jang. “These things take time.”

“Please, can you find out how long it will be until I get the money?” asked Laiping.

Miss Jang smiled. “Yes, of course. I will try.”

But Laiping heard nothing. On Saturday she received another paycheck—her first month's wages had still not been paid.

“Where is my money?” Laiping asked Miss Jang before her shift on Sunday.

“Do you know how many employees the company has?” replied Miss Jang, no longer smiling. “Hundreds of thousands.”

“But you said you marked my form ‘urgent'.”

Miss Jang pursed her lips—and suddenly Laiping understood. No such notation was ever made. Miss Jang had lied to her.

“I want to fill out another form,” said Laiping.

“You're not allowed,” replied Miss Jang.

“It's my money,” implored Laiping. “My family needs it now.”

“You think you're so special? You must wait your turn like everyone else.”

On Monday morning after work, Laiping called her auntie, who fetched Mama to the phone. Baba was back home, but the doctors said he had to stay quiet in bed.

“He's on the list for surgery,” her mother told her. “When will you send the money?”

Laiping was beginning to feel that all Mama ever thought about was the money. “Soon,” she promised, wishing she could talk to Baba and tell him how tired and lonely she was. But she could already hear Mama scolding—
Don't upset your poor sick father with such nonsense!
—and kept her feelings to herself.

Laiping didn't sleep well following her Sunday night shift. The dorm room was too hot and humid. The air was close with the curtain drawn across her bunk, but the sun was too bright if she left the curtain open. When she did nod off, she dreamed that she was soldering capacitors at her work station in her pajamas and that Mr. Wu was yelling at her for forgetting to wear gloves and a mask. She woke up late in the afternoon, groggy and disoriented, to the sound of Big Sister Choilai calling her name.