The Fold (4 page)

Joyce stared into her bi-bim bop. “Can Gina come and keep me company this afternoon?”

Apa nodded. “You have to promise to do all your work.”

“I will,” Joyce said and picked up the phone by the register.

“Hey, come over. Sorry. I know. I’ll tell you later.” Joyce glanced at her father. “Just come over. Okay. Bye.”

Joyce went to one of the corner booths with her bowl of bi-bim bop and sat down. She stared out through the large panel of glass at the front of the restaurant. Joyce had been unable to face Gina after school. She had skipped sixth-period gym and gone to clean out her locker early. She left a note for Gina saying that she would call later. It would have been too painful to tell Gina that she had just wasted fifty dollars on a boy who couldn’t even get her name straight.

When Joyce had first revealed her crush, there had
been a lot of ribbing from Gina. John was one of the few popular Asian Americans at Orangedale High amongst all the wealthy “new-un sahram” or snowmen, as so many of their Korean friends called them. Gina called John a banana, yellow on the outside, white on the inside, who would never get caught dead hanging out with some Asian chick. He seemed to be always dating a blonde. The lighter the hair, the better. Joyce took a bite of her rice, savoring the spicy chili paste that would make her breath foul in about two seconds. He might date blondes, but maybe, just maybe, someday, he could fall in love with another Korean. There had to be a part of him that felt comforted by being around Koreans.

“We are his people,” Joyce had pointed out, and Gina burst into laughter.

Joyce took another bite of her spicy chili paste rice and wondered if John had a favorite Korean dish.

Joyce and Gina went from table to table setting out the refilled saltshakers and topping off the soy sauce containers.

“He thought you were Lynn Song?” Gina said
incredulously. She leaned forward. “Did the jerk even look at your face?”

“Yes,” Joyce said. “He was actually really nice.”

Gina jutted out her chin and swiveled her head like a snake about to strike. “Nice is someone who knows your name. Nice is NOT someone who confuses you with the only other freakin’ Asian girl in your class. Don’t even get me started on this, Joyce.”

“Shhh,” Joyce whispered, glancing over at the kitchen. Last thing she needed was for her parents to overhear.

“So what did you do with the yearbook?” Gina whispered, her lips barely moving.

Joyce pretended to concentrate on making sure the soy sauce didn’t drip. “I, uh, threw it away,” Joyce lied.

“Threw it away!” Gina yelled. “You threw away fifty bucks!”

Joyce put down the soy sauce. “Stop it, Gina. Just drop it, okay?”

Gina bit down on the insides of her cheeks, her lips puckered in annoyance.

Joyce moved to the next table with the tray of saltshakers. Gina stayed in her spot. Wasting money was always a sore subject for Gina. Ever since her father
had taken off five years ago, money was always on Gina’s mind. Gina only worked part-time on weekends because she wanted to focus on getting the grades to go to college. Like everything Gina tackled, she expected nothing but the best. Gina was not going to settle for any state school. She was aiming for a school on the East Coast, a private school with a huge endowment for financial aid.

“I’ll pay you back,” Joyce said, unable to meet Gina’s eyes.

Gina walked over to her. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then why are you all bent out of shape? It’s my money. I can spend it the way that I want.”

Gina leaned forward. “But you spent it on some idiot that doesn’t even know your name.”

“So?” Joyce said. “I got to see his eyes. And they are amazing. They’re brown and green—”

“Whose eyes?” Andy asked, popping into the conversation.

Joyce and Gina jumped back, knocking over some of the saltshakers.

Joyce frowned. “Jeez, Andy. Don’t sneak up on us like that.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Andy said and shoved an entire steamed dumpling into his mouth.

“Why do you have to eat that mandu like a Neanderthal?” Joyce asked.

Andy opened his mouth to show her the contents.

“Joyce, you have to throw salt over your shoulder,” Gina interrupted. “Which shoulder is it?”

“Scram, Andy.”

“Uhmma said that I should help you.”

Gina tossed salt over both shoulders.

“I don’t need help. Why don’t you go pretend to play basketball? That’s all you and your midget friends can do, anyway.”

Andy threw up his middle finger.

Joyce grabbed it.

Andy wrestled it away and walked off. “Must be your time of the month!”

“Shut up, shrimp!” Joyce said and pretended to lunge after him.

Andy dashed into the kitchen.

Gina handed Joyce some salt. “Come on. Toss it or else you’ll have bad luck all summer.”

“Like it’s not following me around, right now?” Joyce said and tossed some salt over both shoulders.

Gina looked over at the kitchen, double-checking for Andy. “Is he really starting middle school next year?”

Joyce moved to another table with the tray and set down a saltshaker. “Yeah.”

Gina laughed. “And he still wants to be a professional basketball player?”

Joyce nodded.

“What is with your family?” Gina asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Deep denial,” Gina said, shaking her head.

“What are you talking about?” Joyce asked.

Gina put one hand on her hip. “You eat chocolate all the time and complain about zits. You spend fifty bucks on some half Korean guy who will not even look in the direction of another Asian, and your brother wants to be a professional basketball player even though he’s as tall as the table,” Gina said.

“Oh, please,” Joyce said and pretended to gag. “Like you’re some pillar of wisdom? Remember the time you spent all that money on some designer bra that was supposed to give you cleavage and all you got was a backache from the straps being so tight?”

Gina shuddered. “Okay, okay, I don’t want to relive that purchase. I’m still reeling from all the money I threw away.” Gina held up her hand. “Let’s change the
subject. I still can’t believe John Ford Kang thought you were Lynn. Doesn’t she wear glasses?”

Joyce nodded. “And she has really bad teeth. Have you ever seen them? They’re so crooked, and she has these bucks in the front that practically scream rabbit. I don’t know why she didn’t get the clear braces.”

“Maybe she couldn’t afford them,” Gina said quietly, fiddling with a saltshaker.

Joyce quickly changed the subject, aware that she had stumbled onto another sensitive topic. “Her glasses are so thick they’re bulletproof. Look at me. Do I look anything like Lynn Song?”

Gina smiled, her lips carefully sealed shut against her misaligned teeth. “Maybe you could use some glamming up.”

Joyce frowned. “Glamming up? What is that? A verb? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No, but maybe you could try and look a little more”—Gina waved her hands in the air, trying to find the right word—“put together.”

“Put together?” Joyce could feel the anger tightening in her throat, even though she knew Gina was right. “Are you trying to tell me I look like a loser? That I don’t have an alibi? That I’m U. G. L. Y.?”

“No! I just mean we could use this summer to kind
of transform ourselves. You know, like a makeover or something. And definitely a new wardrobe. You have this amazing bod, and you always hide it in baggy jeans and T-shirts. Don’t you want our senior year to rock?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re going to get popular overnight just because we dress differently or style our hair a certain way. I stopped believing in that summer Cinderella dream in middle school,” Joyce lied, purposefully keeping her voice gruff and low. She knew if Gina even got a whiff of her plans to get rid of her chubby knees over the summer in an attempt at transforming herself for senior year, it would become a full-blown episode of
Makeover Madness
. Gina would have an exercise plan worked out, with daily eating charts, and would make Joyce shop all the time to buy the best clothes at the cheapest prices. Gina always went the whole nine yards and then some.

Gina chuckled to herself. “Remember that summer before eighth grade when we got those bad perms?”

“Trying to get that corkscrew hair effect.” Joyce laughed. “God, that was awful. And then you made us get another perm to try and correct the first bad one.”

“Hey, that wasn’t just my idea. Wait,” Gina said,
her neck craning to look out the window. “Speaking of makeovers, I think your aunt just pulled up.”

Joyce whirled around. “Gomo? What is she doing here so early?”

An older woman in a matching argyle sweater suit was just stepping out of her Mercedes.

“Maybe she wants to put her order in before the dinner rush,” Gina said.

“I better warn Uhmma and Apa.” Joyce rushed off to the kitchen and poked her head in. “Gomo is here!”

Uhmma looked up from the stove. “What?”

Apa was sitting at the back table eating and reading his book.

“She just pulled up in front,” Joyce said.

Apa quickly stashed his book under some napkins and stood up.

“What is she doing here so early?” Uhmma pulled off her kerchief in a panic and began madly fluffing up her hair with her fingertips.

Joyce turned around to go back to the front but spotted Andy crouched behind the register counter. “Andy!” Joyce yelled. “You little spy!”

Andy whispered, “Michael’s here!”

Joyce smiled despite herself. Andy and Joyce called
their aunt by a code name for the singer who had altered his appearance beyond recognition.

Joyce crooked her finger at him and Andy stood up reluctantly. As weird as Gomo was, she was still their aunt who had made it possible for the entire family to immigrate to the United States, and Gomo wasn’t about to let anyone forget.

on-young!”
Gomo called out as she pushed open the glass front door of the restaurant.

Joyce stepped forward to greet her aunt and bowed deeply from the waist as she said, “On-young-ha-say-yo, Gomo.”

Gina waved from the table where she was topping off one of the soy sauce containers. “Hi, Gomo,” Gina said.

Gomo frowned at Gina’s casual greeting.

“Joyce-ya, go get your uhmma and apa,” Gomo commanded and walked over to a table, carefully brushing off a chair cushion before sitting down. Gomo never entered the kitchen, preferring to be treated like a customer. A customer who ate at their restaurant nearly
every day and never paid, but a customer all the same. Gomo’s heavily made-up face hardly moved when she spoke. “I have exciting news for everyone!”

Joyce turned around to rush her parents, but they were already stepping out of the kitchen with Mrs. Lee close behind. Uhmma bowed deeply from the waist, her hair brushed back, a coat of lipstick shining and her apron off.

“On-young-ha-say-yo, Gomo,” Uhmma said.

“Oh-young-ha-say-yo,” Mrs. Lee chimed.

Uhmma rushed over to the table where Gomo was sitting. “Is everything all right? You are here so early today.”

Gomo examined Uhmma closely. “You look tired, Helen’s uhmma. Have you been applying the cream I gave you?”

Uhmma smiled awkwardly and nodded.

Apa walked over to his older sister and patted her hand to distract her gaze. “Gomo, what would you like to eat tonight? We have mackerel, fresh. It came in today. Shall I grill it up for you?”

Gomo shook her head and motioned for Apa to sit down. She carefully ran her fingers across her brow, sweeping aside any stray hairs. She leaned forward. “I have exciting news!”

Everyone leaned toward her, waiting.

Gomo scanned her audience. “Where is Helen?”

“She is at school today,” Uhmma explained.

Gomo’s shoulders dropped a bit in disappointment. Helen had always been Gomo’s favorite, and she did not go out of her way to hide that fact.

“I will make sure to call her,” Gomo said to herself and carefully smoothed back her hair once more.

Andy couldn’t take it. “What news?” he yelled and pushed forward.

Gomo snapped her head toward him. Uhmma pushed Andy behind her chair.

“I,” Gomo said slowly. “I have”—she paused, making sure all eyes were on her—“I have won the lottery.”

Screams erupted from everyone. Andy and Joyce jumped up and down. Uhmma and Apa leaped out of their chairs. Mrs. Lee clapped her hands and began crying. Joyce ran to Gina and hugged her. They pulled back and started shrieking in unison and jumping around the dining room, their arms flailing high in the air.

“Shhhh,” Uhmma said. “Shhh. Please, quiet down so we can hear.”

Joyce and Gina breathlessly walked over to the table where Gomo was sitting.

Gomo was smoothing out the lottery ticket on the table, her shoulders hunched forward, her forearms protectively blocking anyone from getting too close.

“I must take this ticket to the claim office, but I had to first stop to tell my family the wonderful news,” Gomo said, her face barely budging into a smile.

Andy elbowed Joyce in the side and gave her the robot Gomo smile that could hardly be called a smile unless you knew that Gomo’s face wouldn’t budge more than an inch from all the Botox she got injected to make herself look younger.