Page 15 of Next Time Will Be Our Turn
I pressed my lips into a firm line, my anger churning hot in my belly, fighting against the thick blanket of fear covering it. As much as I wanted to chastise her, at the end of the day, it was still Iris. She was still the sun. She could still burn me, and she didn’t even have to try. And she was older than me, so it wasn’t my place to tell her off, even if she was disrespecting herself.
“You know, now that Mom and Dad aren’t around to breathe down our necks, it’s a good time to find yourself a boyfriend.” She spoke the way she drove: carelessly, only half paying attention.
I didn’t say anything. Of course I wanted a boyfriend. I wasn’t a total machine. But I wanted a good Chinese-Indonesian boyfriend, sweet and innocent, not the kind who would leave hickeys on my neck.
As though reading the thoughts in my mind, Iris shook her head and laughed. “Or not. Whatever. I don’t care, as long as you keep out of my business, okay, Lil’ Sis?”
I wondered if Iris being a—a loose woman would affect my prospects of finding a good husband. Would she bring enough shame to our family to destroy our reputation? If you think these are strange things to consider for a sixteen-year-old, then congratulations for not having grown up in a society like mine.
“Is he—um—is your boyfriend…” I fiddled with my thumbs. “Is he Chinese-Indo?”
“Dude, really? That’s your question?”
I shrugged.
“No, he’s not, okay? He’s half Japanese, half white.”
I stared at her in shock. Japanese? White?
“If it makes you feel any better, he’s not really my boyfriend. We’re just hanging out.”
Now I was staring in shockandhorror. No big deal, just hanging out and giving each other hickeys. Who was this person sitting next to me? The rest of the drive home, I was silent, but my mind was in turmoil. I felt like it was my responsibility to report back to Mama and Papa about Iris’s proclivities, but Ifeared Iris’s wrath way too much to do that. Then I remembered that the whole reason they sent Iris here, to the other side of the world, was so she wouldn’t be able to pull this shit back home and shame us all, so maybe Mama and Papa knew what she was up to? Or at the very least, they had an idea. Maybe they sent me here to live with her so I could be a good influence on her. (Yes, I was insufferable back then, I know.)
Here’s yet another example of how insufferable I was back then: When we got home, I settled down at my desk and did my homework. It was the first day of school, so there was actually no homework, but I opened my textbooks and went over the first two chapters anyway, preparing myself for the rest of the week’s classes. In the evening, just as I was starting to get hungry, I heard Iris’s door bang open.
“Don’t wait up!” she called out. Moments later, the front door opened and slammed shut.
Even though we hadn’t said a word to each other since reaching home, knowing that she was gone left behind an emptiness inside my chest. I had never felt so alone in my life. Back home, there was always somebody at the house—a helper, a relative dropping by, a friend from school. I felt so lonely that I didn’t even bother checking the fridge to see what Indonesian food the catering lady had dropped off today. I checked my voicemail, but there were no messages. Maybe Ellery only asked for my number to be polite.
Mama and Papa called me at eight, asking how my first day went. I told them perfunctory details. My classes seemed manageable. Less daunting than the ones back at my competitive Singaporean school. Yes, Iris and I are eating Indonesian food.No, Iris doesn’t speed when she drives. (Much.) What about new friends? I paused then, my mind clacking into an Ellery-shaped notch that had etched itself into my brain. Maybe. I might’ve made a new friend. I’m not sure yet. She seems nice. I heard the relief in Mama’s and Papa’s voices when I said “she.” Girls are safe. Girls are no threat to my purity. They told me their lunch break was over and they needed to get back to work, and I said goodbye. Once I hung up, the loneliness was so crushing that I didn’t even have it in me to brush my teeth. I simply turned off the lights and crawled into bed, sleeping on my side so the tears only wet one corner of my pillow. When they were done leaking out of my eyes, I turned to my other side and went to sleep. I reminded myself that I would only be in America for four years, just long enough for me to get my bachelor’s degree, which would make me respectable, a good quality for a wife to have.
In the morning, I woke up feeling hopeful and refreshed. I was one of nature’s optimists. Actually, when I stopped to consider my first day at school, it had gone really well. I hadn’t lied to Mama and Papa about my classes being manageable. I liked the campus, and of course, there was Ellery. Last night, I’d been so exhausted that I’d let my negative thoughts get the better of me. I’d second-guessed myself, talked myself into believing that Ellery merely saw me as a charity case. But in the brilliance of a new LA morning (and LA mornings are always brilliant, even in the winter), I woke up convinced that she enjoyed my company as well, that she, too, saw me as a friend. A friend! More than anything, that was what I needed right now. And I was about to see her again.
This time, I put on all of my new clothes. My tight jeans and an off-shoulder top. I was still uncomfortable with the way makeup felt on my skin, but I swiped on a light coating of lipstick and dabbed a little blush on my cheeks. My reflection still looked like me, but better. A better version of me. I smiled, ate my breakfast alone, and when Iris’s door banged open, I kept the smile on my face and said, “Hi.”
“What are you smirking about?” she said by way of greeting.
“Nothing. It’s just a nice morning.”
“It’s always a nice morning. That’s the whole point of LA.”
“Do you want some cereal?”
“No time. Let’s go.”
I was determined not to let Iris blacken my morning. The whole ride to school, I kept my hands folded on my lap and stared out my window to avoid irritating her somehow. When we got to school, she said, “Three o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Then I hurried out of the parking structure, my heart racing. I was early; the first class I had wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes, which meant I had ample time to get to the bookstore. I was going to ask Ellery if she wanted to get tacos for lunch again. That was what friends did, right? Yes. Definitely yes. There was nothing awkward about that.
The line curling out of the bookstore wasn’t as long today, but it was still sizable, and even from a distance, I spotted Ellery in her bright red employee vest. She stood out from the crowd. Literally. She was so tall, and her hair, tied back into a ponytail, turned a dazzling gold under the Californian sun. Her broad shoulders rippled as she moved, waving people forward. I couldhear her voice, though not the words, and the sound was enough to make me smile even wider. I knew she’d say, “Heck yeah, let’s go for tacos!” even before I asked the question.
But before I got to Ellery, before she could spot me, someone else called out, “Ellie!” and there was something in her voice that made all of my muscles freeze up. There was a certain familiarity in it that came from possession.
A beautiful brunette walked past the crowd of waiting students, smiling. Ellery turned and saw her, and her whole face lit up. She looped one arm around the brunette’s waist and lowered her head. And, as I watched, frozen, the brunette tilted her head up and went on tiptoe, and they kissed.
This moment was one of the core defining moments of my life. Not just because the girl I might or might not have developed a tiny crush on was kissing someone. But because she was kissing another girl. Out in the open, in front of a crowd, in front of her workplace, in the middle of school. Up until that moment, I had never seen two girls kissing on the lips before, not even on TV. Indonesia had very strict censorship laws; not even hetero kissing was allowed on-screen, and the Internet was in its adolescence, so as sad as it sounds, I hadn’t seen that many kisses in my lifetime. In fact, I could count the number of hetero kisses I’d seen on one hand, and all of them had happened at weddings—the pastor intoning, “You may kiss the bride,” followed by a stiff, chaste peck with lips pursed.
