Page 6 of Didn't See That Coming

My hand shoots out and grabs the cup.

“What do you say to your mother?” Papi says, like I’m all of three years old.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

She gives me a beatific Mother Mary smile. “You’re welcome, nu er.”Nu eris Chinese for “daughter,” and my parents love using it when they feel the need to remind me that I came from their loins. “Now get going. You don’t want to be late on your first day of school.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I stand up, slinging my bag over one shoulder, and hear Mami’s sharp intake of breath. I close my eyes. I don’t know what she’s going to complain about this time, but she’ll find something, of that I’m sure.

“Your skirt—”

Oh, crap. She’s noticed that I had it shortened. I arrange my features into those of an innocent pup before turning around to face her.

Papi is craning his neck to see what the fuss is about. “What’s up?”

“Did you have your skirt shortened?” Mami asks in a dangerous, low voice.

“No…?” I look down like I’m just as surprised as she is. “It came like this.”

Mami’s eyes narrow. The tension in the room crackles. I can practically hear her mind whirring madly, rushing through her options. I wonder if she’s going to make me wear shorts underneath. Just as I’m about to lose it, one corner of Mami’s mouth quirks up. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she’s trying to fight back a smile.

“Never mind,” she says suddenly. “Off you go, don’t belate.”

What the hell just happened? Papi and I stare at her for a couple of seconds, both of us equally bewildered, before I shrug. “See you kids later.”

“See what I mean?” Mami grumbles. “No manners.”

“We’ve failed as parents,” Papi agrees, before giving me a wink.

I’m not sure what to expect from Xingfa, but I know what they can expect from me: awesomeness. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve got the confidence of a mediocre white man down pat.

In the car, Pak Run, our family driver, quirks a smile at me through the rearview mirror. “You ready for your first day?”

“You know I was born ready.”

He snorts as he backs out of the driveway. Pak Run’s been with our family since I was a baby, and he might as well be a blood relative by now. “Buckle up.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s not the law here to buckle up when sitting in the backseat, but Pak Run’s made it clear he won’t go anywhere unless I’m belted, which, you know, props to the man for having integrity.

My phone buzzes again. This time, the message goes through Discord instead of WhatsApp, and my heart does this little skip, because the only person I chat with on Discord isSourdawg.

Sourdawg:First day of school! Knock ’em dead, kiddo!

I laugh silently.

Dudebro10:Are you secretly a sixty-five-year-old man?

Sourdawg:But forreals though, g’luck

Dudebro10:Thanks. Have you sent the email to the sourdough company?

Sourdawg:Ttyl!

As usual, my cheeks are hurting from grinning so hard. Typical Sourdawg, running away at the first sign of conflict. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and gaze out the window at the awful Jakarta morning traffic. Xingfa is in North Jakarta, and we live in the south, so at least we’re going against the flow of commuter traffic. Still, it’ll take us almost forty-five minutes to get there. I check my bag to make sure I’ve brought my textbooks and iPad and my aquamarine pencil case, then take out my compact to check my reflection. No spinach in my teeth. Not that I ate any spinach this morning, but I’m convinced that spinach was designed by Mother Nature to magically appear on teeth right before a big date or an important interview.

By the time the car arrives at the school, I’m surprised to find that my stomach is clenched into a tight knot. When I get out of the car, I almost stumble, because my legs are watery. I can’t believe I’m so nervous that I literally can’t walk.

“You’re going to be okay. Just relax,” Pak Run calls out.

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