“Too much.” She tears off another hunk.
In Mom’s eyes, any amount of makeup is too much, so I’m not surprised. “I think she looks pretty.”
“Too much makeups is not pretty. Girl should look like girlish, not like trying to be grown-up.”
“She’s not trying to be grown-up. She just wears makeup. Lots of girls do.”
An image of Christina’s Pinot Noir lips flashes in my mind, along with a flicker of doubt. Why does her makeup bug me, but not Jamie’s?
“Hn.” My mom digs the mackerel’s eye out of its socket—it’s her favorite part—and pops it into her mouth. “She doesn’t look like good student.” The pronouncement of death. My mom will never approve of anyone who is not a good student. Not that I need her approval.
“Mom, she’s in all the same classes as me.”
“Affirmative action.”
“Mom!”
“She’s a Mexican, isn’t she? Schools just want to say they have multiculture in advanced classes.”
“Just because she’s Mexican American doesn’t mean she’s a bad student.”
But Mom’s not having it. She picks a stray fishbone out of her mouth and says, “The Mexicans are lazy, and not so smart—look how long they live in America, and they still need the Spanish language on everything—even for driver’s license and voting! That is lazy. I only live here for seventeen years and I had to learn English for driver’s license, reading newspaper, and everything. I didn’t ask for everything to be in Japanese.”
“Mom. Jamie’s not lazy. Mexicans aren’t lazy. It’s way more complicated than that.”
“I didn’t say Jamie is lazy! I said Mexican is lazy. Japanese started with poor, and no English, and discriminated. But Japanese are successful now. San Jose airport is named after the Japanese person. The Mexicans are still just the gardeners and kitchen workers.”
She’s never going to get it, so I give up trying to explain and go back to defending Jamie. “Well, Jamie aced her last trig test.” So there.
“Well, maybe Jamie is good student.” Mom looks sternly at me. “But she’s the exception.” I shake my head. There really are no words. No, wait. Mom has a few left. “And she looks like bad student. That’s her fault if I think so. If you want people to think she is good student, tell her to stop wearing so much makeups.”
I pour a trickle of soy sauce on my sesame spinach and take a bite. When I was little, I used to pester Mom to make Hamburger Helper like Trish’s mom. Or just order pizza. Trish’s mom was a good cook, but she said she liked to take a break and relax sometimes. She didn’t want to waste energy worrying all the time about what Trish ate, or who she hung out with, or where she went on the weekends. Mom, on the other hand, refused to relax. “Being a mother is my job. You say relax, but relaxed worker is just lazy. How can I be a good mother for you if I cook lazy food? If I let you do whatever you want, if I let you be friends with bad people or let you wear sloppy clothes, I am being the lazy mother who doesn’t care enough to be strict.” Typical. I guess it’s nice that she cares enough to look out for me, even though she’s totally wrong. But sometimes I wish she cared enough to listen, as well.
“Hey, Sana! C’mere a sec!”
I adjust my course and angle over toward Jamie and three of her friends, who hang out not far from where I meet Elaine and Hanh before school. It’s a cold morning, and they’re all slouched in oversize black hoodies. Christina is leaning against one of the boys, and they’re all staring at me impassively, except for Jamie, who’s smiling.
“These are my friends,” she says. “That’s Arturo and Christina—you remember Christina,” nodding at the couple, “and this is JJ.”
Arturo looks like he could be twenty—he’s short, but he has a muscular build, broad shoulders, and thick, straight eyebrows over serious brown eyes. JJ, from psych class, looks like he wants to be twenty. He’s taller than Arturo, with bright eyes and a ridiculous, scraggly little mustache. He’s shifting back and forth like he’s either freezing or just has too much energy to stand still. He’s twirling a Darth Vader key chain on his finger.
“’Sup.” Arturo tips his chin at me and JJ flashes me an impish smile.
“You’re in psych with me,” JJ says. “You’re one of the smart ones.”
I think that’s a compliment. But Christina gives me a slow once-over that makes me doubt she sees it that way.
“Hi,” I say. Christina briefly turns the corners of her mouth up into something resembling a smile, but her eyes remain cold.
“I just wanted to give you your book back,” Jamie says, handing over Emily Dickinson.
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
“You were right. She’s more complex than she seems at first.”
“Pffff, you two are like homework buddies and poetry buddies?” Christina sniggers when she sees the title. “You competing for Nerd of the Year?”
“Shut up,” Jamie retorts as I busy myself cramming the book into my backpack, wishing I could climb in after it.
“Aww, I’m just playin’,” says Christina. “Hey, Sana, you don’t have to look so embarrassed! It’s okay.” Except it’s not okay, because she’s clearly enjoying my embarrassment. I smile weakly. I’m not sure what’s going on exactly, but if her goal is to make me feel small, it’s working.
Arturo asks, “You smart, like JJ says?”
“’Course she’s smart! All Asians are smart, right, Sana?” Christina’s voice is friendly, and maybe it’s because I’m so sick of that stereotype, but it’s not clear whether she’s laughing at me or with me.
“Isn’t that kinda racist?” asks JJ.
“It isn’t racist if it’s nice,” says Christina. “I’m just being nice.”
“It’s still racist,” says Jamie. “Anyway, I helped Sana with her trig homework, right?”
“Jamie’s the smart one,” I agree.
“She helped you?” asks Arturo. “I know she’s smart, but aren’t Asians supposed to be good at math?” He’s joking. He has to be.
“Not this Asian.”
“That’s for sure.” Jamie grins at me.
“Yeeeah,” says JJ. “I suck at math.” He puts his fist out for me to bump, and as I put out my own fist, I feel a thrill of solidarity—which is ruined when I see Christina rolling her eyes. But Jamie and Arturo are rolling their eyes, too.
Arturo says, “Failing math isn’t funny, bruh. If you fail out this year, I’m gonna fucking kill you.” JJ waves him off.
Then Jamie starts in, too. “How many times do we have to tell you? You gotta go to college if you want to get anywhere in life.”
JJ groans wearily. “I know, I know. Just chill the fuck out, okay? What are you, my mom? Maybe I don’t want to get anywhere in life. What’s that even supposed to mean, anyway? What if I end up becoming . . . becoming a movie star? Diego Luna didn’t go to college. That Ironman dude didn’t go to college.”