Reggie shoots Hanh a sharp glance and says, “No.”
“C’mon, I was just kidding,” says Hanh. “Besides, I’m allowed, cause I’m half-G.”
Reggie and Elaine roll their eyes and drop their stuff on a chair, motioning me to do the same.
Some of the guys hang back, talking to each other, and Hanh shouts at them, “Watch our stuff!” As I follow Hanh out onto the floor I wonder if her comment about Jamie’s friends being gangsters is worse than Christina’s about all Asians being smart. And half-G? What does that even mean?
It’s only a couple of songs before Elaine grabs my arm and drags me and Reggie protesting back to the table, where Jimmy is babysitting our bags and my fleece. “Reggie, can Sana borrow your key and put our stuff in your van?” she shouts over the music, and then, as if she’s just noticed him, she does a double take and her Bambi eyes get even bigger. “Jimmy! What are you doing sitting here? Come and dance with us!”
Jimmy gets up and follows Elaine back to the group, and Reggie hands her key over to me, rolling her eyes. “Omigod, I can’t even. It hurts to watch her throw herself at him like that. But she’s always been that way. It’s like she can’t help it.” We watch Elaine twisting and posing in front of Jimmy, who’s doing the boy-shuffle dance and looking amused and a little uncomfortable.
“She’s terrible.”
“Yeah.”
“At least she’s up front.”
“You can say that again. All up front.”
“How does she do it? I mean, where does that come from?”
“It’s probably easier if you’re little and cute like her. She never has to worry about what she looks like, you know? Same with Hanh. Look at her—she’s so skinny and pretty.”
We watch Hanh, who looks like a fashion model, flipping her hair like mad and stealing glances at everyone to see if they’re looking at her.
“What was that thing she said about being half-G?”
“Hanh? It’s because her dad used to be a gangster.”
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious. Her dad was in one of those Vietnamese gangs, and her mom . . . I don’t know. Had bad judgment. Don’t tell her I told you, but her parents got pregnant with her by accident. It’s probably why they got married.”
“No.”
“Yeah. They eventually got their shit together, but her mom didn’t finish college. She came here when she was in middle school and couldn’t speak a word of English, and by high school she was in all AP classes and she was going to be an engineer, but she’s just a lab tech now. And Hanh’s dad went to junior college and ended up in IT support. I mean, it’s a good job, but it’s not a master’s degree and start-up stock options like his mom wanted. I think that’s why they’re extra strict, ’cause they don’t want her to screw up like they did, you know? And her grandmother blames her mom for getting pregnant—how messed up is that? No wonder Hanh hates her. I would.”
“Wow.” So would I.
“Right? I bet that’s why she acts the way she does, with the makeup and the clothes and everything—to piss off her grandma.”
“I guess you can’t blame her,” I say.
“Right? I’d probably do the same thing. They better watch out, though, because one day she’s gonna go too far, I know she will.” Reggie continues, “My parents met in college here, so I have it easy, relatively. As long as I get decent grades, they let me do a lot more than some other parents. . . . Anyway, enough family drama. Here, take my stuff, too, okay? Thanks.”
I walk out of the gym with my arms full of purses and my fleece. After being in the gym even for half an hour, the night feels refreshing rather than cold, and it feels good to breathe air that doesn’t smell like sweat and floor wax. I think about Hanh’s parents and their mistakes—this whole other life that happened before she even existed, and now Hanh has to pay for it. It’s so unfair. I wonder if Hanh really will go too far and get herself into some kind of trouble one day, and it occurs to me that maybe this is why Reggie seems to have appointed herself to be Hanh’s über-conscience.
A few kids are smoking weed in a dark corner of the parking lot, but otherwise the lot is empty. No reason to be nervous, but I’d rather not be out here all alone in the dark, so I hurry over to the van and climb in quickly. I figure the safest place to stash our stuff is in the back—if anyone breaks into the van, they’re not going to waste time fumbling around under the backseat.
Which is what I’m doing when someone knocks on the side of the van and says, “Hey!” I whirl in terror. But even as my momentum sends me stumbling backward, the initial jolt has dissipated enough for me to place the voice, and by the time I’ve fallen on my butt I know it’s Jamie.
“Jeez, Jamie! You scared me to death!”
“Sorry,” she says, peeking into the van. “I didn’t mean to. I saw you come out here and I just wanted to see what you were doing.”
“I’m putting some stuff away so we don’t have to deal with it in the gym.” I get up and finish shoving everything under the seats.
“Nice ass, by the way.”
“Shut up.” I twist back around to face her, embarrassed. But also, I have to admit, feeling a little like Yes!
“Hey, can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I take a seat in the way back and she climbs in and sits down next to me. I steal a glance at her and I’m overcome by how perfect she is—her brain, her poetic soul, her grit, her too-trusting heart . . . her hair . . . her eyes . . . her skin . . . that clingy . . . low-cut . . . camisole top . . . draped over the swell of her breasts. . . . And she likes my ass. And now here we are, alone.
Oh, God. Okay. Just be cool.
For a few seconds we just sit there, perfectly still, in the dark. But while the outside of me is sitting stiffly on the seat, my insides are going haywire. My mouth is dry. My stomach feels like all its little stomach molecules have come apart, and I think I can actually feel the individual atoms quivering against each other. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m worried that Jamie might see it beating through my shirt.
“So,” she says.
“So.”