It's Girls Like You, Mickey

by Patti Kim

  I think I fell prey to the dreaming harder than Ma and Benny did. It’s just that every time I started spiraling down into that dark hole of doubting Daddy, he’d show up with a stuffed animal in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other, and that missed-you-to-the-moon-and-back smile that erased all those days I spent wondering where he was at and why he ain’t here.

  Ma hates me. I can feel it. It’s ’cause I like Daddy better. When he did show, I was always like “Daddy this” and “Daddy that,” always picking him over her, siding with him, when she was the one who was here steady for us. I think she resents me for that. I try. Lord knows I try with Ma, but it’s so hard ’cause she’s so darn grumpy. You ever try snuggling with a jagged rock? You get nothing but aches and bruises.

  Working nights don’t help none. She’s so beat-up tired, and it’s gotta be stranded-on-an-island lonely in that tollbooth. When she worked days, she’d be nice and normal to me, ask about school, give a hug here and there, offer me some motherly facts of life, get dinner together, laugh at Benny’s antics, clean up some, snuggle with the cats, walk Charlie.… Working nights is sucking every ounce of nice out of her. It’s like she’s a vampire. But it’s either that or bills don’t get paid.

  When we got back from Ocean City, Ma was talking to Great-Aunt Barb on the phone. She lives on the family farm in Ohio. I heard Ma say that if worse comes to worse, we’d have to head over there. She don’t want to go back ’cause that’s at least a hundred steps bass ackward, and she got bad memories and bad feelings. My grandparents died in a fire on that farm before my time. Ma got orphaned ’cause of that farm. She thinks she should’ve died that night, but she snuck out to meet up with her boyfriend. She was but sixteen years old. The way I see it: Her life got spared. The way she sees it: She should’ve been home to save them. To this day, she freaks out about fires, worrying about the Christmas tree catching or Benny playing with matches or the stove being on. It’s a wonder she smokes so much.

  The water boils, sizzling as it bubbles over into the flame. I climb out of our cuddle and go to the kitchen. I turn down the heat and dump two boxes of macaroni into the water. I save the boxes for future postcards.

  Ma’s doorknob jiggles.

  six

  As long as I don’t flunk and do over a grade, I’m good. Ma and Daddy never said nothing about my report cards. Hardly ever got As. One or two Bs. Mostly Cs. One or two Ds. They didn’t care as long as I didn’t flunk. So my standard’s always been: Just don’t flunk.

  I never got what the big whoop was about getting on honor roll and Principal’s List. Ok was do-or-die about getting all As. He studied like his life was on the line. I hate studying. It’s so boring. Just thinking about it makes me droopy, sad, and sleepy. Don’t make no sense to memorize all that gibberish you ain’t ever going to need in real life just so’s you can get an A and get your name on a stupid list. Big old waste of ticktock, if you ask me. That’s how I’ve always felt about schoolwork, so when Sun Joo asks me to help her study for the science vocab quiz, I’m like, “What? Excuse me?”

  Honest to angels, I don’t know how much help I can give her ’cause I ain’t the studying type, but my English is way better than hers, so I take her to the library during recess to learn her some science words.

  I pull Sun Joo to the way back of the library and sit her down on the floor in an aisle of bookshelves. She got geography books behind her. I got history books behind me. It smells musty like old newspapers. Smell of cinnamon’s in the air too, ’cause of Ms. Davenport, our librarian. I like her. She ain’t nothing like your run-of-the-mill librarian. She’s all hippie with long flowing skirts, a nose piercing, a READ tattoo on her wrist, and the scent of cinnamon following wherever she goes. Only problem is she’s real pushy about pushing books. She tried to turn me on to reading. I said no thank you.

  Sun Joo pulls out what looks like a miniature pocket Bible with tissue-paper pages. It’s her Korean–English dictionary. Around her wrist is a freshly braided rainbow friendship bracelet.

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  “I make it,” she says.

  “I like that. That’s so pretty. I’ll bet that took forever,” I say, turning her wrist to get a better look at the colors.

  “Thanks. Is not forever,” she says, pulling out a stack of flash cards.

  “What you got there? Your backpack’s full of all sorts of goodies. Let me see those,” I say.

  She hands the cards to me. These are like the beauty-pageant winner of flash cards. Sky-blue index cards with the American words in green marker. There’s some Korean writing in red. On the back side is the meaning of the word in purple with a little drawing of whatever the science thing is. Her letters are so perfect they look typed.

  “Sun Joo, you made these?”

  She nods.

  “You need to show these to Ms. T. You’d get an A right off the bat. That part’s Korean, right?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “What’s it mean?”

  “It mean same thing. That one help me say it.”

  “So this here’s ‘cell’ in Korean.”

  “Yes. Cell.”

  “Oh, cool. I like how that looks. It’s just a cluster of sticks. It’s kind of amazing how you can write the same sounds with a bunch of sticks, you know? You going to have to show me how you do that. Okay, back to work. So, what’s a cell?”

  “Um. I know it. It is the smallest of all functional and structural unit of all the living organism,” she says slowly.

  “Bingo. You got that right word for word. You memorized all that?”

  “I have to do it.”

  “No, you just have to have an idea. Get the key words down. It’s probably going to be a multiple-choice thing anyway. You can eeny meeny miny mo it and still pass,” I say.

  “Eeny meeny?” she asks.

  “Yeah, take a guess. You know, pick whatever.”

  “No. I can’t do like that.”

  “Whatever floats. Work hard or work smart. I choose to work smart. Okay, next word is ‘nucleus.’ What’s a nucleus?”

  “How do you say?”

  “Nucleus.”

  “Nu. Cre. Us.”

  “Close enough. So what’s it mean?”

  “Nucleus is brain of cell. It the control place of cell. It have all the DNA,” she says.

  “This here says control center, but control center, control place, same difference. I’ll give it to you,” I say.

  “Control center. Okay. I remember center.”

  “Next. What’s a vacuole?”

  “What you say?”

  “Vacuole.”

  “Let me see,” she says, and looks at her card. “Uh. Beh koo oh. How you say?”

  “Vacuole.”

  “Behcure.”

  “Follow my lips. Bite down first. Vaaaaa,” I say, sounding like a sheep.

  She bites down on her lower lip and says, “Vaaaa.”

  “You got it. Now say ‘keeewwww,’ ” I say, puckering up like I’m a goldfish about to give a kiss.

  “Kuuuu,” she says, puckering back.

  “Ohhhhhllll,” I say.

  “Ohhhh,” she says.

  “Ohhhh luh. Do like this. Ohhhh luh,” I say, reaching for her jaw.

  “Ohhh luh,” she says, as I squeeze her chin and open it down.

  “Now put it together. Vacuole,” I say.

  “Behcure,” she says.

  “You going to need to practice that. But she ain’t testing for pronunciation. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “But I want to say right,” she says.

  “You’ll get it. This stuff takes time. Just hang with me. I’ll get you talking good in no time,” I say.

  “Thank you for help,” she says.

  “You bet. Okay, back to work. What’s a vacuole?”

  “Vaaaa cu ohhh luh. It store everything. It store the food, the water, the waste, the mineral,” she says.

  “That’s right. It l
ooks like a big glob. Okay, next is Golgi body? Is it Gol jee? Gol gee? You know?”

  “I think it Gol jee. That’s how Ms. T say. Gol jee. But gogi is Korean word too, you know. Gogi. It mean the meat. You know, like eating the meat.”

  “You mean like a gogi ball sub or a gogi loaf?”

  Sun Joo scrunches her brows, so I explain, “Like meatball and meat loaf.”

  “Uhhh. Yes, I like the meat loaf,” she says, nodding.

  “Speaking of gogi, I’m hungry,” I say.

  “I have to say what the Golgi body mean. It mean where inside cell you sort and pack the protein inside the vesicle. It look like the many rubber bands together,” she says.

  “Sun Joo, you work too hard,” I say.

  “Did I get right?”

  “You got it, but you work too hard.”

  “I have to do perfect.”

  “No, you don’t. Good enough is good enough.”

  “But I need perfect because I am sooooo behind. I feel, like, sooooo stupid here because my English is sooooo bad. Everybody, they laugh,” she says.

  “Who laughed at you?”

  “Everybody. Except you. I’m so embarrass.”

  “What happened? Why’d they laugh at you?”

  “In the English class. I need the paper, and I ask the teacher for the sheet of paper, but I say the bad word because I don’t say right ‘the sheet,’ and everyone laugh because the other one is the bad word.”

  “Oh. You said the S word? You said that? To the teacher? Oh, that’s funny. That’s, like, gold, girl,” I say.

  “What you mean ‘gold’?”

  “It’s good. It’s pure. It’s like gold. That right there could get everyone to like you and think you’re cool. But you have to act like you know what’s up, like you know what you’re doing, so they’re laughing with you, not at you. So here’s how I do when people laugh at me. I just laugh right along and pretend like I made all that fun happen on my terms. That’s how you take your power back,” I say.

  “I don’t know if I can do,” she says.

  “You can do. Say it. Say ‘I can do.’ ”

  “I can do.”

  “Keep saying it. I can do. I can do.”

  “I can do. I can do,” we whisper-chant together until we bust out laughing.

  “Shhhh. Quiet,” I say.

  We stare at each other. We hear the wheels of Ms. Davenport’s book cart squeak down the next aisle.

  “Hey, Sun Joo,” I whisper.

  “Hey, Mickey?” she whispers back.

  “Show me how you write my name in Korean. Here. Put it over here,” I say, giving her my palm.

  She holds my hand steady as she presses her pen into my palm. It tickles. When she’s done, she shows my name to me. Pointing at the first set of sticks, she says, “That is ‘Mi.’ And that is ‘Ki.’ Mi. Ki.”

  I stare at it and say, “So that right there is, like, a box and a stick, then that right there is, like, a backward F and a stick. That is so cool. I love this. I’m going to cherish this. I ain’t never washing this hand,” I say.

  “That’s gross, but whatever floats,” she says.

  “Listen to you. Ain’t you funny.”

  The bell rings.

  “Meet me at lunch. Same table,” I say, getting up.

  “Okay,” she says, and follows me down the aisle of books.

  We walk out of the library into the hall already crowded with kids. I know Sun Joo’s got math now, so I grab her hand and pull her along to her classroom so she don’t get lost and trampled on. I tell her to stay close to me. I can feel her leaning into my backpack. Her hand fits so small in mine it’s like I’m tugging Benny along. She squeezes my hand like she’s scared or something. “Coming through. Coming through!” I shout, straightening my back and pushing through the bustle. Something about helping someone more lost and smaller than me gives me the feeling of being big and important. Like I’m somebody.

  seven

  First thing in the morning, I go to my locker and find me a surprise. It’s a note. A rainbow envelope with my name on it. In Korean. A box and a stick next to a backward F and a stick. This makes me hop like a bunny, smile so big, and feel so happy, I nearly hug Kevin McDaniel, who’s trying to open his locker next to me.

  “Look what I got,” I say, waving the envelope at him.

  He don’t even look up, but I don’t care. I open the note. On matching rainbow paper, it says:

  Dear Mickey,

  Thank you for helping me. You are my good friend. Here is the present for you. Can you come to my home? We have the harvest celebration. It is so fun. My family say you can come. Please come if you like to.

  Your friend,

  Sun Joo

  Folded inside the note, there’s something bumpy wrapped in tissue paper. I’m so excited. No one’s ever done nothing special like this for me. I open the present, and there it is. I gasp. It’s a matching rainbow friendship bracelet, same as the one that Sun Joo has on. It’s so pretty. The colors beam so bright, it’s glowing up the entire hallway.

  My eyes tear up, and you know how I feel about crying at school. I put the bracelet on my wrist, but I can’t tie it by myself. I look around to see if anyone might help me. At the end of the hall around the corner, I see Sun Joo’s little head peeping out. I wave to her. Come here. Come here.

  She weaves her way through the hall, trying not to bump into anyone. Once she’s close enough, I grab and pull her over to my locker. I hug and lift her up, shaking her. She feels light and flimsy like a rag doll. Her legs swing back and forth like the tail of a My Little Pony.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, putting her down. “This is so special to me. I’m going to treasure this so much for the rest of my life. This feels better than biting into a warm apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. You really made my day, Sun Joo.”

  “Okay,” she says, clapping and bobbing.

  “Here. Tie it for me,” I say, holding out my wrist.

  She double knots it nice and tight. I close my locker. We head down the hall together side by side. I bump her. She rubs her shoulder and says, “Owwww. That hurt.”

  “It did not,” I say.

  She smiles and bumps me back, to which I throw myself against the wall and say, “Owwwwww!”

  She laughs. I love making her laugh. I keep remembering how sad she was under those stairs all by herself, and look at her now. I put my arm around Sun Joo and ask her about this harvest celebration at her place.

  “It’s the Chuseok.”

  “The chew what?”

  “Chuseok.”

  “You mean like chew, as in ‘chew the fat,’ and suck, as in ‘suck it up’?”

  “Huh?”

  “Chew the fat? You never heard of that? It means gabbing. You know, like talking on and on and on, blah, blah, blah, sit around and chitchat, yappity-yap, shoot the breeze.”

  “Like you do?”

  “Ha-ha. Yeah, like I do. And suck it up means, like, ‘stop belly aching and stop whining like a baby and keep on trucking,’ ” I say.

  “That make sense. I like it,” she says.

  “ ‘Chuseok’ is easy to remember. So Chuseok’s like a party? Is there going to be games and dancing and all that fun stuff? What do you do there?”

  “You can just come. Is fun. You eat food, and you meet everyone, and you chew the fat,” she says.

  “That’s my girl,” I say, and give her a high five.

  “So you come?”

  “I’d love to. It’s my honor. Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China, and don’t go telling me you ain’t Chinese ’cause I know you ain’t. I know you’re from Korea, from South Korea, not the North, which is run by a dictator who’s starving people to death. I know my Koreas.”

  “Mickey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shhh.”

  eight

  I’m in homeroom, standing next to Frankie Dooley and saying the Pledge of Allegiance, when I notice him
picking his nose at the part about being under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. I shake my head.

  “What’s up, Lions?”

  Voices boom through the speaker.

  “I’m Elijah. I’m Sydney S. Today is September nineteenth. At the top of the news: Nominations are in for the SGA elections! Here are the nominations! Y’all ready for this?”

  Names get called out for secretary. Some I know. Some I don’t. Names get called for treasurer. These are the kids who’re good at math. Names get called for vice president. It’s now turning into a popularity contest. Clapping and cheering follow the nominations. I feel queasy with envy.

  “Now for the nominations for president. Y’all ready for this? Drumroll, please. With the most nominations, we have… yours truly! Sydney Stevenson! Thank you! Runner up is Jack Martell! Randall Robinson! And last and least, with one nomination, there’s Mickey McDonald. Congratulations! Good luck on your campaigns! Vote for Sydney. Just kidding. Not really. May the best Lion win! And don’t forget, today after school there will be…”

  Hearing my name over the speaker makes the room spin. Did I get that right? Was I dreaming? Did I really hear Sydney say my name? My heart races. I breathe so heavy I’m fogging up the windows and flapping the American flag above the chalkboard. Am I dreaming? I forget it’s Frankie sitting next to me, and I tap his arm and ask, “You hear that? Did she say my name? Who put me in?”

  Frankie side-eyes me, grins all sneaky, and whispers, “I did. Will you marry me?”

  “Don’t be gross. Go back to picking your nose.”

  His ears turn red. Covering his creepy smile, he tells me to shut up.

  “Better be nice to me, ’cause I’m going to be president. I’m winning this thing.”

  nine

  Sun Joo did it. She was the one who nominated me. I never thought she had it in her to do something like write my name on the nomination board, but she did just ’cause I mentioned how lucky Sydney was to have friends nominating her. I never had a best friend before, but that right there is what BFF is all about. I told her she’s my campaign manager, my right-hand girl, my go-to, my sidekick. I don’t know if she knew what I meant, but she nodded and bounced all excited. We even came up with our own signature handshake. It goes patty-cake, patty-cake, slap, slap, bump the fists, and wiggle the fingers to a high ten.