by Patti Kim
We bump our wrists together like the Wonder Twins, then go back to eating. I feel honest-to-angels happy inside right here, right now, eating all this good food, sitting with my best friend, Sunny Moon.
fifteen
I step off the bus and walk toward the school, Ma’s blue bathrobe covering my Gidget bathing suit costume and Ma’s ironing board tucked under my arm like it’s for surfing.
I head over to my locker, scanning the hall for signs of Sunny. She said she wasn’t going to wear a costume, so I keep an eye out for her usual cardigan sweater, baggy jeans, white sneakers, and the top of her bowed head. I can’t tell who’s who in the hall because everyone’s dressed up as someone else. There goes Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. No place like home. Frankenstein. Jason. Wonder Woman. A red M&M. A yellow M&M. A blue M&M. I love group costumes. Last year, some teachers dressed as beatniks. Black turtlenecks, black pants, black berets. I didn’t even know what a beatnik was. I thought they were ninjas. They looked so cool, like they were a secret society. Made me curious enough to look it up. Beatniks were writers from the fifties who got so fed up that they did a bunch of cussing and drugging and having sex and hitting the road. Halloween is so educational. The books were kind of boring to me, but I do recall feeling struck by a line that went something like, “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on trucking under the stars.” Reminded me of Daddy.
“Boo.”
“Oh, hi, Larry. I mean Law,” I say, turning my lock.
“You can call me Larry. Law didn’t really stick.”
“Nice costume. I like the earring. How’d you make that?”
“My mom’s really into canning. These bands are all over the house.”
“How’d you get that on your ear?” I ask, opening my locker.
“See?” Larry says, taking off his bandanna. The jar lid band is sewn on the scarf.
“Cool! So what are you?”
“I was going for pirate.”
“You need an eye patch.”
“Aaarrrgh. I knew I forgot something.”
I take off my robe, hang it on the hook, and put on my sunglasses. I put on lipstick, spray my hair, check my pigtails in the mirror, and shut my locker. With fist on hip and ironing board tucked under my arm, I say, “Surf’s up.”
“You know, I have a Hawaiian shirt. I could’ve been Frankie,” he says.
“I’m not Annette. I’m Gidget,” I say, walking away from him. I see Sydney Stevenson at the end of the hall. Her costume looks really cute.
“Gidget’s got a boyfriend, doesn’t she?” Larry says, following me.
“So?” I say, walking faster.
My board accidentally whacks him.
“Ouch,” he says.
“That’s what you get for standing so close, Moondoggie,” I say, holding the board above my head and making my way through the hall.
“What was that?”
I need to find Sunny. Still no sign of her in the hall. I’m getting worried. It’s crazy out here. If you don’t know Halloween, this could freak you out. I hope she’s not crying under the stairs.
Sydney stands at the end of the hall talking to her girls. High ponytail. Pencil tucked behind ear. Fifties-inspired pink waitress dress. Polka-dot hankie around her neck. White apron trimmed in ruffles. I’ll bet she’s got on a “Sydney” name tag. She stands taller than usual. It’s like she grew three inches. As I get closer, I check out her footwear. Roller skates. She’s got on my red, white, and blue roller skates. They’re not mine, but they look just like mine. We got the same taste. And I feel a mess of pride and excitement. What a coinkydink!
I stand behind her, trying not to breathe too heavy, hoping she’ll turn around and notice me. She doesn’t, so I tap her arm. She peeks over her shoulder. She barely turns her head, but her ponytail swings.
“Hey, I’d like a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. Sydney, you and I, we’re the same decade! Ain’t that a hoot? You, working at the drive-in. Me, catching waves at the beach. And I got those same skates! They don’t fit me no more, but I still love them. You remember that speech I gave during elections? Or maybe you remember last year’s talent show? Remember that?”
Up and down and up again her eyes go. Her long lashes remind me of the prongs of a pitchfork. If looks could kill, I just got stabbed to death. I shut up. I normally don’t let other people’s meanness make me feel small, but Sydney shrank me down to a microscopic vacuole.
She turns her back to me and says something to her circle of friends. They laugh. I really ought to just walk away, but I stand there paralyzed with humiliation and longing. I want in so bad. I check out the other girls one by one. What’s so great about them? Boring costumes. Obviously store bought. No one sparkles.
Then I catch a glimpse of this yellow princess ball gown on Sydney’s other side. The dress is big, like Scarlett O’Hara big. The color glows like the promises of the yellow brick road. Starting at the hem, my eyes go up, following a satiny rainbow sash up the middle, and I’m feeling déjà vu ’cause I know the shape of this dress. The rainbow sash ends with a bow over the girl’s heart. The sleeves are rainbow too. They look like a pair of rainbow wings. I know this girl.
“Is that you, Sun Joo Moon?” I say, pushing Sydney out of my way.
Sun Joo smiles and waves at me. She’s doing the Miss America wave. Her hair is tied up into a ballerina bun, and she’s wearing makeup. Her head is held high. I can’t believe it! I feel so proud of her!
“Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I? You look amazing in your… What’s it called again? Han-as-in-Han-Solo-bok-as-in-Ok dress! Oh my tarnation! Look at you! Ladies, listen up! This here is a hanbok. Say it with me. Han as in Han Solo. Han…”
I’m waiting for them to say “han,” but they all stare at me blank, like I’m a heap of nothing. Then their eyes roll back like they’re about to faint and topple over like dominoes.
“Like in Star Wars? The movie? A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away?”
Eyes keep rolling.
“You don’t know Star Wars?”
“Excuse you,” Sydney says, yanking at my board. I lose my grip, and my surfboard goes tumbling onto the floor, the legs clanking out. Reminds me of that commercial. Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
The bell rings. Sydney grabs Sun Joo’s wrist. As she pulls her away from me, she says, “Her name is Sunny.”
“I know! I gave her that name!”
“Go put on some clothes,” Sydney says, rolling away with my best friend.
There they go.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare go following them like some poor stray. Don’t you dare. Stand firm. Stand straight. Chin up. Hold your ground,” I tell myself, forcing my fists onto my hips. I’m shaking a little from feeling sad and mad. I’m panting. I’m trying to take a deep breath, but Ma’s old girdle and bra fit stiff and tight like casts. Can’t fill up with enough air. The crusty pink spray paint makes me itch. The cotton balls I glued on for trim starts to tickle. I breathe out. I crack a smile. I look down at my ironing board all sprawled out in the hall, pretending to be something it’s not. Poor thing wants to be riding ocean waves instead of taking the heat of an iron. I pick it up, tuck the rusty legs in, and carry it to homeroom.
sixteen
Sunny and I sit at our usual lunch spot at the table in the back of the cafeteria. She pulls at the collar of her hanbok, scratches her shoulder, and opens her lunch box. I dig into my hot lunch. Spaghetti and one meatball. I pierce my spork into the meatball, hold it up, and say, “See? This here’s a gogi ball. Right?”
I’m about to ask Sunny about going trick-or-treating with me, but she’s too busy staring over my shoulder and pointing at herself and smiling while looking confused and shaking her head. It’s like she’s saying, “Me? Who me?” I turn around to see what’s going on. Sydney and her girls are waving at Sunny.
“They want you to come over,” I say, shaking my chocolate milk.
&nb
sp; “Me?” Sunny asks, waving back.
“Yes, you. Sure as heck ain’t me they’re waving at,” I say.
“Why?”
“ ’Cause they like you now. ’Cause they like your costume. What’d I tell you?” I say, and drink my milk.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“They coming this way.”
I turn around, and sure enough, Sydney’s two best friends are walking over to us. Nawsia and Tammy. It’s weird seeing them without Sydney in the middle. It’s like two slices of bread with nothing in between. It’s a nothing sandwich. Sunny closes her lunch box like she’s hiding her food.
“Hi, Sunny,” they singsong in unison.
“Hi,” Sunny says.
“Hey there! So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” I say, slurping up noodles.
Nawsia looks down at my hot lunch and says, “I’m sorry, but is that, like, any good? It just looks so unappetizing. What’re those black dots?”
I chew as fast as I can so I can tell her it’s not that bad, but I can’t chew and swallow faster than I talk, so I talk with food in my mouth and end up spitting out spaghetti bits, which makes Tammy and Nawsia frown like I’m throwing up on them and turn their backs to me.
“Sydney wants to ask you something,” Nawsia says to Sunny.
“Come over to our table,” Tammy says.
“Your dress is so pretty.”
“Sydney wants you to come over.”
“She thinks you’re, like, so cute.”
“Thank you,” Sunny says.
“She wants to ask you something,” Nawsia says.
“Okay,” Sunny says.
“Well? Are you coming?” Tammy asks, tapping her nails on the table.
“Okay. I go. One minute. I go in one minute,” Sunny says, holding up one finger.
“Well, don’t keep her waiting,” Nawsia says.
“She might change her mind just like that,” Tammy says, snapping her fingers.
The two walk away, returning to their table to report back to Sydney.
“What Sydney want?” Sunny whispers to me.
“Only one way to find out,” I say.
“I don’t want to go,” Sunny says, pulling at her collar.
There’s a big part of me that wants to tell her to forget about them. If she don’t want to go, she don’t have to go. Leave Sydney waiting. Stand Sydney up. No big deal. Be that girl who blew Sydney off. Sunny can stay right here with me ’cause we have each other. We’re best friends.
But there’s another part of me that knows this here’s an opportunity of a lifetime for little Miss Sunny Moon (and maybe me, too). She’s going to be popular (and maybe me, too). I can’t let this chance pass us by.
“Listen up, Sunny. The one and only Sydney Stevenson, president and captain of step and most popping popular girl, wants to talk to you. That’s like being summoned by the queen. You gotta get yourself over there. I know if I was in your shoes, I would’ve been there, like, yesterday. Get. Go. Run along,” I say, shooing her like Ma does to me and Benny.
“I don’t know,” she says, lowering her head.
“What’d I tell you? Chin up!” I say, slapping the table.
“Okay,” Sunny says, and eyes the three girls, slowly pulling herself up.
“That’s my girl. Time to shine. If you need me, tap your nose with your pinkie like this, and I’ll swoop in for a rescue. Okay?”
“That look like picking booger.”
“Fine, then pull at your ear like this. Okay?”
“Okay. Wish me the good luck,” she says, and walks over to Sydney’s table.
“Lucky duck,” I say, and watch her move across the cafeteria. That dress makes Sunny look like she’s gliding across the floor like some remote-control windup princess doll on wheels.
seventeen
If I could have any superpower right now, it’d be invisibility, which is nuts since being seen is what I live for. But if I were invisible, I could be over there with Sunny and Sydney and Nawsia and Tammy and hear what they’re saying to her.
Sydney puts her arm around Sunny, saying something into her ear. Nawsia and Tammy huddle in, bobbing their heads like a pair of pigeons. They touch Sunny’s hanbok sleeves. I keep an eye on Sunny’s hands to see if they’re going up to her ears for a tug, tug, but nothing. She keeps them down by her sides. Sydney moves the entire huddle out of the cafeteria. There they go.
What do I do?
A part of me wants to follow them and get in on all the action, but I stay put. A year ago I would’ve chased them down, gotten to the bottom of this, and called dibs on Sunny, but something about me this year—I don’t know what it is, call it second-guessing, call it being mature, call it pussyfooting. Maybe it’s ’cause I got my period and the hormones and all. Maybe I’m all messed up in the heart ’cause Daddy left. I don’t know. But I ain’t feeling like my old self ’cause my old self would not hear of staying put like a bump on a log all paralyzed, chewing lettuce soggy with Thousand Island dressing, thinking all these thoughts, sitting by as they steal my friend away, and feeling all mixed up inside. Boy, oh boy, are my feelings all in a tangle. I’m excited for Sunny. I honest-to-angels am. I’m happy for her. I’m also nervous like I’m about to drop down a coaster ride. I’m nervous like my name ain’t going to be called as the winner of the pageant. I’m worried like I’m about to lose something I love. I feel sorry like I regret being so pushy. I feel jealous. I feel sad. I feel left out. I feel left behind.
I bite into the garlic bread. It’s like a gigantic crouton with a yellow stain on it. Crumbs fall all over my stupid Gidget costume. I suddenly want to cover up. I want Ma’s robe, but it’s in my locker, and there’s chocolate pudding for dessert. I peel open the lid and squeeze the container until a glob of pudding rises and bubbles. I slurp it up just like I did way back when Sunny and me were first getting to be friends. I miss her.
In strut the four of them through the cafeteria doors like they’re walking up a runway. Sydney, Tammy, Nawsia, and Sunny. Except something’s not right. That’s not Sydney. That’s not Sunny. Their heads got switched.
Sunny hurries over to me wearing a fifties waitress costume with Sydney’s name tag. She’s all smiles and giggles. She says, “Look, Mickey. We do swap. See? Swap.”
“Why’d you let her do that?” I ask, feeling irritated.
“Because I hate wearing the hanbok. Is so itching me. This one feel better,” she says, and twirls around like I don’t know what her backside might look like.
“Well, you ain’t winning no contest with that getup. You can kiss that dream good-bye.”
“Is okay.”
“Well, what else? What else did Sydney say? What else did y’all talk about?”
“She talk about the trick-or-treat.”
“What about it?”
“She say to come with her.”
“Oh. Did she?”
“Sydney is nice,” Sunny says.
“So you’re trick-or-treating with them?”
“I say okay because I thinking what Mickey do? What Mickey say? Mickey say okay. Mickey say get and go and good chance like that,” she says, and shrugs.
“Oh, that’s great. That’s just great. You done great. You’re going to have such a great time.”
“I think so.”
“You’re going to tell me all about it, right? You’re going to give me the scoopity scoop?”
“Yes, I tell you everything. But you come too, Mickey. You can come with us,” she says.
“Did Sydney invite me too?” I ask, my eyes popping wide and my hopes rising like a slice of baloney in a frying pan.
“No, she don’t say that, but I go ask. Sydney is nice. I ask if you can come too. We go together to trick-or-treating,” she says, putting on her backpack. The waitress costume fits too big on her.
“Nah. Never mind. It’s fine. I got plans anyway. Family stuff. You know,” I say.
“Oh. Okay. Mickey? W
hat is it? What is the trick-or-treat?” she asks.
“You don’t know what trick-or-treating is?”
“I don’t know.”
I start laughing, but I stop as soon as I see Sunny’s face go sad, and I say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. So trick-or-treating is when kids get dressed up in costumes, go knocking on doors in their neighborhoods, and say ‘trick or treat’ to get candy.”
“You go to friend’s house?”
“You go to anyone’s house. Friends, strangers, neighbors. Anyone. Everyone, if you can. The more you knock, the more candy you get.”
“And everybody give the candy?”
“Yep.”
“Is free?”
“Yep.”
“That’s so nice.”
“It’s a lot of fun. It’s my favorite holiday. I bring back loads of candy. But make sure your bag is strong so it don’t break. I lost a ton of candy one year ’cause my plastic had a hole in it,” I say, picking up my tray. I throw away my trash.
When I get back to the table, the Sydney sandwich rolls along the aisle. Tammy and Nawsia are pulling Sydney along in her roller skates. I have to admit, the hanbok looks really pretty on her, but I want to rip it off and put it back on Sunny, where it belongs.
Sunny waits for me to get my things together. I look under the table. I look on the seats. I look on top of the table. I look under the table again. I scan the cafeteria. Where’d it go? Where’d my surfboard go? Who took Ma’s ironing board?
eighteen
Once the dismissal bell rings, I hurry to the lost-and-found closet in the main office to see if Ma’s ironing board showed up. Nothing. Then I run to the cafeteria for another look. I ask the janitor who’s sweeping the floor if he’s seen an ironing board. Nope. Then I retrace my steps, going back to each of my classrooms. The halls empty out as everyone leaves to head home. No ironing board. I run over to the auditorium. There’s trash on the stage left from the costume contest, which Sydney won on account of Sunny’s hanbok, which I think is plain wrong, wrong, wrong. I check bathrooms. Nothing. I give up and dash outside to be greeted with an emptying parking lot, cars turning onto the street. Not a yellow school bus in sight. I missed my bus.
