by Maurene Goo
By the time I reached the office, I was sweating with all the minor evil deeds I had done recently. Never had I felt more wicked. I absentmindedly carved my name into my math class desk once. But who the heck hasn’t? Also, I’ve hid under the bleachers on more than one PE occasion. Oh, God, I’m dead. I approached Principal Mendel’s office with a knot in my stomach. The principal’s secretary nodded me in.
The instant I saw who else was in the office, I knew why I was called in there. Sitting at his desk was Principal Mendel, and standing in opposite corners of the room were Mr. Williams and the student government advisor, Mr. Green.
“Holly. Sit down.” Principal Mendel pointed at a chair sternly. Principal Mendel is one of those men that you know are supposed to scare you, but they never quite do it. He has the mustache and everything. But David recently pointed to why his authoritativeness fails: “He’s really, really not smart.”
However, I admit it. I was terrified.
I sat down. Before anyone could open their mouth, someone else came through the door behind me. I turned my head.
“LIZ?”
Liz walked in, looking equally confused. “Holly?”
I was now completely thrown off guard. “What’s all this about?” I asked.
At that, Mr. Green marched over to me, stopped two inches away from my face, and spat out, “Nice try, Holly. I spoke to Mrs. Richards and she told me all about your little ploy.”
I’m not too embarrassed to say that tears started pricking my eyes. I mean, I was being chastised by a huge man who looked like a celebrity bodyguard. Who drove a Mazda Miata but was still scary. I felt the dread in my stomach growing, creeping its way throughout my entire body.
“Ploy? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said in a small shaky voice, without as much conviction as I’d hoped. Oh, Lord. Was I going to get suspended? Would I be able to go to college? Would my mom beat me with a rolled-up newspaper like that time I came home late from the movies? I truly felt scared, and at that moment regretted being born.
But it was so unfair. They were the ones rigging the election! Weren’t they?
Mr. Green sat down but kept talking. “The Weasel Times is always pulling this underhanded crap. You have to follow the rules like everyone else.”
“I wasn’t trying to pull anything!” I sputtered. “I just … we needed to know who the Queen and King were for our deadline.”
Mr. Green gave a short bark of a laugh and I jumped a little in my seat. “How could anyone know that when no one has voted yet? You basically implied to Mrs. Richards that it was rigged.”
Liz’s head whipped toward me with a questioning look.
I was surrounded by adults who were in charge, and I had no power in this situation. I felt like there was nothing I could say to make this go any other way than they had already decided it would go. This was so WRONG. I tried to summon up some courage. “Well, that’s the rumor.”
Mr. Green’s face turned dangerously red. “A rumor started by The Weasel Times, no doubt!”
Mr. Williams finally spoke up. “Oh come off it, Jeff. We all know it’s true.”
Liz finally reacted. “Wait, WHAT?”
Principal Mendel stood up in a huff. “Settle down, Mr. Williams. This is not the time to be making unfounded accusations. Anyway, we brought Miss Rezapour here for a reason. Miss Kim, we know you did this because your little friend here was nominated for Homecoming Queen.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Liz asked frostily. It was very queenlike, actually.
Mr. Green raised his eyebrow and dismissively replied, “We know you put her up to this.”
“EXCUSE me?!” Liz said incredulously, raising her voice.
I, on the other hand, am usually very polite to authority figures. Almost to a fault. I blame it on my Korean upbringing, which upholds the idea that one needs to show utmost respect to anyone who is even one month older (and therefore wiser) than you. To act any other way would be an embarrassment to your parents and your country.
But at that moment, authority figures be damned, I was pissed. Liz and I were being majorly and unfairly dissed.
“She did NOT put me up to this! She didn’t even know until this moment that the election might be fixed. I decided to find out if it was,” I said angrily.
“You wanted to sway Mrs. Richards’s decision. You thought she would treat you specially because you’re her student,” Mr. Green said accusingly.
I tried to remain calm. “You are twisting my words. Why would I even think that? Mrs. Richards wasn’t really making a decision, was she? She’s just supposed to count votes like you say!”
Principal Mendel and Mr. Green both exchanged strange glances. Crossing his arms over his chest, Mr. Williams asked, “Well, isn’t she?”
Principal Mendel waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever the case, what Holly did was highly unethical, accusing the student government of such things based on nothing but speculation. And to use her position at the paper to try and sway the decision in favor of her friend.”
“But … I DIDN’T!” I said in a super loud voice that startled even me.
“I know you have to lie to cover this up, Holly, but it’s really not a good idea,” Mr. Green said. The condescension in his voice triggered daydreams of dropkicking his shaved head across the room.
Principal Mendel sighed. “Well, it looks like it’s your word against ours. Therefore, as punishment, Miss Rezapour, you are disqualified from the competition and will step down from the Homecoming Court. As for you, Miss Kim, consider yourself lucky that all I’m going to do is ban you from the dance. The Weasel Times will not get to cover the Homecoming dance this year.”
I was shocked. I looked over at Liz, who was strangely stone-faced.
Once we were in the hallway I looked at Liz apprehensively. “Sorry about that, Liz. I had no idea this would happen. I should have told you about the whole election thing.”
She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to be sorry. I can’t believe they can just get away with accusing us of stuff we didn’t do!”
“I know! I mean, yes, I did maybe overstep my boundaries. But, I still think the election is rigged! Mr. Williams said as much.”
Just then Mr. Williams walked out of the office and patted my back. “Tough break, Holly. But sometimes it’s easier to humor these guys.”
GREAT ADVICE. More inspiration from the people that were supposedly grown-ups. If being a grown-up meant being a compromising chump, then no thanks.
Liz shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well.”
I felt really bad. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m so sorry, Liz. I know you wanted to be Homecoming Queen.”
“Maybe I did. But honestly, it’s not worth all this trouble. I’m kind of sick of it already.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I can still —”
“Dude. For reals, no worries. I’m sorry you can’t go to the dance either. That dress!”
Hm. Strange, I had forgotten until that moment that I was being punished, too. I should have been relieved.
Right?
* * *
“Rewind that! Please rewind that!”
The DVD player blipped and showed Sissy Spacek getting drenched by pig’s blood again.
Carrie, David, and I squealed with glee and horror. Liz groaned and shoved her head farther into a pillow.
“You guys can be so sick sometimes,” Liz said once it was safe to open her eyes again. “I mean, what kind of freaks sit at home and watch Carrie the night of the Homecoming dance?”
“Us,” David said through a mouthful of Doritos that he had snuck into Carrie’s basement. “But the more pressing question is, what kind of freak sits with her freak friends watching Carrie on Homecoming night in a Homecoming gown?”
Patting her silky chiffon skirt, Liz happily replied, “Homecoming Queen Elizabeth.”
“You lucked out, huh, Holly?” Carrie asked while shoving some chips into her mouth. Even Carrie caved
to junk food when we watched movies.
I smiled. “Yup, lucked out.” The thing was, I had actually been looking forward to the dance. It would have been fun to go with my friends, to get to wear a dress that didn’t look ugly on me for once. But I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Instead I looked at Liz regretfully. “Sorry, again, to take you down with me. There goes your revenge.”
She shrugged. “You were right. It was a lot of work for something that wasn’t worth it in the end. Would have been great, though,” she said with an exaggerated wink. I was also wearing my dress. Over jeans.
“I think the fury of Holly’s mom could have been amazing if she was caught,” David said.
Carrie groaned. “IF she was caught. But seriously, Holls, your mom needs to chill!”
Liz looked at me sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, my dad said he would have sent one of my male cousins as a chaperone if I went with a date. That’s why I wanted to take Carrie.”
Carrie let out a peal of laughter. “What? Both of your parents are nuts.”
“Sorry, not all our parents can be hippies that encourage talking about your feelings and boundaries all the time!”
Carrie sighed dramatically. “That can get annoying, too, you know.”
“You’ll never understand our pain,” David said while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.
“Oh, please, David. Your parents are more American than mine,” Carrie retorted defensively. “Except that your dad wants you to be a doctor with an almost psychotic drive.”
“You can take the boy out of China, but you can’t take China out of the boy,” David said with a shrug.
“Well, just because my parents aren’t old-fashionedy immigrants doesn’t mean my life is all easy,” said Carrie.
“No one said it was. But at least you’re allowed to wear nail polish.” I pointed to her hands.
Carrie looked at her neon-green nails and nodded. “That’s true. But at least you can buy new jeans.”
I looked down at my crisp jeans and sighed happily. Carrie’s parents had strong feelings about fair labor and living sustainably — all her clothes were either thrifted, made by her mom (hence, her Homecoming dress that never was), or made by some eco-designer from Etsy.com. Luckily, Carrie could pull it off. If it were me, I would have looked like some seriously misguided hobo off the streets.
Liz shrugged her shoulders and patted down her four-hundred-dollar dress. “Nobody has the perfect family.”
And at those words, we heard Carrie’s mom yell from upstairs, “Do you kids want some whole-grain acai berry muffins? I can also make kale smoothies.”
David almost choked on his M&M’S as Carrie yelled out, “MOOOM!”
Looks like the student government proved you wrong. The dance was a huge success and the decorations were beautiful. IN YOUR FACE.
— THE COLLECTIVE MEMBERS OF THE BHS STUDENT GOVERNMENT
The dance sucked. It was in the gym. No amount of Christmas lights and cardboard fountains could hide the bleachers and rubber floor. The entire student government needs to be impeached for stupidity.
— ANONYMOUS, JUNIOR
Holly’s column was rude as usual. She owes the Homecoming Court an apology. She almost ruined it for us! And she was obviously trying to rig the thing for Elizabeth Rezapour. No one believes your fake-ass excuses, Holly!
— CANDACE F., SOPHOMORE
If anyone says Holly tried to rig the election, kindly tell them to SHUT UP. And take off those ugly knockoff boots already, Candace. We all know they ain’t Prada.
— ELIZABETH R., SOPHOMORE
Along, long time ago a bunch of English people were made fun of a lot in their own country because they wore giant buckles on their hats and ruffled blouses. Oh, yes, and they were also uptight religious puritans who got on everyone’s nerves.
So, because they couldn’t handle the teasing — or I suppose they called it “religious persecution” — they came over on three big boats to the United States of America. Except back then they called it the New World, or Big Island o’ Savages.
They came over and were like, “Oh, oops, perhaps we should have brushed up on our Complete Idiot’s Guide to Settling in Different Continents.” Because they didn’t know that it got really, really cold in Massachusetts. And that the soil there wasn’t exactly the same as the Motherland’s and therefore they couldn’t plant all those infernal cabbages.
And also, they were freaked out by the Native Americans. (Back then, they called them “savages,” and then for the next two hundred years Americans called them “Indians,” which was just willful ignorance since we knew full well at this point that no one had landed in India.)
So there these settlers were, starving, diseased, and scared for the upcoming winter. Which would consequently kick their ass in coldness and length. (Did you know that on the East Coast winter lasts until like, June? JUNE! WTF! San Diego, I kiss your sandy shores.)
Lo and behold, the scary, scary Native American people took pity on these skinny intruders and offered them food from their harvest. I don’t know if a cornucopia was actually involved in any of this, but I imagine a chief of some tribe carried over a cornucopia full of corn and turkeys and handed it over to them.
They called this sharing of foods and good times Thanksgiving.
I could go into a lot of things — like how the Pilgrims that we all know and love weren’t technically the first group of folks to have a Thanksgiving in America. (I think people hung out in Florida and Virginia first, but they never get any love.) Or how I think the Native Americans were badass for sharing their food when they could have easily watched the people who invaded their turf and gave them smallpox starve to death. (DO NOT GOOGLE “SMALLPOX” UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR EYEBALLS BURNED OUT OF YOUR SKULL.)
Anyway. I hope you all remember to give thanks this year. Even if you are forced to have dinner with fifty of your closest relatives in small quarters, with screaming children’s sticky gravy fingers grabbing at you, with uncles belching in front of the TV, and with aunts making comments about your acne. If my family survives this dinner alive, we should all be thankful.
Gobble Gobble,
Why were you in the shower for so long?”
“Are you SERIOUSLY asking me this, Mom?”
“Yes! I am very serious, Holly.”
“Why?! Are you monitoring my showers or something, you psycho?”
“Wha?! Monitoring?! Now your mother can’t even ask you a simple question without being crazy?”
I was standing in the hallway with a towel wrapped around my head, ready to smash it into the wall repeatedly. A girl couldn’t even take a shower in the Kim house without being interrogated about it afterward.
“Mom, you are insane. Good-bye.” I stalked off to my room and slammed the door. (But only kinda — if I really slammed the door it would be busted down in a Mom-shaped tornado, and I was in no mood for a natural disaster.)
I flopped onto my bed and screamed into my pillow. Good God, my family was driving me crazy. It was just the usual Saturday:
7:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom rummaging through my drawers looking for some socks she thought she might have put in my laundry by mistake. I’m not allowed to have locks on my door. Tried to fall back asleep through anger.
9:00 A.M. Sat down to breakfast with my family and was greeted with the usual “Ohhh, look who finally decided to join us!” It’s 9:00 A.M. Let’s calm down.
10:00 A.M. Fought with my sister over doing the dishes. Ann appears to think she actually does them once in a while. She’s completely deluded. I ended the fight by soaking her shirt with soapsuds and took gleeful yet slightly guilty pleasure in her stomping to her room to change.
10:30 A.M. Forced into accompanying my dad to the fish market. He made me hold the fish as he dawdled around the store for an infinite amount of time. We were buying some extra seafood for the Thanksgiving feast that was going to be held at our house the following week. Yes, FISH. My dad alway
s has to spice things up Korean-style at these holiday gatherings.
12:00 P.M. Came home to my mom vacuuming my room in one of her psychotic cleaning episodes. Meaning, instead of letting me clean my room by myself, she busts in and her head explodes because she cannot handle the squalor in which her daughter lives, and proceeds to run a vacuum over every surface. Including my teddy bear, Sir Buster. RUDE! And she does this while yelling a self-pitying monologue the entire time that somehow implicates both my sister and me as the Worst Daughters to Have Ever Lived.
So, my mother asking suspiciously about my shower in the middle of the afternoon was the last straw. It was the last straw in one crappy haystack of a day. A haystack mixed with poop.
I quickly put on some clothes and did my hair. (How I “do my hair”: flip head upside down and vigorously towel dry. Rub some gooey stuff from a jar onto palms and run through hair until it looks messy and fun. Done.)
I decided to call David to see what he was up to — I needed to escape.
“What up, Hizzle.”
“Hey, D. Can we do something today?”
“Vague much?”
“ANYTHING! My parents are this close to dying by the hand of their firstborn.”
“Tell me about it. My dad lectured me about my music again today.”
David plays the guitar and is in a band with Carrie — the Raw Meat Demons. Anyway, his dad really hates on his music. He thinks it takes too much time away from his “studies.” Which is ridiculous because David doesn’t need to study one second of his life to ace all his tests. Which, by the way, is really annoying to someone who crams all night to get a B-minus on a geometry quiz.
“Well, let’s plan an escape. Want to hit the beach?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s cold now.”
“Okay then. A movie?”
