My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

“How much is weed?” I instantly say, brightening at the prospect of getting high in Beijing.

  “One hundred twenty-five yuan for a hit.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask. “That’s so expensive.”

  The guy in the hoodie shrugs and holds up a tiny baggie of pre-rolled joints.

  “How much is that in American?” I ask.

  Ruby glances at me, looking a bit scandalized at my inability to do math. “That’s approximately eighteen dollars US.”

  “That’s way too expensive!” I say to the dude. “For a tiny, pre-rolled joint?”

  “Hey, this stuff is hard to get here,” he says. “I’ll make you a deal. How about your pretty friend, the tall, shy one, come sit with me?”

  I roll my eyeballs and frown at him.

  Snickering, Greasy Fanny-Pack points and grins at poor Ruby, who towers over everyone at the party. She’s seriously blushing lipstick red and looking totally horrified. Greasy Fanny-Pack might be someone that I might actually hang/smoke/laugh with in New Jersey, but he makes my cousin uncomfortable, which makes me strangely worried for some reason. After all, I brought Ruby to “study group.”

  “No deal,” I say, moving in front of Ruby like one of Uncle Dai’s security guards. “What else do you have for me?”

  “You don’t have to,” Ruby whispers. “I have money.”

  “Your dad gave me money too,” I say.

  And yet, somehow, I know it’s not my money to spend. Miraculously, my voice of limited self-control has somehow disappeared in my time of need. It’s like I have no guardian devil of recklessness to guide me. Uncle Dai gave me that money after seeing my grandma in hopes of keeping me quiet, but I will give it back to him or save it for a real-life emergency like an earthquake or other natural disaster.

  “How about you stand up, sing a song, and I’ll give you three of them?” Greasy Fanny-Pack is sneering at me, as if daring me to catwalk away. He dangles the baggie of weed in front of me.

  “Deal!” I say, knowing that he expects me to decline and pay the marked-up price. He looks surprised.

  Normally, I’d be so embarrassed, but I don’t know anyone in the room. Ruby looks mortified, but I already know what she thinks of me. Seeing Frank and his friends watch me with mild shock and a lot of unfiltered amusement, I smile nervously. Somehow, I don’t care anymore. I’ve already done and said a trillion embarrassing cringe-worthy things in Beijing. What’s one more item to add to my ever-growing list?

  Greasy Fanny-Pack switches to extra-loud Chinese, shouting for everyone in the small apartment to be quiet, I assume. It takes a while, but the room hushes. He helps me stand on a chair. I wobble a bit in my red platform sneakers before finding my balance.

  Everyone is looking at me. Someone catcalls and people start applauding loudly. I swig down another cup of watery-tasting beer and burp.

  Both Frank and Ruby are staring at me in amazement.

  Awkwardly, a cappella style, I belt out “The Circle of Life” from my dad’s favorite musical, The Lion King. I don’t even know half the words, but I make them up as I go along. Then I twirl a bit, and clumsily attempt the choreography from the sexy Hawaiian dance class that my dad took me and Peter to over a year ago. I sway my hips like a Tyrannosaurus rex and I hum along tunelessly.

  Horrified silence.

  No one says anything.

  After a while, many people boo and hiss like the ostriches at the Bronx Zoo.

  This is the most awkward, humiliating thing to happen to me in front of my peer group. Yet shockingly, I don’t really care and I’m not even drunk. For some reason, I always thought that I would go extinct from embarrassment if no one liked me. Who am I? I don’t even recognize this unselfconscious version of Iris Weijun Wang.

  I ignore the booing crowd.

  Jumping off the chair, I grab seven pre-rolled ones from gaping Greasy Fanny-Pack (one for each of my new best friends), who all look delighted. Greasy Fanny-Pack is too stunned to stop me. A flash of happiness blooms inside me. I honestly love to share things.

  “You are amazing,” Kitty says, smirking at me. “Frank, you found a keeper.”

  Frank flushes and I smile widely. Is my tutor blushing?

  I make an it’s-no-big-deal face and shrug casually. But on the inside, I’m incredibly pleased.

  Alex, Jason, and Emerald are all nodding. Even Ruby’s eyes pop a bit in shock from my super-awkward performance, but she looks impressed, if nervous. I smile at her, but she still looks incredibly scared, like she’s about to throw up. How are parties frightening? Frank’s friends are all incredibly interesting-looking in an artsy way and seemingly nonjudgmental. We go outside on the balcony and smoke. Ruby takes a hit and recoils. She starts coughing and mouths something that looks like SOS at me. I flash her a thumbs-up sign, but she looks like she’s ready to leap off the balcony, screaming. I motion at a drink, and she instantly gulps it down, like it’s a slushy strawberry bubble tea.

  It’s all going fantastic, I think happily.

  When it’s my turn with the joint, I breathe in deeply, and I stare at the hazy lights and the traditional architecture; the mix of old concrete buildings and rustic heritage houses with their triangular tiled rooftops. It’s very gray but incredibly breathtaking. Like being in an international documentary with subtitles. The smog is so thick that it makes me think I’m watching the city through a series of black-and-white slides that they show you in American history class.

  Frank gestures oddly at the neighborhood houses. “An end to our dream,” he says seriously, and his friends all look solemn as they cheers plastic cups and clap each other on the back.

  “Are parties as fun as this in America?” Kitty asks me, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Very close,” I say, grinning.

  For the first time since I arrived in Beijing, I actually fit in.

  No one is asking me about learning Chinese and no one is talking about school or math or politics. I inhale and toke and drink like the old funny Iris. I laugh and tell silly stories from my former life. Jason or Alex is flirting with Ruby and finally, she begins to relax and giggle awkwardly and glances around, as if afraid to look the dude in the eyes. For a brief moment, I catch her stare and nod encouragingly. I point at her, to let her know that it’s okay to talk about herself, but then I hear her mention the designer of her jacket. “Prada ChineseChineseChinese,” she is saying, and Jason/Alex is nodding but looking confused. I honestly can’t believe it!

  After a while, we run out of drinks, so we go back inside and then someone brings out a guitar and then someone else reads a poem. Of course, it’s all done in advanced Chinese and I can’t understand anything. Then it’s Frank’s turn to stand up at the front of the room, and he reads a passage. I can’t understand it either, but I have never thought that Mandarin sounded so beautiful.

  “He’s the best poet in our class,” Kitty says to me.

  “What does the poem mean?” I say.

  “He’s translating Li Bai’s famous love poem. Shhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Staring at me, Frank recites:

  The autumn air is clear,

  The autumn moon is bright.

  Fallen leaves gather and scatter,

  The jackdaw perches and starts anew.

  We think of each other—when will we meet?

  This hour, this night, my feelings are hard.

  “Huh,” I say, pretending that I understand. How can feelings be hard? Everyone knows that they are just side effects from ingesting too much alcohol or drugs, and sending regrettable two a.m. texts.

  For some reason, I can’t help staring at Frank, who keeps looking back at me. His eye contact is honestly alarming, and normally, I would find it creepy and not endearing.

  As the night goes on, I down another watery beer, but then I notice Ruby can barely stand up. Her eyes are half-closed and she’s starting to slump over. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth like an English bulldog, and I resist the urge to laugh.

&n
bsp; Hugging Frank’s charming and wonderful friends goodbye, I insist that it’s time to go. It takes an enormous amount of effort, but Frank helps me bring Ruby to the curb, where Mr. Chen is waiting. He’s just watching football on his iPad again, but he helps me push my cousin, who’s stumbling slightly, into the backseat.

  “That was really fun,” I say to Frank.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Thanks for tonight,” I try again.

  But Frank is super-staring at me with what looks like what Li Bai calls “hard feelings”—and what Cosmopolitan calls “bedroom eyes” in their latest issue—so I take his hesitation as an invitation.

  Boldly, I lean forward and kiss him.

  It’s just a light smack on the lips. And at first, he freezes and I pause, unsure of what to do. I don’t understand! I thought he liked me. But it’s like kissing a celebrity’s face on a poster. There’s absolutely no reaction.

  For almost an entire minute, he stares at me, looking shocked. Like I’m a shitty kisser (I’m not!). But my mom always said that she had to make the first move or my timid Goat-dad would never have gotten her pregnant. Without my mom’s no-nonsense attitude to romance and dating, I would not exist at all.

  I don’t know if I’m supposed to apologize for kissing a boy in Beijing.

  I don’t know if I’m supposed to shake his hand before parting ways. What is the correct Chinese etiquette?

  Mortified, I have never been so outwardly rejected on a first kiss before.

  “Can we pretend that never happened?” I finally ask. Heat rushes through my face and neck like a severe case of alcohol poisoning.

  “It tickles,” he mutters. “Like a cat.”

  “What??!” I say.

  Oh my god. I feel my face, which I thought was Frank’s mustache, but it’s actually mine. Frank’s face is smooth and hairless. The Tiger curse that I haven’t been thinking about. I must have grown more hairs yesterday during the scary mob incident.

  “I’m going to go now,” I say, biting my lip awkwardly and staring at my hands.

  I don’t know how many more times I can embarrass myself in this bad luck city.

  But this time, Frank grabs my arm and I guess he doesn’t mind my Tiger mustache because we kiss again, with lots of tongue, and it feels really messy and nice even though I suddenly can’t help but think of uncaring, ungrateful Peter Hayes. Peter was the last boy that I enthusiastically made out with. As I try to focus exclusively on Frank, Peter dumping me feels more real again, even though I haven’t thought about it since I checked my social media page hours ago.

  Suddenly, kissing Frank is like kissing the ghost of Peter Hayes.

  Frank tastes like baijiu, weed, and bitterness.

  Frank is what happened because I failed senior year, bombed the SATs, and wrecked my chances of college.

  Frank kissing me back is the ultimate result of my parents’ spiraling shame and STI-like burning disappointment.

  But also, the kiss reminds me of tomorrow and the brand-new possibilities that happen after getting a deep-pore exfoliating facial. Frank is someone that I would never have met if I hadn’t been sent to live with my aunt and uncle. There’s definitely something sweet and surprising about kissing a college boy in an alleyway. Like sneaking cookie dough from the freezer at three a.m. on a weeknight.

  Mr. Chen honks the horn impatiently.

  I guess we’ve been making out for too long to be appropriate. Even my mouth is getting tired. And even though I initiated the kiss, I’m not ready for another relationship. I tell myself it was just the booze and weed that made me curious enough to kiss my beautiful, movie-star-looking tutor.

  But there is something undeniably real and raw and trancelike between us. Call it chemistry, hormones, or a momentary weakness, I can’t pinpoint it. Frank and I are like two continents finally colliding at record-breaking speed after never having met before. It’s North America and Asia having a brief but very sexy affair.

  “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” Frank asks as I reluctantly pull away.

  “What do you mean?” I say.

  For a second, I feel light-headed and giddy and more internally beautiful but also messed up from our kiss. I just want Frank to slide his warm tongue back inside my mouth. Suddenly, my vision flickers. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought?

  I look at the smoggy sky and try to pretend to look for stars, but all I see are different shades of pollution. Beijing is really like being on a different planet.

  But Frank is still staring at me somberly. Like he’s about to tell me that the end of the world is coming and it’s prophesied that I’ll be the only human being left (my worst fear!).

  “You just say and do exactly what you’re feeling,” he says. “Most people are always hiding, but you aren’t.”

  “There’s no point hiding anything,” I say, thinking of my dad and Uncle Dai. “Secrets always get found out.”

  “I admire you for being so real,” he says.

  “Are you saying I’m too honest?” I ask, puzzled. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

  “You’re not scared to be yourself,” he murmurs, gently cupping the side of my face. A fast, electric, otherworldly current runs through us. Frank is breathing extra-extra-hard and his eyes look glassy. I shamelessly think about all the amazing, magical possibilities of what could happen if I could just follow him back to his college dorm room. I just want us to take off all our clothes before one of us sobers up.

  “Iris, I … ,” Frank suddenly says in a raspy voice.

  Mr. Chen honks loudly again, interrupting us, and I finally slide into the car.

  In the backseat, Ruby drunk-mumbles and slowly wakes. We stop the car twice so she can vomit. I hold her waist-long hair back and accidentally pull off several dyed white-blond strands. Practically a fist-size bunch, to be honest. God, I hope these are hair extensions. Otherwise, she might blame me for male-pattern baldness in addition to ruining her life.

  “You’re helping me?” she says, coughing and looking surprised when she finally finishes puking up what could possibly fill every river and lake in China. Her eyes are frighteningly pink, and her complexion seriously looks the same color as a hot dog.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I say, stunned. “I would never leave someone who was sick.”

  Groaning, she leans her head on my shoulder as we say good night to Mr. Chen and I help her to her room. I know I shouldn’t be shocked, but her parents aren’t home. The lights in the penthouse are off. Shouldn’t Uncle Dai be resting after his head injury? I don’t understand how he could just go back to work after what happened in the car. The thought of us almost tipping over … we could have died. At the thought, fresh fear slides through me immediately. The idea of dying on another continent without ever seeing my parents again and not eating Dairy Queen once more absolutely terrifies me. What sort of trouble is Uncle Dai in? Why didn’t I notice all the extra security cars? How did I think that money and living at the Shangri-La would never have a host of problems?

  For a moment, I close my eyes, shoving the feeling of extreme full-blown panic down, like an extravagant three-course meal that I’m too full to eat.

  Ruby suddenly makes a retching sound. I grab a trash can for her and she vomits again.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I say, worried. “Should I call your house doctor?”

  “You are being so nice,” she mutters as she finishes puking and falls sideways onto the bed in the maid’s quarters. “But I’ve been so mean to you.”

  “Is that an apology?” I say.

  “He is cute,” Ruby mumbles suddenly.

  “Yes, Frank’s friend totally liked you!” I say with enthusiasm.

  Her face flushes as I help her take off her gold thigh-high boots. I check the leather lining: GUCCI in large gold printing. I’m very, very impressed. How much did these boots cost?

  “You and Frank are perfect for each other,” Ruby says, slurring slightly.


  As if she is reading my mind, I blush. Why should I care about what my cousin is saying about Frank? Tonight was a humongous mistake but admittedly a very nice one. At least I got to unwind at a super-fun party. My first one since I caught Samira and Peter in my bed.

  I wait for Ruby to continue her thought, but she starts snoring loudly. Drool gathers on her lips and begins dribbling onto her pillow like she’s a dainty Saint Bernard. I start laughing because it’s so ridiculous.

  The universe is so absurd!

  Ruby’s caninelike snoring suddenly stops.

  I check to make sure that my cousin is actually sleeping. I check her breathing and wave my fingers under her nose.

  No response.

  She’s out.

  Then she sits back up again, her eyes snapping open like a zombie.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Can you still meet the mastiff at the airport?” she says. “I’ll send you an email with the details.”

  “Yes, yes,” I quickly promise.

  Then she notices me looking at the gold boots. “You can have those,” she offers. “I have so many and those would look fantastic on you.”

  I gasp. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she says, and falls fast asleep again.

  I can’t believe that Ruby and I are becoming friends. It feels as if a second ago we were arguing over a ruined dress.

  Before bed, I try on my new Gucci boots and they fit like a pair of leather gloves. They’re so soft and warm and glamorous. I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, and suddenly, my legs look twice as long, and I swear I’ve lost five whole pounds.

  As I look in the mirror, I keep wondering: What if no one likes me for just being me? What if I’m someone without anything to offer anyone? And what did Frank mean that I wasn’t afraid to be myself?

  If he thinks that I’m open and authentic, it means that I’m seriously unraveling in China. There could be something very, very wrong with me.

  23

  Family Secrets

  The next day, I agree to meet Frank at Tiananmen Square, where there was a violent and messy massacre many years ago. Admittedly, I don’t know much about China’s history, but even I have heard a bit about this important location.