Bitter Melon (16 page)

There’s a boy just a few feet ahead of me. He could be Chinese. He has thick, straight jet-black hair. He is wearing a polo shirt and khakis. He wears black-framed glasses that would look nerdy on someone else, but on him they look artsy and intellectual. Though he’s standing with a couple of friends, he’s not conversing with them. He’s gazing at the dance floor, looking alone and lost.

Bingo. Here’s my chance.

I march over to him. “Excuse me?” I say.

He doesn’t hear me. I tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I shout. “Wanna dance?”

He hesitates. His eyes travel from my face down to my feet,
then up to my face again. “No thanks,” he says. His friends are staring at me.

I back away a few steps. Then I quickly retreat to the designated meeting spot. I half expect to see Theresa waiting there for me, panicked and desperate, relieved to see me at last. She would tell me that she lost her nerve and couldn’t go through with it. Then I would tell her my story and she’d comfort me, saying that at least I had the courage to try. Or better yet, she would share a story similar to mine, and we would commiserate about how awful boys are and how we don’t want to have anything to do with them ever again.

But Theresa isn’t there. Where could she be? I scan the periphery, expecting her to be wandering around, looking for a boy to ask. But she’s nowhere to be seen. After searching the periphery twice, I reluctantly search the dance floor. Then I see her towards the front. The orbiting lights make the white parts of her dress glow. She is swaying awkwardly with a boy who is a few inches taller and somewhat stocky. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a collared shirt, a V-neck sweater, and khakis. As they turn, I get a look at his round baby face. He’s Asian, probably Chinese. And he’s gazing at her and smiling. Though I can’t see her face, I know that she is gazing and smiling back at him.

Theresa got someone and I didn’t.

They bump into another couple and take a few steps to the side to give them berth. As they move, I see the couple behind them.

It’s Derek and Diana.

Diana is resting her head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s arms are cradling Diana’s slender waist.

The song ends and the lights come on. Derek looks up. That’s when he sees me. We lock gazes for a moment as both our faces register shock. Before he can say or do anything, I race out of the gymnasium into the cold night air.

I wait for Theresa outside as a herd of students exits the school. I’m worried that Theresa won’t know where to find me, but I refuse to go back in there and see Derek again. Twenty minutes later, when most of the students have left, I see Theresa emerging from the front door with her dance partner.

“Frances!” She sounds frantic. “I was worried sick looking all over for you. I thought that we were supposed to meet at our spot. Why weren’t you there?”

Her new friend is standing right behind her. I’m not about to explain my situation in front of him. “Sorry,” I say. I eye the boy behind her suspiciously. Theresa turns to him.

“Oh, this is Frances,” Theresa says. “Frances, this is Alfred.”

“Nice to meet you, Frances,” Alfred says.

I nod curtly and then ignore him. I wish he would just go away.

Instead, he says, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Oh! How nice,” Theresa says.

The three of us walk for a couple of blocks. Theresa and Alfred chitchat all the way while I tune out their conversation. When we finally reach Nellie’s car, Alfred and Theresa pause
and smile awkwardly at each other. Meanwhile, I stand there, arms crossed and foot tapping on the pavement.

“Well, it was really nice meeting you,” Theresa says.

“Same here,” Alfred replies.

They continue staring at each other, smiling. I clear my throat.

“Um … I guess we’d better get going,” Theresa says. She reluctantly turns away from Alfred to put her keys in the car door. Alfred’s eyes dart nervously between Theresa and me, like he wants to say something to Theresa but can’t because I’m there.

“Wait,” Alfred says. “I was wondering …” He glances at me and then seems to decide to pretend that I’m not there. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Winterball with me.”

“Oh! I’d like that.”

“Great! I can call you later so we can talk about it more.”

“That’d be great!”

“Well, um, do you have a pen and paper?” Alfred asks.

“Uh …” Theresa fumbles through her purse and pulls out a Hello Kitty pen and matching pocket notebook. Alfred takes the pen, writes on the notebook, and hands everything back to Theresa. “Great! Thanks!” Theresa says.

“Oh, um, could you …?” Alfred makes a writing-on-paper motion with his hands.

“Oh! That’s right.” Theresa writes her number on a separate sheet and tears it out for Alfred. I wish they would just hurry this up so I can go home.

“Okay. Well … I’ll call you,” Alfred says.

Theresa’s face glows. “Great!” She looks open and eager, ignorant of all the disappointment and humiliation that might await her.

Alfred smiles and waves. Theresa does the same. The two of them look so cute I could just puke. Then he walks away, and we get in the car.

“If you hadn’t twisted my arm, I would have never had the nerve to approach him,” Theresa says. “Thanks!”

I remain silent.

“So how did it go with you?” she asks.

My face must say it all. Her smile fades. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Derek was there. With Diana.” I leave out the part about the boy who refused me. It’s too humiliating.

“Diana? But I thought …”

I wave her off with my hand. “Let’s just go home.”

We drive in silence back to my apartment. I never thought that Theresa would get a boy before me. Not that she’s ugly, but she isn’t prettier than I am either. At least, I didn’t think so. On top of that, she’s not bold like me. She’s a mouse, timid and nervous. She doesn’t command an audience. I had thought that if we failed together, I wouldn’t have to feel alone. But now that she scored a dance invitation, it only makes me look like an even bigger loser.

Theresa drops me off at my apartment. Our second-story window is dark. I hope that this time Mom really will be asleep and not just lying in wait. The chances of that are high, since it
is past eleven. I open the door slowly. Inside, it is silent. I tiptoe to the bathroom and turn on the light.

“So. How was
The Little Mermaid?”

My heart jumps to my throat as I spin around. Mom is standing in the doorway.

“It was good,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm.

“Hm. What is the movie about?” Her voice is like silk. It makes me nervous.

“It’s about this mermaid who wants to explore the human world, but her father forbids her to venture beyond the mermaid world,” I say. “But she ventures out anyway and falls in love with a prince.”

“Hm, I see. So, what happens after that?”

“The sea witch offers to transform her tail into a pair of legs in exchange for her voice. The mermaid must make the prince fall in love with her or else the sea witch gets to own her.” With each sentence, I find myself talking faster and faster.

“So, how does it end?”

I know that Mom doesn’t care about the movie. Where is she going with this?

“She eventually succeeds in making the prince fall in love with her,” I say. “She gets her voice back and they marry and live happily ever after.”

“That’s nice,” Mom says. “Just remember, it is only a fairy tale. In real life, by venturing outside to get this prince, the mermaid would have lost her prince, her voice, and her life.”

I shiver.

Mom’s eyes travel down and up my body. It reminds me of the boy at the dance who said, “No thanks.” “You’re really dressed up just to go see a mermaid,” she says.

“Oh … well, we just felt like dressing up, that’s all.”

“Hm. I see.”

Mom pauses. In the silence, I can hear my heart thumping.

“Derek called,” she says.

I stifle the urge to gasp.

I had almost forgotten that I had given him my number. Stupid! What was I thinking? And yet he wouldn’t call unless he cared about me, right? Maybe going to the dance wasn’t a fruitless endeavor after all. Maybe I can find a way to call him back later. Maybe I can use Theresa’s phone. All I have to do is get through my punishment. If he cares, it will be worth it.

I brace myself for the sharp slap, followed by the shrill screaming. The sooner we can get this over with, the better. But Mom just stands there, looking at me, her eyes cool and mocking. The seconds stretch to minutes as my anticipation frays. Why hasn’t she exploded? Could it be that she’s not upset? Maybe she won’t wring me out after all. I give myself permission to exhale.

“This Derek said that he wasn’t going to the dance,” Mom says. “He didn’t want you to look for him.”

How can that be? He was there. I saw him.

Mom doesn’t miss the confusion on my face. “Was he there?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you to dance?”

“No.”

“Did any other boys ask you to dance?”

“No.”

“You know why? Three reasons. Your acne, your weight, and all that makeup on your face, which makes you look cheap.” Her lips curl into a smile. “When I tell you not to socialize with boys, it is for your benefit,” Mom says. “I only do it to spare your feelings. But if you want to find out for yourself, what can I say? If you want to go, I am powerless to stop you. So be my guest.” And with that, she walks away.

My whole body burns with humiliation. My chest aches as it did after the speech competition, only worse. I think about the overweight boy, the one I decided not to ask. Then I think about the boy who looked me up and down and said no. He probably saw me the way I saw the overweight boy. Does Derek see me that way too? I close the door and look at myself in the mirror. Under the harsh bathroom light, my makeup does look garish.

Frantically, I begin scrubbing my face with soap and water, splashing everywhere. I scrub and scrub until my pimples bleed. Then I tiptoe to my backpack, which is leaning against my desk, and pull out the folded note passed between Derek and me. I see my number, then his. I rip up the paper, watching our conversation fragment and separate, over and over again, until I can no longer figure out how to piece it back together. I don’t throw the pieces away. Mom might find them. Instead, I shove them into the front pocket of my backpack.

The next day, I walk them to the outside trash receptacle on the corner of my block. I hold the loose pieces like a handful of hair, watching the cold, whipping wind knock the fringes to and fro. Little by little, I watch the pieces fall through my fingers.

In the days that follow, Theresa does not mention Alfred. Neither do I. I don’t want any reminders of the dance debacle. I don’t want to listen to Theresa gush about Alfred while I mourn Derek. Perhaps she has forgotten about him. Then we can go back to how things were before, just the two of us, as if this never happened.

Meanwhile, I redirect my attention to my scholarship applications. I apply to one of the scholarships offered by Scripps. I also comb through Ms. Taylor’s book, pick out every scholarship I could possibly qualify for, and apply to every single one.

A week later, we get our report cards. Theresa and I are sipping hot cocoa during our midmorning break. We are both nervous about what we got, especially me, so we agreed not to open our report cards until we could do it together.

“The Winterball is coming up in five weeks,” Theresa says out of the blue.

I cringe and hope that she didn’t see. “That’s plenty of time,” I say.

“I’m wondering if I should call him.”

“You mean, he hasn’t called already?” I try to sound surprised, but my voice ends up sounding overly dramatic.

“No.” Theresa sighs. “Maybe he lost my number. If I called him, that would solve the problem.”

“But what if you call him, only to find out that he didn’t like you as much as you thought? Or what if he did like you but changed his mind?” I say.

“We seemed to connect really well,” Theresa says doubtfully.

“I thought the same about me and Derek, and look what happened,” I say. “The moral of the story is that men are fickle. I just don’t want you to be disappointed like me.”