“Like, really, really wild,” Jess adds.
“… I would go on a holiday, maybe,” Chaewon says. “I mean, I’d want to go back to Korea. To visit, you know. But with a thousand euros … I’m not sure if that would be possible.”
“You could go on a holiday to somewhere in Europe,” Jess chirps happily, somehow unaware that a trip to Korea would be far more than a holiday. Even though Chaewon and Jess are best friends who keep no secrets from each other, Chaewon catchesmyeye this time. Like this is a secret we’re sharing that Jess has no inkling of. It’s only a moment.
Then Chaewon chuckles and says, “Yes, and I could bring the both of you, obviously.”
“That would be the best holiday,” Jess agrees
I’m thinking about how one grand would barely be enough for a trip to Bangladesh, too.
Priti has after-school study, which Ammu and Abbu cajoled her into doing, even though she doesn’t really need it. She studies enough at home.
But it means I get to wait at the bus stop all by myself The bright orange letters of the real-time screen announce ten minutes, eleven, then back to ten again in the space of just a few seconds. Dublin bus is as unreliable as ever.
“Where’s your sister?”
Flávia’s voice has the usual effect on me—it sends my heart into a rhythm that shouldn’t be humanly possible. What is she doing here?
If she’s at the bus stop, she’s probably also waiting for a bus home.
She slides onto the bench next to me, a question pasted onto her expression.
Right.
She asked me a question.
“My sister and I aren’t always together.” I don’t know why my voice comes out defensive—apparently Flávia does something to me that makes my mind react in the strangest ways.
“I know.” She chuckles, somehow not totally put off by my defensiveness. “Just … I feel like I haven’t seen you without her. Chyna says the two of you are joined at the hip.”
I’m not sure how to feel about that—first, that Flávia has been asking Chyna about me, and second that she might believe whatever Chyna tells her.
I cross my arms over my chest and glance at Flávia out of the corner of my eye, like that’ll tell me exactly what Chyna has been saying about me.
“So … where is she?” Flávia asks after a moment.
“After-school study. She’s doing the Junior Cert this year, so.” I shrug.
“Wow,” Flávia says, leaning back against the glass on the back of the bus stop. “She must be just like you, huh?”
“What?”
“You don’t remember? When we were in primary school, your favorite thing was sneaking off into the library when we were supposed to be in the schoolyard.” She turns to look at me with amusement flashing in her eyes, and I can feel heat rising up my cheeks.
I can’t believe she remembers that too. I’d almost forgotten.
In primary school, I was so terrified of the other girls. They already made fun of me for my slight accent, and for the fact that it took me a few tries to understand them because oftheiraccents. They also pointed out that my food was weird, and smelled bad (though how anybody can think daal smells bad is still beyond me).
So instead of spending lunchtime in the schoolyard, hanging around by myself in a corner and alerting everyone to the fact that I was utterly alone and friendless, I would slip into the school library, hide behind a few bookshelves and bury myself in whatever I could find.
“That was different,” I say to Flávia now, even though I don’t want to explain how it was different. I was just trying to find a safe place for myself in that school.
Priti is just a nerd.
Surprisingly, Flávia sighs and says, “yeah,” like she totally understands. “You know, it’s even worse outside of Dublin.” She says this like I know exactly what she’s talking about.
Weirdly, I do. Because I don’t think it was easy for either of us in primary school, with our pronounced differences.
