The Dark Becomes Her

That night I nudge the door to Tina’s room open, a tin of chocolate wafer rolls tucked under my arm. She’s lying on her stomach with her laptop in front of her, the screen illuminating her face. She taps her fingers on the side of the keyboard, earbuds in, the tinny sound of music leaking out.

“Hey, I gotta go, okay? Talk to you later,” Tina quickly speaks into the microphone before shutting her laptop.

“Yum!” she says while munching on one of the rolls. “It’s the good ones from Taiwan too.”

“I hid this pack in the back of the pantry so Denny couldn’t find it,” I tell her. She chuckles and takes another, knowing that our little brother rummages for snacks at all times.

“The dancers we saw before the lion dance were really great,” I say. “I liked the part with the fans a lot.”

“That’s the senior troupe! They perform all the time,” Tina exclaims, her excitement already bubbling over from the first breath. “You have to get Vanessa’s attention to be considered for them. Invitation only. We would all kill for an invite.”

“You’ve been practicing lots,” I say, my voice high and staccato. “I saw you practicing in the gym when I walked by at lunch. Are those girls from the studio too?” I try to sound excited rather than judgmental, pulling a wafer out of the tin and munching on it as well.

“Yeah, one of the senior girls said I have a lot of potential and picked me to be in the little-sister troupe.” Her face lights up. “As long as I work hard, there’s a chance I might get into the older troupes even though I don’t have as much experience as some of the others. It’s like a family, they said, we help each other.”

“Wow, that’s great!” I tell her, envious. Of being able to be on the team, part of a group where you’re working toward the same thing. Like when I was in the school band at my old school—although now band has been removed from my schedule because it is not a “priority.”

I tense, reminded that there is so much more I am supposed to do. The weight of grade eleven being “the final year where grades will matter on your university application”—my parents’ constant reminder that I am running out of time. I rub the back of my neck, trying to loosen the knot there. I envy how easily Tina seems to flirt with being discovered, how she seems unfazed and unafraid.

“Weren’t you scared today when Ma and Baba met Mrs. Tsai?” I ask. “She could have easily told them that you were taking a class there.”

Tina smiles, a little mysterious. “Don’t worry. It’s all part of my plan. Mrs. Tsai understands.”

“What do you mean, your plan?” Tina hinted at this before: a plan to get our parents to cooperate with her. But she shakes her head, refusing to share anything else. We used to split snacks late at night, just like this. Complain about our parents. Share our thoughts. We used to be close, but not anymore.

What is that phrase Ma likes to say? 熱臉貼冷屁股. Don’t put your warm face against a cold butt. Don’t suck up when you’re not wanted. I need to stop obsessing over whatever Tina is up to. I have my own problems to deal with.

“Fine,” I say, pretending like it doesn’t bother me. “Keep your secrets.” That’s when I notice a small lantern on the shelf above her bed. A rainbow lotus, glowing as if lit from within.

“What this?” I reach for it, but she quickly rolls over and snatches it off the shelf before I can touch it.

“Don’t,” she says, cradling it like something precious. There’s an odd quality to her voice, a slight growl at the back of her throat. “I don’t want you to break it.”

“Okay, whatever,” I say, hopping off the bed and brushing the crumbs off my lap. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“It’s pretty though, right? I got it as a gift,” she says softly, like she’s talking to herself, her fingers running over the petals. The rainbow lights of the lotus are reflected in her dark eyes, stardust swirling in those depths. Like all her secrets, contained within.

Back in my room, my phone buzzes softly on my desk. I pick it up to check the notifications and notice messages from my friend Dawn. She was my closest friend at my old school, one of the few people I still keep in touch with after transferring to Westview.

Dawn: miss you lots. band isn’t the same without you. new kids keep going off-tempo

Me: miss you too

I send her a few smiley faces blowing hearts. I’ve felt off-tempo for a few months now too. Trying to realign myself back to where I was supposed to be.

You just need to find your people, Dawn tried to reassure me a while back, but I still don’t know where I fit in at Westview.

My thumbs hover on the keyboard, and I wonder if I should tell her about the strange things I’ve been seeing. I haven’t told her about the ghoul, or the bruise that still circles my leg. Not to mention the encounter with that guy today in Chinatown. But I don’t mention any of that.

Me: i’m still messing up the rachmaninoff…don’t know if i’ll ever get it

Dawn: you’ll get it. you always do. just try not to get too in your head about it all

Her message is followed by a bunch of black hearts. I send her a good-night, and as I brush my teeth, I wonder what my life would be like if I fought harder to stay in public school. If I would be happy with my old life, and Tina could be at Westview, building her new life. We’d each have our own space to figure out things for ourselves, and I wouldn’t be so…lonely. My mind whispers that word to me, something I would never admit out loud. I scrunch all of that down into the darkness where I hide those thoughts, those insecurities, and crawl into bed.

Whatever Tina has planned with Mrs. Tsai, it arrives in the form of a Mid-Autumn gift box.

“Looks expensive,” Ma comments approvingly when Baba takes it out after we finish eating dinner. He tells us Mr. Lee brought a bunch by his office that day as gifts.

We all gather around the kitchen table to see what it actually looks like. It comes in a purple bag, with a design of what appears to be a traditional carved-wood window, cut from paper to give a 3D effect. An origami bonsai tree sits before it, beside a tray with an origami teapot and two paper cups folded in geometric shapes. Beyond the window there is a dark blue sky dotted with tiny stars, a yellow moon in the corner, and the tiniest paper rabbit peeking out.

Ma pulls the container out, and it’s an octagon in the exact shape of the window. The purple lid is printed with the same design as on the bag. The insert inside is a shimmery gold, and nestled within are five mooncakes, each in their own individual box of various colors. The flavors are printed on the lids of the boxes in gold.

“These are not traditional flavors for sure.” Baba pushes his glasses up on his nose, peering down and reading them out. “Thai tea. Jasmine with dates. Osmanthus oolong. Hojicha with salted egg yolk. Coffee snow.”

“There’s an envelope.” Denny pops up from under the table, purple envelope in hand, giving it to Ma.

“Grab some plates and forks for us, Ruby,” Ma says while ripping open the envelope, eager to see what’s inside. I follow her directions, taking out the dessert plates and the tiny forks.

“We’ve been invited to a party!” Ma looks up from the envelope, surprised, handing it over to Baba. “Which one shall we try first?” She’s more eager to try the mooncakes while Baba looks over the invitation.

“Not a party for kids,” Ma quickly corrects while taking out the black sesame cake. She lets Tina take a photo of the floral design before cutting it into five pieces, one for each of us to try. Each has an oozing center, flowing out on the plate.

“It’s a fundraiser,” Baba says. “A documentary on Taiwanese migratory birds, how fascinating!”

“That sounds boring,” Denny declares, fork in hand. Tina chuckles. “Can we eat?” Ma gives us a nod.

Denny pops the small piece of mooncake into his mouth immediately, chewing happily. Tina slices off a corner and spears it with her fork, nibbling on the edges.

I cut into the mooncake with my own fork, half listening to my parents. Something on my plate moves, catching my attention. White shapes wiggling in and out of the black sesame filling. Maggots. I drop my fork onto the plate with a gasp. The clatter catches everyone’s attention.

“Do you not like it?” Baba questions. I look down at the plate again, and the mooncake is back to normal again. No maggots. Nothing moving. Tina pops another section of the mooncake into her mouth, while Denny shows his teeth, black smears of sesame smeared across his lips and tongue. My stomach churns at the sight.

“You can have my piece,” I mumble, pushing it toward Denny, who takes it eagerly.

The only one who notices something is weird is Tina. She watches me, and then smiles, a strange glint in her eye. Like she knows something I do not.

“But it’s sooo good…” she says in a slow drawl, and takes her finger to pick up a crumb on my plate that Denny left behind, and licks it off. Still staring at me, as if daring me to say something. My stomach flips. I push away from the table, envisioning the sight of maggots wriggling inside my guts, even though I didn’t eat a single bite.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I mumble, and run upstairs. I only barely manage to shut and lock the door behind me before falling to my knees before the toilet. I retch, then everything I ate for dinner comes out, burning my mouth with acid. I rest my face against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, trying to catch my breath.

“Ruby?” Ma knocks frantically at the door, trying to open it. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I call out, dragging my hand against my mouth. “Just not feeling good. I’ll be out in a second.” The lie makes me feel wretched, but who will believe me if I tell them what I saw?