This Is My Brain on Notice

JOCELYN

The morning after Will shows me his literal heart, I bite the bullet and submit my application and references, as well as the request to waive the thirty-five-dollar application fee. When my e-mail notification dings, I feel my heart skip a beat even though I know it has to be an auto response.

Thank you for your submission to the University of Utica Junior Business Program. We look forward to reviewing your application and contributing to the growth and success of many future leaders in management and entrepreneurship.

Should you be selected for an interview, you will be contacted via e-mail in approximately one to two weeks.

“I probably won’t get an interview,” I tell myself out loud, even as a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Priya says, “Of course you’re going to get an interview!” the same time a voice that sounds exactly like Will says, “Don’t be so down on yourself. You have so much to offer.”

To distract myself from the peanut gallery in my brain, I volunteer to go pick up my amah’s med refills after lunch while Will does his afternoon tutoring session with Alan. It’s one of the first times I’ve been out of the house by myself since I was grounded, and let me tell you, there’s nothing more pathetic than having a five-minute bike ride to CVS be the highlight of your week.

I enter pharmacy-line purgatory. I’m scrolling through my Instagram feed trying to come up with ideas for the A-Plus account, when along comes everyone’s favorite nemesis.

“Jocelyn! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! We missed you guys at the last MVCA potluck.”

“Hey, Pegs.” I muster my most convincing smile.

“Did my mom’s drug reps come through for you?”

“Actually, they did. I owe you one.” My smile gets 200 percent more genuine when I’m reminded that she did me a favor recently. Two, really, if you count her dad showing mine that Asian kids can date. I glance over at her shopping basket—it’s full of travel-sized toiletries. And is that an honest-to-God disposable electric toothbrush? “So, you, uh, leaving for a trip?” I ask. I feel beholden to at least have our conversation last more than thirty seconds.

“Oh, yeah! I’m leaving on Friday for a trip to California. I applied to this Women in STEM program at Stanford. My mom is super worried about me being so far away, but it was just too good to pass up. Room and board is free, and there’s even a travel stipend.”

“That sounds great!” I say, even though what I really mean is, “Does it come with a ‘Feel free to tell me to STFU’ T-shirt, too?” Because of course Peggy Cheng, who has never been denied a thing in her life, gets a free ride to study at one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Mercifully, the pharmacist calls my name next, before I start to actually emit fumes of toxic bitterness.

When I get back to A-Plus I have a black cloud over my head, and only about half an hour to snap out of it before Will’s finished with Alan. That’s the thing. Now that I’m 100 percent conscious of how aware Will is of my every mood, it’s impossible not to be super careful about my vibe.

It’s a little stressful, honestly. I mean, sixteen years into life in the Wu family, I’ve gotten used to the weight of my parents’ expectations. It’s like a backpack that I wear every day; I barely notice it. The only other person whose opinions I care about is Priya, but she’s easy. She’s used to my peaks and valleys. She’s also enough of a go-with-the-flow person that she just deals with the drama. Not that Will wouldn’t want to, but he’s pretty sensitive, to use a word that I hate when it’s used to describe me. It’s a little bit easier for guys, of course; when people say a dude is sensitive, they use it as a compliment, to show what a great catch he is and how in tune he is with his feelings. When people say a woman is sensitive, they say it with an eye roll, like she’s one malfunctioning pair of period panties away from rabid hysteria.

People say it as if it’s a burden to have to think about other people’s feelings, and for the first time, I kind of get it. Because as I’m waiting for Alan and Will to get done, I wonder: What if I accidentally trigger an anxiety attack with my worrying? Do I now have to be happy, in order for him to be happy? Should I start hiding the things that get me down, burying those feelings to protect us both? And are all these questions a huge, blinking warning sign?