Finally, some good news! We moving into that house in Pecan Landings. Momma went to the hearing today and the judge told those people who live around there that he will hold them in contempt of court if they try to interfere with us moving in. Momma says we can move in right away. Today is July 1st. We moving in there one month from today.

I’m thinking about this while I’m sitting out front of our place talking to Mai and her cousins. They’re headed for the market not far from here to buy some ginger. “My dad says it’s cheaper at that store,” Mai says.

This is the first time I’m meeting her cousins. The little one says her name is Ling. She’s six years old. Short and cute.

Got long, straight black hair down to her navel. Crooked front teeth and blue eyeglasses shaped like stars.

Ling’s sister is named Su-bok. She’s thirteen and really pretty. Her hair is short and spiked high on top. It’s black, but the tips are as white as glue. I don’t know what her eyes look like ’cause of the sunglasses.

Mai asks if I want to go with them to the store. I lock up the house first and try to make conversation with Ling while we walk. She act like she ain’t got no tongue. She hunches up her shoulders or shakes her head no when I ask her something. When we get to the store, Mai says for her and Su-bok to wait outside with the dog. They brought it with them from California.

“They make me sick,” Mai says, smacking her forehead with both hands. “Every chance I get, I ditch ’em.”

When we walk up the cookie aisle, Mai opens a package of chocolate sandwich cookies. The kind with thick, white cream inside. She looks up and down the aisle and pulls out four of ’em. “Here,” she says, handing me two. I shake my head no. She shoves two into her mouth and two into her pocket, slips the package back on the shelf, then starts walking real fast.

I ain’t never seen Mai take what wasn’t hers before. I tell her that, too. She rolls her eyes. Says it wasn’t stealing. “Just sampling. That’s all.”

Mai is walking up and down every aisle, even though we already got the ten bottles of ginger she came for. She keeps talking about her cousins. “Since they came, people stay on my case,” she says, pulling out a cookie and stuffing it in her mouth. “We went to a Korean grocery store yesterday and the owner gave them free cookies and gum. Su-bok had to make him offer me something. I told him to keep that crap.”

Mai wipes black crumbs off her lips, then hands the cashier the money. We walk out the door and up the street. Su-bok and Ling trying to keep up, but Mai and me moving so fast, they end up half a block behind. I make Mai stay put so they can catch up. When they do, a boy sticks his head out a car window, starts speaking gibberish and pointing to Su-bok. His braids are undone and his hair is all over his head. “Hey you. You,” he says, pointing to her. “Come here. I got something to ask you.”

Mai takes the last cookie out her pocket and throws it at him. It bounces off the car and gets smashed to pieces when the tire rolls over it. “See?” she says, walking fast. “See what my father did? Made everything worse.” Then she takes off running.

Su-bok snaps her fingers and moves her hips to music the rest of us don’t hear. “Evil,” she says, pulling up her sunglasses and staring at me. “Mai is evil.”

I don’t say nothing.

“She wakes up mean, goes to bed mean, and is mean in between,” she laughs. “Hey, that rhymes.”

Ling stoops down and hugs her dog, Couch. They call him that because he lays on the couch all the time at home. Then she takes her fingers and pulls his lips back, trying to get him to smile.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Su-bok says.

I look at her, wondering what she talking about.

“The way people stare. That doesn’t bother me. I just figure they think I’m cute.”

Su-bok takes off her shades and sticks them in her back pocket. Except for the brown of Mai’s skin, and the crinkles in her hair, them two look almost the same—even their teeth are shaped alike.

We stop at a corner store and get something to drink. The boy whose father owns this store never pays me no attention. Now, he is sweet as pie. Saying “Thank you” and “Yes” for no real reason at all. Putting our stuff right in a bag, not asking me if I want one or not, like he usually do. I see him making eyes at Su-bok. I don’t care. I hate him anyway.

Su-bok takes Ling’s hand when we cross the street. “Where I live in L.A., there’s all kind of boys: Black. Chinese. White. Hmong. Mixed. Mexican. Korean. Shoot,” she says, holding out her hand so she can take a sip of my pop, “around my way, a girl can have a different color boyfriend every day of the week. Nobody stares. Nobody cares.”

Mai is waiting on my steps when we get there. Su-bok ain’t in no hurry, though. She stops on the corner. She says she wants to check out the boys. Ling races the dog to the house.

“You like it here?” I ask Su-bok.

“I like the boys. They’re cute. They ask for my phone number all the time,” she says, smiling. “At home, my father is strict. Watches everything I do.”

I ask Su-bok if she speaks Korean. She says yes. They have to speak it at home. We’re on my front steps now. Couch is across the street lying on a sofa somebody put out for trash last month. Ling is with him.

Su-bok pulls loose strings from her shorts. “Ling and my father sit and talk Korean all day long,” she says, standing and waving to some boys who are breaking their necks to check her out. “In one way I’m like Mai,” she says, “English is good enough for me. Comprendes?” she laughs.

The three of us sit here for a while. Then Mai says it’s time to leave. Before she takes off, I ask how her lessons are going. Su-bok answers for her. “She has to spend one hour a day speaking Korean with me and Ling.”

Ling looks both ways before she crosses the street. She sits on Mai’s lap and traces her tattoo with her little fingers. “Can I get one of these?” she asks.

“You ain’t black,” Mai says.

Ling looks like she don’t know what Mai’s talking ’bout. “A little bit. I have to be a little bit black, if you’re my cousin. Right?” she says, staring at her arm.

Su-bok reaches her arms out to Ling. “I’ll get you a tattoo. One for little kids. The big ones hurt. Right, Mai?”

Mai looks down at her arm. “I guess,” she says, standing up to leave.