Eight

The night I eat my first fish eye, I have a hard time falling asleep. I lay awake, remembering the salty flavor.

In the morning, I snooze my alarm over and over again until Ji-hyun prods me awake. I open my eyes and find her hovering over me, the ends of her hair tickling my face.

“You missed the bus,” she says, a little too cheerfully.

“What?” Wide awake, I scramble out of bed. “What the hell, Ji-hyun? Why did you let me sleep for so long?”

My sister frowns. “It’s not my job to wake you up.” She hurries out the door, and I catch a glimpse of her sleeve. It’s a familiar lilac color; she’s wearing my favorite sweater.

“I saw that!” I yell after her. “If I catch you going through my stuff again, you’re dead!”

Luckily, Umma hands me her car keys without a fight. I drop her off at work on the way to school, ignoring her demands to slow down. Cars honk as I drift from lane to lane. By the time we get to the grocery store, my mother’s face is ashen. “Stop driving like that,” she scolds before stumbling away.

I get to my philosophy lecture ten minutes late. The only open seat left is in the far corner in the back, and I slither over to it, hyperaware of the people staring at me. When I sit down, I accidentally bump knees with a pretty Black girl next to me. The line of piercings in her ear distracts me momentarily, but I regain my bearings and whisper a hurried apology in her direction. She nods and mouths, “It’s okay.”

The boy on the other side makes eye contact with me before flashing a toothy grin. He’s white, with big brown eyes and long hair that flops past his ears. Above his upper lip there’s a wisp of a mustache. He’s wearing a black statement T-shirt that I can’t fully read from this angle. All I can see are the words “SHE PERSISTED” in block letters on his back. When he shifts back in his seat, the front reads: “NEVERTHELESS.”

Soon the adrenaline from missing the bus wears off. A woozy fatigue overwhelms my body. My head droops onto the desk. I sleep through the entire lecture and wake up just before it ends, in desperate need of a fluffy pillow.

If I had the choice, I would return home, crawl into bed, and sleep for the rest of the day. But I have two classes left, with hour-long breaks in between. And because I overslept this morning, I didn’t have a chance to make myself a cup of coffee. I sit outside the nearest on-campus coffee shop and stare at it.

Everything they sell is overpriced. Normally, the idea of being extorted to buy a seven-dollar cup of coffee is too much, but today I’m so tired that I’m willing to bend the rules. When the door opens, an earthy, smoky aroma wafts out.

As usual, the line is long. Everyone waiting appears miser­able. I shuffle past the stands covered with chunky, colorful mugs and display bags of fresh coffee beans to stand behind a group of tall, broad-shouldered white boys. Even though it’s cold outside, they’re wearing matching, loose-fitting tank tops with Greek symbols and athletic shorts. The one in the front with the backward cap and blond hair looks vaguely familiar. I study him curiously, stepping a little closer to scan his profile.

It’s loud. The coffee grinder whirs and stops repeatedly. Every time there’s a break in the noise, I catch snippets of their conversation.

“I hooked up with Sharon last night. . . .” Backward Cap says, smirking. He’s pale and pink-cheeked with a deep dimple in his chin.

“Dude! Nice!”

“She’s hot, but she’s got no tits. . . .” the tall freckled one replies.

“Yeah, but she more than makes up for it in bed. Does whatever you want and begs for more. Everything they say about Asian chicks? Totally true.”

“You know what they say. Once you go Asian, you never go Caucasian,” the freckled one says. They burst into laughter, and I stumble backward, desperate to disappear. My face is red and prickly. I step on the person behind me, who yelps in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, staring at the ground. I’m afraid of making eye contact with the obnoxious assholes in front of me.

“It’s okay. Wait—didn’t I just see you in my last class?”

Startled, I look up. It’s Mr. She Persisted from Philosophy 4. He sticks his hand out to me, and I shake it reluctantly. My palms are clammy; I wipe them on my jeans. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Ji-won,” I say. I glance apprehensively at the boys in front. Are they watching me? Their backs are turned now, and I can’t help but find that behavior suspicious. Do they know that I heard everything?

The boy from philosophy is still talking, but I interrupt him. “Sorry—I have to go.”

“Oh. Where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere. Outside, I guess.”

He follows, reaching carefully around my shoulder to open the door for me. I slip out and sit at one of the nearby tables, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.

“I was telling you my name inside,” he continues, sitting next to me. “It’s Geoffrey. But with a G, not a J. It’s spelled G-E-O-F-F-R-E-Y.”

“Did you hear what they said?” I ask, interrupting him.

“No, why?” His eyes narrow.

I take a deep breath. My voice quivers. “I don’t want to. . . .”

Geoffrey with a G leans forward and crosses his legs, his right elbow on his knee. We’re sitting in the exact same position, our bodies mirror images of each other. “I won’t judge.”

My face grows warm.

He waits patiently, one eyebrow quirked upward. “You seem upset. Can I help?”

Tears fill my eyes, and I stare down into my lap, trying to keep them from falling. There’s a light touch on my shoulder. I look up, surprised, and see Geoffrey’s hand gently patting my arm. It reminds me of all the times I used to comfort Ji-hyun when she was little.

“Don’t cry,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Then he retracts his hand, biting his lip. “Sorry. I’m not very good at making people feel better. I never know what to do.”

“No, no,” I respond. “I understand. I’m not good at comforting people either. I always say the opposite of what I’m supposed to say. I get it. I feel better already.”

There’s a long silence between us. It makes me nervous. Without thinking, I blurt out, “Those guys in there were talking about Asian women. Saying disgusting things about us.” I swallow hard. “I mean, I’ve heard all this before. It’s not new. And it’s not even like those guys were talking about me. But it felt so personal, you know?”

Geoffrey clenches his jaw. His hands ball into fists. “Who were they?” He turns around, as if he’s going to rush back into the coffee shop.

“No! It’s fine,” I say, flustered. “Forget I said anything.”

“It’s not fine. Those guys are assholes. If you google ‘toxic masculinity’ you’ll probably find pictures of those clowns. They don’t understand all the shit that you women have to put up with. It’s important that women feel safe around me. You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. They’re the ones who should be embarrassed.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You’re right.”

He gets up from the table. “I have to catch my next class now, but you’re good, right?” He puts out his right hand to give me a fist bump.

I nod and tap his fist with my own. “Thanks for sticking around and talking to me.”

“Anytime. I’ll see you in philosophy on Thursday.”

I watch him disappear into a crowd of students before getting up. It’s strange. I can’t think of the last time somebody was this kind to me.