Why were you in the shower for so long?”
“Are you SERIOUSLY asking me this, Mom?”
“Yes! I am very serious, Holly.”
“Why?! Are you monitoring my showers or something, you psycho?”
“Wha?! Monitoring?! Now your mother can’t even ask you a simple question without being crazy?”
I was standing in the hallway with a towel wrapped around my head, ready to smash it into the wall repeatedly. A girl couldn’t even take a shower in the Kim house without being interrogated about it afterward.
“Mom, you are insane. Good-bye.” I stalked off to my room and slammed the door. (But only kinda — if I really slammed the door it would be busted down in a Mom-shaped tornado, and I was in no mood for a natural disaster.)
I flopped onto my bed and screamed into my pillow. Good God, my family was driving me crazy. It was just the usual Saturday:
7:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom rummaging through my drawers looking for some socks she thought she might have put in my laundry by mistake. I’m not allowed to have locks on my door. Tried to fall back asleep through anger.
9:00 A.M. Sat down to breakfast with my family and was greeted with the usual “Ohhh, look who finally decided to join us!” It’s 9:00 A.M. Let’s calm down.
10:00 A.M. Fought with my sister over doing the dishes. Ann appears to think she actually does them once in a while. She’s completely deluded. I ended the fight by soaking her shirt with soapsuds and took gleeful yet slightly guilty pleasure in her stomping to her room to change.
10:30 A.M. Forced into accompanying my dad to the fish market. He made me hold the fish as he dawdled around the store for an infinite amount of time. We were buying some extra seafood for the Thanksgiving feast that was going to be held at our house the following week. Yes, FISH. My dad always has to spice things up Korean-style at these holiday gatherings.
12:00 P.M. Came home to my mom vacuuming my room in one of her psychotic cleaning episodes. Meaning, instead of letting me clean my room by myself, she busts in and her head explodes because she cannot handle the squalor in which her daughter lives, and proceeds to run a vacuum over every surface. Including my teddy bear, Sir Buster. RUDE! And she does this while yelling a self-pitying monologue the entire time that somehow implicates both my sister and me as the Worst Daughters to Have Ever Lived.
So, my mother asking suspiciously about my shower in the middle of the afternoon was the last straw. It was the last straw in one crappy haystack of a day. A haystack mixed with poop.
I quickly put on some clothes and did my hair. (How I “do my hair”: flip head upside down and vigorously towel dry. Rub some gooey stuff from a jar onto palms and run through hair until it looks messy and fun. Done.)
I decided to call David to see what he was up to — I needed to escape.
“What up, Hizzle.”
“Hey, D. Can we do something today?”
“Vague much?”
“ANYTHING! My parents are this close to dying by the hand of their firstborn.”
“Tell me about it. My dad lectured me about my music again today.”
David plays the guitar and is in a band with Carrie — the Raw Meat Demons. Anyway, his dad really hates on his music. He thinks it takes too much time away from his “studies.” Which is ridiculous because David doesn’t need to study one second of his life to ace all his tests. Which, by the way, is really annoying to someone who crams all night to get a B-minus on a geometry quiz.
“Well, let’s plan an escape. Want to hit the beach?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s cold now.”
“Okay then. A movie?”
“I just spent my last dollar on new strings.”
“Ugh. You’re so annoying.”
“You’re annoying. Let’s just go to Marty’s, then.”
“Nuh-uh. Too close. Next.” Marty’s is the used bookstore in Pacific Beach. I usually love it, but it’s only like two minutes away from my house.
“Hiz, you can’t shoot down all my ideas.”
“What? That was only one idea. And you’re shooting down MINE first!”
“Jeeeeez-uh. Let’s call Carrie and Liz and see what they think.”
A few minutes later I was heading out to meet up with everyone at the Burrito Shack. But, of course, as I was pulling on my shoes in the foyer, my dad ambled by.
“Oh!” He halted in front of me. “Where are you going, Holly?”
I didn’t make eye contact with him. Making eye contact is the quickest way to get roped into some chore or another.
“I’m going to get lunch with my friends.”
“Lunch? With who?”
Okay, seriously. My dad acts like this every single time I say I’m doing anything, as if the idea of having lunch with friends is as surprising as me declaring I was moving out.
“Daaad! With Carrie, Elizabeth, and David. Who else?”
My mother chose that moment to pop her head into the foyer and squawk, “Why are you yelling at your dad?”
My sister stuck her head in, too. “Hey, how come Holly doesn’t have to clean her room? No faaaair.”
Steam was literally, literally pouring out my ears.
“I’M NOT YELLING! I’M GOING TO EAT LUNCH! AND THEN PROCEED TO KILL BABIES!”
Mom glared at me. “That mouth of yours gets worse every day! Who speaks that way to her own parents?”
Dad chimed in. “Why do you have to go out to eat lunch with your friends? Are you rich? Do you not have a family? You should eat here at your own house!”
All three of them were now looking at me expectantly.
“Oh. My. GOD.”
With that, I ran out the door and hopped onto my bike, pedaling down the street with murderous rage propelling me at record speeds.
I knew I’d get another earful when I got home, but at the moment I just needed to escape before my clothes were ripped off by the huge green muscles that might grow spontaneously from my body.
I pulled up to the Burrito Shack to see that Carrie and David were already seated outside with their bikes parked in front. I locked up my seafoam-green cruiser and jogged over to them.
Carrie took one look at my face and said, “Let me guess. Your parents were super excited you were coming out to meet us!”
I plopped down on a seat next to her and across from David. “Don’t even get me started. I am counting the days until I can graduate and leave that prison.”
David placed his elbows on the table and leaned in toward me. “Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic here? It can’t be that bad.”
Before I could open my mouth to school him, a BMW and a Porsche squealed up in front of us, sending exhaust straight into our faces. People piled out of the two cars, making a huge scene — girls in their up-the-butt shorts and thousand-dollar handbags, guys in their aviator shades and popped collars. Leading the pack was Matthew Reynolds, water polo captain and popular kid extraordinaire. In other words, the BEST GROUP OF PEOPLE EVER!
“Slumming it at the Burrito Shack, I see,” I said, turning my back to them.
“Yeah, what the heck, this is our place. No burritos in La Jolla?” Carrie muttered. La Jolla was an exclusive beach town just north of us, and most of the insufferable rich jock brains usually hung out there.
“Even the lamest among us know where to find the best burritos,” David said lazily, propping his bubbly skater shoes up onto the bench next to me.
I pushed them off and stood up reluctantly. “Did you guys order already?” They nodded, so I walked over to wait in line by myself. I stood behind two girls in Matthew’s crew, a petite, overly tan brunette named Jessica and a blonde named Megan with a severe case of bitchface.
“I’m not really into the Barneys sale. All it does is bring out all the Chinese hordes hunting for discounted jeans,” said Megan.
I held my tongue and resisted the urge to poke the girl in the eyes. Instead, I cleared my throat loudly to let my Asian presence be known. They barely noticed me. How did they know I wasn’t Chinese? The fact of the matter is, they didn’t care. I didn’t even exist to them.
I was fuming by the time I ordered my California burrito (a delicious masterpiece of carne asada — marinated beef — French fries, and guacamole. Holy heart attack in a tortilla!). As I headed toward my seat, I heard a low wolf whistle behind me. I turned around to see Elizabeth closing the door on her red Mini Cooper, sending a glare to the guys in Matthew’s crew.
One of them, a particularly overly buff football player named Roderick, yelled out, “You gonna call a jihad?” then started chanting an exaggerated, high-pitched “Ai yi yi yi yi yi!” The other two guys with him burst into laughter, dudeing and high-fiving like mad. Matthew seemed to be ignoring the entire scene, looking at his phone while sitting with Megan and Jessica, who were taking photos of each other with pursed lips. Liz walked over to us, ignoring the chanting.
“Do you want me to kill them?” David asked as he popped a tortilla chip into his mouth. Nothing about his lethargic posture indicated murderous capabilities.
“Oh, let me!” said Carrie, her face already turning red.
The chanting grew louder and louder. Other customers were staring at them, but it didn’t seem to bother them that much.
“Are you f-ing KIDDING ME?” I shouted over the noise.
“SHUT UP!” Carrie bellowed.
I looked over at Liz, who was applying a coat of lip gloss, seemingly nonplussed by what was happening. David was also silent, but I could see him twirling his straw between his fingers — something David only did when he was pissed but keeping it in. Even though he might not show it, I know he hated this group of guys more than all of us did combined.
A loud whistle pierced through the noise and the chanting stopped abruptly. I craned my neck to see Matthew standing with his hands up. “All right, everyone, chill.” With that, he put his aviators back on and sat down. Jessica draped her arm over him possessively and purred, “Good job, Matty.” He shrugged her off and bit into his burrito. After one last “Ai yi!” from Roderick, the other guys jostled each other as they finally joined Matthew and the girls.
“I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s go somewhere else,” I said, shoving my barely touched burrito away from me.
“Yeah, this place has officially been tainted by a huge infiltration of SUCK,” David announced loudly.
Liz just shrugged. “It’s cool, you guys. They’re idiots. Like bratty little children, they’ll stop their bad behavior if you ignore them.”
“Or if their god, Matthew, shuts them up?” Carrie said, furiously chomping on her bean-and-cheese burrito.
“They’re just so entitled. Who thinks it’s okay to act like that in public? I’m over it!” I seethed.
As if my pestering family wasn’t enough, my day was now further ruined by a group of spoiled brats who only cared about which Barneys sale had the least amount of Chinese customers.
“I can’t wait for this weekend to be over,” I muttered.