Fiona and Jane(23)

“Got anything to drink?” Fiona’s voice brightened the room. “Should we take off our shoes?”

“We got vodka, tequila, pineapple rum,” said Viet. “We got ice. We got juice and mixers, whatever you need,” he added. “None of that nasty soju stuff.”

“Sure,” Fiona said cheerfully. “That’s why we came.” She elbowed me and whispered, “Smile, Jane. Why do you look like that?”

“Make them your specialty,” Johnny called out. “You never had Jungle Juice like Viet makes,” he added excitedly. “You’re in for a treat. Because this mofo straight up from the jungle!” Johnny cracked up at his own joke, slapping his knees.

“You so stupid, man,” Viet said, shaking his head. He turned his finger in circles next to his temple. “This guy did too many drugs in high school. He’s a walking billboard for Just Say No.”

Johnny was still laughing by himself, red with joy. “Did Sung tell you we’re related?” he said. “Cousins. He got the looks in the family, but I’m the smart one.”

Viet walked over to the kitchenette and opened the door to the mini fridge under the sink. He wore a tight white tank, and underneath the thin, ribbed fabric his nipples were visible, two dark coins on his chest. His black athletic pants rustled whenever he moved.

Of the three, Viet was the best-looking, with his hollow cheeks and brooding eyes. He had a thin, morose face, sculpted with hard planes like a marble bust. His entire head was shaved, except for a thin fringe of long bangs, which he wore combed back. One strand on the left side was bleached a dark orange color. Then Johnny, who wasn’t outright fine, but pretty cute, in a goofy way. I wondered if he really was Sung’s cousin, or if he’d said it as a joke. They looked nothing alike. The skin on his cheeks was riddled with tiny scars like the rind on an overripe orange, and he had a set of dark eyebrows that arched up dramatically, lending his face an amused, almost crazed expression.

Koala’s nickname was cruel in its accuracy, his beady brown eyes set too close together and that long, bulbous nose, which indeed seemed a shade darker than the rest of his face, just like the snout on a koala bear. Being the white boy of the group, though, Koala held a certain exotic appeal.

A thought came to me, unbidden: When Sung arrived, there would be four of them and two of us. And what would happen then?

“Are there more people coming?” I asked.

“You’re bored already?” Koala said.

“Sung said it was a party—”

“Oh we’re just getting started. Don’t you worry, baby girl.”

While Viet mixed our drinks, Koala invited us to make ourselves comfortable. “Get up, fool,” he said to Johnny. “Make room for the ladies.” Johnny moved to sit on one of the dinette stools, where Viet stood at the bistro table pouring from different bottles into five red cups. “I gotta get me a pair of breakaways like these,” Johnny said. He stretched out one of his legs and rubbed his foot on the side of Viet’s pants, along the row of white buttons that ran from waist to cuff. “Easy access, man. Snap! Bam! There it is!” He finished with a playful kick to Viet’s butt.

“Quit that!”

Koala leaned forward in the rolling chair next to the door, using his heels to scoot closer to the bed where Fiona and I sat. The wheels on the chair erased the vacuum lines in the carpet.

We accepted cups from Viet, filled nearly to the top with brown liquid and ice cubes.

“What’s in this?” I sniffed at the rim.

Fiona took a tiny sip, and then another. “It’s not bad,” she said.

Koala edged closer, watching her lick her lips. I pretended to sip from my own cup.

“Bo-rinnnnnggggg,” Johnny said. “Down that shit,” he cried. “One shot!” He drank from his cup, tilting the entire contents down his throat. His Adam’s apple jumped each time he swallowed. Ice cubes fell on his face, a wet glaze on his nose and under his eyes. He jerked around and shook himself, invigorated. “One shot,” he chanted, pumping alternating fists in the air. “One shot, one shot!”

“Come on, Fiona.” Koala smiled at me. He held his cup out. “You got this, girl.”

“I’m not Fiona,” I said.

“Dumbass,” Viet said. “That’s Jane.”

“Can we drink yet?” Koala raised the cup to his mouth.

“You think Sung’s coming soon?” Fiona asked.

“Sung?” Koala wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuck that guy.” Viet and Johnny broke out laughing. “That fool owes me twenty bones.”

“He owes me forty,” Johnny added. His eyes tilted toward the ceiling. “No, wait. I owe him forty—”

“Why’s my dude always talking about, ‘I got three jobs.’?” Koala used a whining voice to imitate Sung. “?‘I’m working graveyard this weekend, I gotta put in hours at the grocery store,’?” he added. “And Sung is still the brokest motherfucker I know?” The guys laughed again. He slid his eyes toward Fiona. “The girlies like him though.”

“Looking like one of those K-pop boy bands,” Viet said. “Homie’s about to get a perm next.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Fiona asked.