Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(29)

Then a girl’s cell phone went off, and she was almost disqualified but for an impassioned three-minute speech about her dreams of becoming a pediatrician. That bit of theater was entertaining, sure, but it also destroyed my concentration.

When we Apeys gathered by the flagpoles, I could tell by the way everyone was kicking at the balding grass that they hadn’t done so well, either.

“It’s not over by a long shot, guys,” said Paul Olmo. “Let’s grind our butts off for test two.”

“Grind our butts off?” said Naima Gupta.

“You know what I mean,” Paul said. “Come on, isang bagsak.”

Isang bagsak is this Filipino thing where we all applaud in unison, going faster and faster until we end the whole thing in one big clap. Paul calls it a unity clap.

Our unity clap didn’t go so well either, and just wound up sounding like sarcastic praise.

Looking around at the Limbos now, I can tell we’re all thinking the same thing: I could’ve done better.

I glance at the beer. “I don’t really drink, Dad.”

“Thank you, though,” says Joy, and gives Dad a sweet look. Man, she’s good.

Dad holds the look for a moment before gazing back at me. Then he seems to remember there are other people in the room. “Everybody doing good job today,” he says. “When is next SAT?” he adds.

With that, the room sags. Dad just acknowledged out loud that we fell short.

Mom-n-Dad vanish downstairs to the game of yut nori being played by all the parents on a big fuzzy mink blanket, named mink not because it’s actually sewn from murdered minks but because it’s as soft and thick as a mink coat. Yut nori is this dice game from a million years ago but instead of dice you throw fat dowels carved from solid birch wood. Then you move little tokens around on a board. I think it might be one of the first board games ever invented. I don’t know. I should look that up.

I can hear the sticks from down below, plinking with a clear, ancient sound that feels out of place here in modern-day suburbia. Each throw of the sticks elicits oohs and aahs, or groans, or roars of laughter. I want to take my Tascam down there to record that beautiful, almost crystalline birch tone, but I’m afraid that if I do, everyone will look at me weird and start asking questions.

So I stay and stare at the ceiling. Joy stares with me.

“Stupid SATs,” says Joy. “I can’t wait for kindergarten to be over.” That’s what she calls high school: kindergarten.

Joy’s plan is to get into Carnegie Mellon University, in faraway Pittsburgh, so she can learn how to make the AI-powered robots that will eventually decimate humankind.

Ella Chang is here, crocheting some kind of amigurumi demon rabbit with fine needles. John Lim is here, playing Craft Exploit on a tablet. Andrew Kim is here too—it’s his room, after all—idly doing arm curls and staring and staring at the beer until he can take no more.

“Fuck it, I’m having one,” he says, and twists it open with thespian gusto. Andrew has been on a low-carb regimen to lose ten camera pounds, as he calls them. Andrew’s plan is to become the first Asian-American actor to, quote, bang a white chick in a major feature film full-nude no merkin, end quote.

I had to look up merkin.

“You guys want?” says Andrew, holding out bottles. “Booze cures anxiety.”

“I’m good,” I say.

“I better not,” says Joy Song.

“Dulls the mind,” says John Lim.

“Gimme one of those,” says Ella Chang, and stares at John with bemused defiance. She and Andrew toast. They take a long pull. I knew Andrew partied, but I had no idea about Ella. Between school and cello practice, where did she find the time?

Joy said I better not, as in I better not drink. So I ask her, “Wait, what happens when you drink?”

Before Joy can answer, Andrew belches.

“She talks,” says Andrew. “A lot. I was at a party Wu was at that one time.”

“Andrew at a party, surprise,” says John, eyes on his screen.

“Joy was all blah-dee-blah-dee-blah,” says Andrew.

“Shut up,” says Joy, laughing.

“So wait, are you still with Wu?” says Ella. She’s already on to her second beer. It’s been like forty seconds.

Joy freezes. “Uh, mhm, yeah, yes. Why?”

Ella blinks. “Oh,” she says. “Oh. Nothing. Never mind.”

Then I freeze, too. Me and Joy thought all about keeping up our charade for the parents, but we hadn’t thought about the Limbos. Do we fool them too? Or are they down? Telling them would be a risk—a potential leak in our boat.

But the fact is: we all go to the same school. We nod at each other in the hallways. It would only be a matter of time before they began to suspect things. Trusting the Limbos with our secret might be the only path of action.

“I gotta pee,” I say, and pad down the hall in my socks to find a dark, empty bedroom. I text Joy right away.

Master bedroom

After thirty long seconds, Joy’s silhouette appears in the doorway.

“Dude,” I say.

“What?”

“I think we have to tell them.”

The birch yut nori sticks clink, and the parents all shout with glee.

“I can’t hear you.” Joy comes over and sits next to me on the bed.