The Sun Is Also a Star(29)

He reaches for the box, so now we’re both holding it and facing each other in an aisle that really only has enough space for one.

“It would look like strawberry frosting,” he says. With his other hand he pulls a few strands of my hair through his fingers, and I find that I don’t mind, not one little bit.

“Oh, look. My. Little. Brother is here,” says a voice from the end of the aisle. Daniel jerks his hand from my hair. We both let go of the dye at the same time, and the box clatters to the floor. Daniel bends to pick it up. I turn to face our interloper.

He’s taller and broader than Daniel. On his face, the family bone structure seems even sharper. He rests the broom he was holding against a shelf and saunters down the aisle toward us. His wide, dark eyes are filled with curiosity and a kind of mischievous glee.

I’m not sure I like him.

Daniel stands up and hands the dye back to me.

“What’s up, Charlie?” he asks.

“The. Sky. Is. Up. Little brother,” says Charlie. I get the feeling he’s been using that phrase that same way for all their lives. He’s looking at me as he says it, and his face is more sneer than smile.



“Who. Is. This?” he asks, still only looking at me.

Next to me, Daniel takes a deep breath and readies himself to say something, but I jump in.

“I’m Natasha.” He stares at me as if there must be more to say. “A friend of your brother’s,” I continue.

“Oh, I thought maybe he’d caught a shoplifting customer.” His face is a parody of innocence. “We get a lot of those in a store like this.” His eyes are laughing and mean. “I’m sure you understand.”

I definitely don’t like him.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie,” Daniel says. He takes a step toward Charlie but I grab his hand. He stops and links his fingers with mine and squeezes.

Charlie makes a big show of looking down at our joined hands and then back up at us.

“Is this what I think it is? Is it looooove, Little. Brother?” He claps his hands together with a loud smack and does a laughing two-step dance.

“This. Is. Great. Yes. You know what this means, don’t you? All the heat will be off me. When the ’rents find out about this, I’ll be a Boy Scout again. Fuck academic probation.”

He’s laughing loudly now and rubbing his palms together, like a villain detailing his plans for world domination.

“Wow. You’re an asshole,” I say, unable to help myself.

He smiles as if I’ve paid him a compliment. But the smile doesn’t last long.



He looks at our hands again and then at Daniel. “You’re such a punk,” he says. “Where are you gonna go with this?”

I squeeze Daniel’s hand tighter and pull it to my side. I want to prove Charlie wrong. “Do your thing and let’s get out of here,” I say.

He nods, and we turn away—and walk right into his father. I pull my hand from his at the same time he’s letting mine go, but it’s too late. His father’s already seen us.





Giant Bag of Dicks Masquerades as Teenage Boy, Fools Exactly No One

Charlie is a giant bag of dicks that I’d like to light on fire. I want to hit him in his perfectly smug face. It’s not a new emotion for me, since I’ve wanted to do it since I was ten, but this time he’s finally gone too far. I’m thinking how good it will feel to break my hand on his face, but I’m also focused on the feel of Natasha’s hand in mine.

I need to get her out of here before my family derails my life just as it’s getting started.

“What are you doing?” my father asks in Korean.

I decide to ignore the question he’s really asking. Instead, I hold out the pouch for him to take.

“Mom said I had to bring you this.” I say it in English so Natasha doesn’t think we’re talking about her.

Charlie sidles up next me. “Want me to help translate for your friend?” he asks.

He overemphasizes friend. Because being a dick on fire is Charlie’s raison d’être.

My dad gives him a hard look. “I thought you don’t understand Korean,” he says to Charlie.



Charlie shrugs. “I get by.” Not even my dad’s disapproval can stop him from enjoying himself at my expense.

“Is that why you fail out of Harvard? You only get by?” This part he says in Korean because the last thing my dad would want to do is air our dirty laundry in front of a miguk saram. An American.

Charlie doesn’t give a crap and translates anyway, but he’s smiling a little less. “Don’t worry,” he says to Natasha. “He’s not talking about you. Not yet. He’s just calling me stupid.”

Dad’s face goes completely blank, so I know he’s really angry now. Charlie’s got him trapped. Anything he says Charlie will translate, and my dad’s sense of propriety can’t allow that to happen. Instead, he turns into Deferential Store Owner like I’ve seen him do a million times to a million customers.

“You want something before you leave?” he asks Natasha. He clasps his hands, half bends at the waist, and smiles his best customer-service smile.

“No, thank you, Mr.—” She stops because she doesn’t know my last name.