Picture Us In The Light(76)

“We don’t want you to not talk about it, believe me. We want you to have every resource at your disposal. Whatever you need. We just want you to be careful how and where you talk about it. If you think of something contagious, like a flu, and you think about the precautions you’d take—”

“Daniel is very sorry,” my mom says. Her breaths sound shallow. So all right, then; there it is—they aren’t going to take my side. She smiles a desperate-looking smile. “He will never do anything like this again. Daniel, tell him you’re sorry.”

My dad is sweating. His temples are gleaming. “Very sorry,” he echoes.

That flame in my chest flares higher. They both turn to me, staring me down until I finally mutter, “I’m sorry.” The lie tastes like ash.

“I’m not sorry.”

“Regina,” her mother snaps.

But Regina’s blazing. She turns to Mr. Denton. “You’re not going to turn this into something we did wrong. It was something we all wanted to do, and if there’s a single person on this campus who thinks it was somehow hurtful, then they can come and tell it to my face.”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s just take a step back. Let’s take a step back,” Mr. Denton says, and when Regina tries to answer he raises his voice to talk over her and keeps doing it, loudly, until she finally goes quiet, her face like stone. “Look, no one’s getting in trouble today. We care about all our students and we want to make sure you feel taken care of. But we do—Regina, Danny, I want you and your parents to understand that we take this very seriously. We have a lot of kids on the edge here, lots of kids under extraordinary pressure at home, all that cultural pressure I’m sure you’re both familiar with, and when someone’s teetering on an edge like that, we want to do whatever we can to pull them back in. And that goes for both of you, too, all right? We treat moments like this as cries for help. Given that, we think it’s appropriate to ask you to take the rest of the day off, which I hope you’ll both take as an opportunity to assess your own mental health and ways you might be struggling with Sandra’s choice. To that end, we’re recommending—requiring, actually—that you both meet with our trained psychologists moving forward. They’re great, very understanding. They’ll put you right at ease. You know, no one wants to meet with me.” He cracks a smile. None of us returns it. “And we wanted your parents to be very aware of the situation. You know, it’s hard to remember sometimes as a teenager, but Mom and Dad love you and want the best for you.” He reaches out and pats both of us on the shoulder simultaneously—Regina recoils—and then palms the edge of his desk with both hands and exhales. “Okay? My secretary will get you hooked up with those psychologists. I think we’re done here.”



When we get outside my mom grips my arm hard enough to leave marks. She’s trembling. “Hurry up,” she orders, motioning toward the car.

Regina and her mom come out behind us, her mom yelling at her in Taiwanese. Regina’s face is entirely blank, like it took all she had to be lectured and now there’s nothing left.

“I need to talk to Regina,” I say, shaking my arm free.

“Listen to your mother,” my dad hisses.

They just sat through the same talk I did; how could they watch what they just did and tell me not to talk to Regina? They know Regina’s been my friend nearly all my life. “I’m going to see if she’s—”

My dad whirls toward me so violently I actually flinch. “Go get in the car.”

It’s clear there’s no choice. I obey.

“We can’t stay here,” my mom says to my dad, her face pale, as they hurry me across the bus circle. “They’ll find us. The school will notify—”

“Try to be calm, Anna, and—”

“I will not try to be calm. We can’t stay here. You can’t go back to the apartment. They’ll find you.”

I say, “What are you talking—”

“Quiet,” my dad orders. “You clearly cannot be trusted.”

I can’t be trusted? I can’t? There’s a warrant out for his arrest, one he’s kept hidden over a decade, and I can’t be trusted?

“How could you do this, Daniel? If we’re caught—”

My dad looks around the parking lot nervously. “Get in the car, Daniel. Right now. We’ll speak in the car.”

I get in. Through the window I see Regina sink onto a bench. Her mom grabs her by the elbow, her face contorted in what looks from here like anger, and Regina yells something at her and then bends over, burying her face in her hands.

“I need to go see if she’s okay.” I reach for the door handle, and my dad yanks me back so hard my shoulder nearly wrenches out of its socket. I look at him, shocked—he’s never rough with me. He stares back, daring me to move again. I don’t. My shoulder throbs.

“Drive,” he orders.

“But Regina—”

“Drive.”

When he says it something snaps inside me like a rubber band. I do it, though, watching Regina in the mirror as long as I can. Her mom has sat down next to her and is saying something, and as I watch she pulls tissues from her purse. And then I turn, and I lose them in my rearview mirror, and for as long as I live I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it feels like for my parents to forbid me from being there for one of the people I care about most in the world.