Sorta Like a Rock Star(16)

“Who wants us to be happy?”

“God!”

“Who rocks?”

“The Korean Divas for Christ!”

“Who are the best Korean soul singers in the world?”

“The Korean Divas for Christ!”

“Hell yeah?”

“Hell yeah!”

“HELL YEAH?”

“HELL YEAH!”

And then I break off and run around the inside of the power circle giving each Korean Diva a super high five, which is a two-handed slap above the head. The KDFCs go crazy for this sorta pumped-up ending. They like to hug me before I go, and since I really dig hugs, I go wild with the hugging too. Every KDFC gets a big old hug from me, which takes like ten frickin’ minutes.

When it’s time to go, it’s usually dark, so—in his penguin suit—Father Chee jogs next to me and BBB as I ride my bike through the ghetto. He likes to make sure I get home okay. I smile at damn near everyone in his neighborhood and do the “Hope you are having a great day!” trick, which makes Father Chee laugh and glow in a fatherly proud sorta way.

While I’m riding, I usually confess my sins.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I say to Father Chee.

“Confess your sins and Jesus will forgive you,” FC says.

“I kicked Lex Pinkston in the shin yesterday and slapped his face today. But he called me a disgusting single-syllable word for a woman—which I’m not even going to repeat—said he had sex with my mother, and made Ricky say something sexual to a classmate.”

Still running, Father Chee nods wisely—like—a million frickin’ times. “Jesus offered us an example. Turn the other cheek, He told us.”

“That’s why I’m confessing. Do you think I haven’t read the Bible?”

“You are forgiven.”

“No penance?” I ask.

“You’ve done it already. Teaching English to my church members.”

“But I enjoy doing that.”

“God wants us to be happy!” FC says, which makes me smile.

When we get pretty deep into my neighborhood, he says, “I’m going to return to the church now.”

I stop riding my bike and we look at each other, smiling face-to-face, both knowing that we kicked butt for God today—making The KDFCs happy and hopeful.

I pretend that Father Chee is my dad, and maybe he pretends I am his daughter.

“Can I get a hug, Chee,” I say.

“Of course,” he replies, and then he hugs me like any good father would.

“How ’bout some love for B3?”

Father Chee pats BBB’s head, so lovingly, and I say, “You’re a good man, Chee,” just before I pedal away.

I look back, and—as always—Chee is there watching, making sure I get to Donna’s okay, and that makes me smile and feel like there is so much good in the world.





CHAPTER 6





When I arrive home, Ricky is still doing math problems at the kitchen table, so I feed Bobby Big Boy some wet canned stuff and start cooking Donna’s dinner. I decide to go with rice, red peppers, and chicken. So I defrost the chicken in the microwave, chop up two red peppers, boil some rice, and dig out the wok.

After I cut up the chicken and the red peppers into thin strips, I put it all in a big old silver bowl and douse it in a load of soy sauce and sesame seeds.

Next, I get a shot of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinet and dump that onto the chicken and red pepper.

“What the hell,” I say, and then pour some Jack onto the now-hot wok, which makes a sizzling noise and produces a good warm wheat smell.

I stir-fry it all up, and it smells pretty delectable.

Ricky is STILL doing math problems, and BBB is chillin’ on the kitchen mat, looking up at me, watching my every move, because the dashing mutt’s totally in love with me.

Donna comes home at exactly six thirty; she is one regimented woman.

“Like I’ve told you a million times before, you don’t have to cook for us, Amber. But it sure smells good,” she says as she tosses her keys into an old crystal ashtray that she keeps on a stand by the kitchen door, and sets down her bags and hangs up her overcoat.

She runs her hands through Ricky’s hair and kisses him on the forehead, and I get a little jealous, I must admit, because my mom is so uncool compared to Ricky’s.

“How’s my boy?”

“Doing math problems. Do not talk to—”

“What time is it?”

Ricky looks at the clock on the wall and then shuts his workbook. “Time for Ricky Roberts to eat his dinner with Mommy Roberts and Amber Appleton.”

“That’s my boy,” Donna says to Ricky. To me she says, “How was your day, Amber?”

I nod and then shrug, like a tool.

“Okay,” Donna says. “Can we eat?”

I serve everyone, and we begin to eat.

“Is there Jack Daniels in this?” Donna says after tasting my newest dish.

“Yep,” I say.

“Tastes divine,” Donna says. “Got you a present, Ricky.”

“Mommy Roberts got Ricky Roberts a present!”

“See that bag by my briefcase? Over there by the door?”