Chapter 21 - I'll Be a Home for You

Chapter 21

aang fulfills his promise of never letting me touch the ground

JJ

Days after Brad’s party, I’m sitting at a desk in Monique’s room. She’s at her second desk, in front of two computer screens, typing loudly on a keyboard. Bryn’s on the other side of the room, being swallowed by a beanbag. She’s doing her biology homework, which must be difficult considering her supplies are next to me.

I reread the paragraph in my textbook.

British mathematician Alan Turing developed machines capable of decoding Germany’s Enigma code, a turning point in the Allied effort during WW2 …

I scoff. Always the Western heroes. What about Marian Rejewski and the other Polish cryptographers who figured out how to break the code before the war even started, and who kept breaking the new versions of the code during the war? Without their work, the work they gifted to the British and the French, the Allies wouldn’t have done shit. But that’s not worthy of history textbooks.

I smother my highlighter and throw the thoughts away. I’m not a cultural heritage warrior for people who won’t claim me as theirs.

Defending Poland is just instinct. My grandmother is a history professor who considered these facts fun bedtime stories. I suspect she also knew it was better for me to know every single patriotic thing that I could. I had to earn my Polishness when others inherited it by virtue of looking the part. Well, if they don’t want me, I don’t want them.

The aggravating voice at the back of my head is pointing out that I’m just helping them erase the reality that to be Eastern European doesn’t mean to be White.

Monique’s clicky mouse joins her keyboard.

I shut the book. “Do you have to type that hard?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the screen. “I literally bought this keyboard because it’s louder.” She presses the keys even more aggressively, and a new line of code appears on the screen.

“Ugh.” I stand up and walk to the bookcase. I pull out Our Kind of People and The Senator and the Socialite to get to the chocolate bars pressed against the back wall. I grab a Bounty.

Bryn looks up from her phone. “Did you know that a Boston marriage in the twentieth century meant two women living together, financially independent from a man?”

“Literally my aunt Jacqueline and her friend Denise.” Monique keeps typing.

I throw myself onto the beanbag next to Bryn. “Are you proposing?” I bite into the chocolate bar.

“If you’re interested.” She lays her head on my shoulder.

“I’m not your type. I wouldn’t tell you I’m in love with you on the first date.”

“Jessica was just passionate!” Bryn tries to push me off the beanbag. “And we knew each other before we went on the first date.”

“Yeah. She was texting you for three weeks.” Monique purposely falls on top of us, hitting my quad with her elbow.

“I thought we had something special.” Bryn sighs as Monique and I burst out laughing.

“Hey!” Bryn pokes me in the arm. “I know the real reason for your rejection of my proposal! I can’t compete with Asian Clark Kent.”

My face warms. “Don’t call him Asian Clark Kent. He’d hate it.”

“Have a better descriptor?”

I think of Aang’s full brows and long eyelashes. His high cheekbones. His thick black hair falling just below his ears. The camp girl was right. He does look better with longer hair. The way he keeps brushing it back, but it gets into his eyes anyway. He would look perfect in a suit with his hair gelled back. Taking me to junior prom.

“JJ? You’re drooling,” Monique says.

Ugh, I need to get a grip. “I don’t know. He looks like a young Aaron Kwok? But with glasses.”

They exchange looks. “I have no idea who that is,” Bryn says.

“Maybe you should research your ’90s Hong Kong heartthrobs. I think you’d like them very much.”

“I think one of us likes them enough for this friend group.” Bryn winks.

I purse my lips. “I don’t like anyone.” Especially people who jump away from me when I delusionally think they’re about to kiss me.

Monique rolls her eyes. “You were wearing what you referred to as ‘the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen,’ and you covered it with his crusty-ass hoodie.”

“I was cold?”

Bryn clicks her fingers. “And the stunting sessions! He’s standing way too close to you when you’re not doing the stunt. And he’s standing way too close during the stunt! I didn’t even know that was possible!”

“He’s a good stunt partner.”

“That he is for sure, but I don’t know how much it has to do with wanting to be good at cheerleading,” Monique huffs.

Bryn pats me on the arm. “You’ll figure this out on your own.”

I clench my fists. “The only thing I have to figure out is how to get better at staying tight at the top of the stunt so we can show Coach that we can do it on our own. She needs to make it part of the routine. And speaking of that, I’m going to text Aang to ask him to do a training session tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? We’re scheduled to train again in two days,” Monique points out.

“Well, then we’re going to train tomorrow and in two days.”

Bryn shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m helping my mom at the salon.”

“Monique?” My voice trembles.

“I’m doing the Pilates class with my mom.” She looks at the expression on my face and groans. “But I can come after.” I brighten up, and she sighs. “You’re lucky I’m friends with you.”

American high school films gave me very different expectations about what it would be like to have cheerleading friends. I’m glad these two have proved them wrong.

One day, maybe I’ll share more with them. My real name, for starters. They’ll share too. Bryn will tell us about being a White person adopted into a Black family. Monique will explain how she feels about being wealthy in a country where wealth is built on the backs of people who look like her.

But after a year of friendship, we’re still tiptoeing around these topics. Pretending none of us are drowning under the weight of our identities. It’s easier this way.

I look at Monique. “Thank you.”

She gives me a side hug and strolls back to her desk, and her typing fills the room again.

“Can I braid your hair?” Bryn asks me. “I want to practice before tomorrow. Two cornrows? And with the golden hoops?”

“Sure.”

She sprints to Monique’s bathroom to get the supplies.

I unlock my phone to text Aang. Prastise tmrows?

I throw my phone on the bleachers. “Monique’s going to be late.”

“And Bryn?” Aang asks.

“She’s not coming today. Work.” I sit down on the floor of the gymnasium. There’s so little time left. With every cheerleading practice that Addy’s in the air, my chances of being a flyer again are dwindling. And I’m still failing at this stunt.

I need to tighten all my muscles so I don’t move forward or backward while going up. I have to lock my knees at the top, no matter how much Aang’s hands are shaking. Over the recent sessions, it’s worked only with either Monique’s or Bryn’s help. And we need to do it by ourselves to be able to show Coach.

Aang sits by my side and plays with the tape around his wrists. He’s started using it for additional stability.

Months of cheerleading have made his hands rough. A scratch on the right knuckle. A bruised left pinky. Callused palms. How would it feel to hold them?

“Why are you staring at my hands?”

My cheeks heat up. “Just … um … they’ve changed a lot.”

He examines his hands. “They have.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, I like it. It makes me feel more competent.”

“I get it.” I extend my legs. I have a bruise on my right calf from falling while tumbling. I have a bump on my left quad from Addy falling on me during pyramid practice. And all the tiny scratches and cuts that I hardly notice anymore. “It feels like you’ve worked hard, that you’re pushing yourself to be better.”

I miss my flyer’s bruises. The ones from my backspot grabbing my calf too tightly. The ones from the impact of being repeatedly caught in the same position. Every single one meant that I was doing it, but then I got benched. And I’ll stay benched unless I can show Coach that I deserve to fly.

I turn to Aang. “Let’s try the stunt without Monique.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely not. Too dangerous without a spotter.”

“You quote Coach way too much.”

“Because she’s right.”

“Whatever.” I drum my fingers against the floor. One, three, five, seven. One, three, five, seven.

He contemplates my tapping fingers for a while until he sighs and stands up. “How about something else? You can teach me a forward roll?”

I stop drumming. “You want to learn a forward roll? When I brought it up last time, you said you don’t have a death wish yet.”

“And look how fast it developed.” He nods to the mats.

I spring to my feet. “Okay, let’s go!” I run to the center of the mats. I love tumbling. I’d love to see Aang tumble more.

He walks over and crouches down.

“Palms on the mat in front of you,” I say.

He puts his palms on the mat in front of him.

“Hide your head between your shoulders.”

He attempts to hide his head between his shoulders.

“Not like that. Chin closer to your chest.” I move his head into the correct position. My fingers brush his neck, and I can imagine my lips doing the same.

I sway on my feet.

His head flies up. “You okay?”

“Yes!” I squeal. “I’ve never been more in possession of my mental faculties! Now roll!”

His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s your instruction? Now roll?”

“It’s a forward roll. Not much to teach here!”

“I was expecting more details. What if I break my neck?”

“You’re an idiot.” I push his head down and grab his waist. “Push your hips over your head.”

I feel his muscles tense under my hands. I guide him through the roll, my hands steady on his hips as he goes over. He lands on his back with a small thud. “I did it!” He sits up, grinning.

He did something, that’s for sure. “See? Not that hard.” My hands tingle from where I touched him.

“Should we go again?”

“Sure …” I wipe my hands against my bare thighs. “Let me just check where Monique is.” I run to my phone. There’s a new message.

I’ll be there in twenty, sorry!

I grip my phone. I don’t have twenty more minutes.

I spin on my heel. “Let’s do the stunt. Monique won’t be here for ages, and we don’t have that much time left.”

“JJ …” Aang stands up. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I walk up to him. “There are two months left until State, and that’s counting winter break. Coach needs time to put it into the routine. And we’ll need time to practice it in the routine.”

“But—”

I grab his arm. “It’ll be fine, I promise! I tried this with Brad without a spotter, and it was fine!” Sure, I almost broke my neck, but here I am, standing.

His eyes darken. “I’m not Brad.”

“I know that, but—”

“Bryn told me why you broke up with him. At his party.”

The whiplash of the statement shakes the ground, disorienting me. My hand tenses around his arm before going slack. Why is he bringing it up now?

I step away from him. On sobie ze mnie żartuje.18 He said it to make me back off doing the stunt. My blood boils in me, and the steam scorches my throat. I cross my arms to hide my clenched fists.

“Why I broke up with Brad had nothing to do with you. Nothing.”

His shoulders sag. “It … it didn’t?”

If I didn’t have so much anger coursing in my veins, maybe I’d stop to ask myself why he looks so deflated, or why I’m lying about the breakup, but instead, I keep going. “And it has nothing to do with the stunt. If you’re not strong enough to lift me, just say so, and we’ll wait for Monique. Don’t bring my ex-boyfriend into it.”

His face hardens, sealing away whatever emotion was there before. “Fine. Let’s do the stunt.”

I move into position. He’s behind me, digging his fingers into my hips harder than usual. We dip on one, and I go up on three. He puts more power into propelling me up than ever before. I land on his hands on five, every single one of my muscles tight.

We’re doing it! It’s happening! I will fly during State! I …

I do the worst thing I possibly can. I relax.

Aang’s hand wobbles on one. On three, I tip backward. On five, I’m falling.

Is this how I die?

Aang does the best thing he possibly can.

He lets go.

He lets go of my feet and throws himself under me so I fall on top of him. The impact leaves me breathless. Aang grunts in pain. “Shit, JJ, are you okay?”

I don’t respond. I slowly move my head. My legs. My arms. I can move. My neck’s not broken.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Are you okay? Are you okay?” He’s lying on his back, my back pressed against his stomach. He cranes his neck to look at my face. He’s so pale you’d think he donated all his blood.

I close my eyes and take a breath to calm down. And then another. My nostrils register a familiar scent.

He shifts us from lying down to sitting up. My back is still against his front. His left arm is wrapped around my stomach, between the bottom of my sports bra and the top of my shorts. “Please say something.”

“Ginger.” I rest my head against his chest.

“What?”

“You always smell like ginger.”

“Oh.” He chuckles. I know this laugh. The one you give when you almost died in a stunt. And as the adrenaline wears off, the rambling comes, the stream of words, just being happy you can still talk.

“Two years ago, I went to Chinatown on my own. I took a bus to Boston, four and a half hours, but I did it, and I went into the first place I could see. It was an herbal shop. The lady started talking to me in Chinese. And I couldn’t bring myself to admit to her that I didn’t understand a word of what she was saying. She assumed I knew, and that’s who I wanted to be. A person who can have a conversation in Cantonese in an herbal shop. But I wasn’t. I panicked, pointed to the first thing I could see, paid for it, and ran out. Turned out to be ginger honey soap.”

“And you still have the same soap?” I don’t know if he realizes it, but he’s stroking my arm.

“No, um … well … you said that you liked the smell. So, I went back to the shop and bought more.”

“I see.” I turn my head while he turns his. “I still like it.”

His eyes flick between my eyes and my lips, and my pulse jumps.

The door bursts open, and Aang startles, his lips hitting my collarbone.

Monique runs in. “I’m sorry I’m late—why are you lying on the floor?”

I push off Aang and get on my feet. “We tried doing the stunt.”

Monique’s eyes widen. “Without a spotter? Are you insane?” She points at Aang. “You! I know JJ’s insane, but you? You’re supposed to be a backspot!”

Aang scrambles to his feet.

“It’s not his fault, Monique. I made him do it.” I stand in front of him, shielding him from her glare.

“Does he not have a brain of his own?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, she’s right.” Aang comes up from behind me. “I shouldn’t have agreed. You sure you’re fine?”

“I didn’t touch the ground. Like you promised me.” We hold each other’s gaze until I break it off. “Well, since everyone’s here, we can start again.”

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do any more today. I’m going home.” Aang grabs his backpack.

“What? Wait!” I run after him. “You hit the ground hard. Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head.

“I know that was a scary fall, but I’m really fine.”

“That’s good.” He takes his glasses out of his bag and puts them on.

“And sorry for what I said about Brad, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, all good. I shouldn’t have brought up the breakup. I was just obsessing over something extremely delusional the last couple of days, and it just slipped out. But it’s all cleared up now.” He forces a smile. “I’m happy to be friends with you.” He sprints out of the gym.

Friends?

The word drops onto my heart, leaving a crater of disappointment.

18 He’s got to be kidding me.