Chapter 29 - I'll Be a Home for You

Chapter 29

never before has finishing a crossword caused so many problems

Aang

Losing Mathletes Nationals dampened my mood for days. And Remy’s mood, because he had to listen to me mull over each question in excruciating detail. But the sulking hasn’t lasted nearly as long as it did last year. I quickly realized the benefit of finishing the Mathletes season—more time alone with JJ.

We spent Wednesday afternoon hanging out at my house. JJ asked me a lot of questions about Chinese school. Which was odd at first, because no one has ever been so interested in this one of my extracurriculars. But once I got over the weirdness, it was nice. Talking about Hong Kong with someone who knows even less than I do and was learning about it from me.

It was also the only thing we could do, because my dad became very insistent on keeping all the doors in the house open for ventilation.

Now it’s Friday, and we’re sitting in the park in front of the convention center in Houston, where cheerleading Nationals are being held. My back is propped up against a tree. JJ’s head is resting on my lap, and she’s trying to solve a crossword on my phone.

Sunlight spills over her skin, illuminating every detail of her features. Arched eyebrows. Full cheekbones. Long eyelashes. I trace my fingers around the bruise on her thigh, which is in the vague shape of my hand. I made it yesterday during our last practice of the season, when we did way too many repetitions of the pyramid sequence. She drew a tiny heart in the middle of the bruise with her lipstick.

I finally understand Remy’s obsession with art.

“You’re right,” JJ says.

I blink. “Sorry?”

She shows me the crossword. “You were muttering something about art, and it’s actually correct.” Confetti fills the phone screen when she enters the last correct answer. “Yay! I’ve never finished a crossword in English before. I need to send the proof to myself.” She takes a screenshot and switches to the Messages app, smiling.

I lean over her face. I want to kiss that smile so badly, but if I mess up her competition makeup, Remy will cut my body up for destroying two hours of his work. I kiss her on the collarbone instead.

She stiffens.

Uneasiness creeps up my neck. “You okay?”

Her hands grip my phone tighter. “Why am I saved as Józefina-Ibifubara?”

“Um … because it’s your name?”

She shoots me a look.

I lean away. “What? Did I write it incorrectly?”

“No, there’s not a single mistake in there.” She forces the phone into my chest. “How do you even know how to spell it out?”

“That’s how you signed your name in math class on the first day. When we met.”

She groans, getting off my lap. “Yeah, literally just on that first day.”

I stand up. “If this is about not having a nickname for you or something—”

“No, it isn’t, just …” She tightens her bow and points to my phone. “Why isn’t it JJ?”

“Because I like your name.”

Her eye twitches. “JJ is my—” She sucks in a breath, air swishing in through her nose. “No, I’m not doing this right now. I’m going to hang out with Bryn and Monique before the routine. See you later.” Her ponytail swings furiously from side to side as she stomps away.

Irritation simmers in me.

Everything to fit in here, for what? We can be here for more generations than the White people, have the most English names possible, and they’ll still ask where we’re from. They don’t need anything but our faces to decide we’re the foreigners.

They all traded their real names for this. JJ and my parents, and my grandmother probably did too, but I’ll never know what she sacrificed. I’m the only one who gets to introduce myself with the name my parents chose, but that’s because I don’t have a real Chinese name. I’m winning where I’ve already lost.

I stare after JJ, who’s marching toward the convention center. I don’t understand why she’s like this.

Is this what us being together will look like?

A cold shiver runs down my spine. No.

No. I haven’t spent years pining after her for these thoughts to enter my mind. We’re not fighting. It’s competition day. She’s stressed. I went about explaining myself the wrong way. I’ll try something else. Or learn to ignore it. Yeah, I don’t care.

In the waiting area behind the curtain, JJ goes through her elaborate handshake ritual with Monique. Then with Bryn, complete with a surprising number of chest bumps. We still haven’t done our handshake. We agreed we’d do it before this last routine of the year.

I don’t think she’s in the mood for it now.

She nods to Addy, gets a thumbs-up in return, then settles beside me. “We need to win.” She points behind the curtain without looking at me. “No feelings on the mat.”

Ice spreads through my core. No feelings on the mat. No feelings on the mat. No feelings on the mat. She grabs my hand, but her skin feels cold.

“And now … in the performance, advanced, large, co-ed division from Massachusetts, the Blackstock High Cardinals!”

We run in and take our places. I take a deep breath. There’s no other option but to win this.

The music starts.

Throw JJ up. Catch. High V. Let her down. Catch.

The hardest part is done.

The rest of the routine is bliss. No one wobbles. Every tumbling pass is landed to perfection. And before JJ jumps into prep for the last pyramid position, we exchange quick smiles. Yes, we’ll be fine. Once we win, she’ll be so happy that we’ll be able to have a normal conversation.

One move left. I need to put JJ into prep so she can hold Alexis, who’s about to do a braced double twist.

One last lift. And then we can talk about her weird aversion to her actual name. I drive her upward with every ounce of strength I have left.

A massive mistake.

We go up too fast, too aggressively, and JJ wobbles. Her hips go back, and the audience gasps.

I catch her upper thighs and push her up so she’s back in the smoosh. She hasn’t touched the ground, and she hasn’t really fallen. But she’s not in prep, which means Alexis doesn’t have anyone to brace her, so her stunt group brings her down without doing the skill. There’s no time to process the implications, because we have to move on to dance. Performing like nothing happened, like we’re having the best routine of our lives.

I dip Alexis on the last count, and she gives the audience the biggest smile I’ve seen from her yet.

It evaporates as soon as the music stops.

We get off the mat as fast as possible. No one’s celebrating. Everyone’s avoiding each other’s eyes. Monique rips the bow off her ponytail. Strands of hair dangle from the hair tie. Coach tries to give us a speech, but no one’s listening to her.

And then Paige and the rest of the seniors start wailing.

I watch hopelessly as the underclassmen walk around me, consoling them. Bryn pushes past me to give her stunt group tissues. JJ’s holding a sobbing Addy, but there are tears pooling in her own eyes as well.

I sweep the backstage area until I land on a corner partially hidden from view. There, I slide down the wall and rest my head against my knees, but I can still hear their cries. Each weep builds on top of the previous one, smashing it’s all your fault into my skull.

Someone slides down the wall next to me. The air fills with vanilla mixed with sweat. “You’re horrible at sneaking away.”

I bury my head deeper into my knees. “I’m so—”

“Nie ma takiej opcji.”27 She pulls my hair, forcing my head up. My hair follicles protest. Her other hand is holding my glasses, which I left in my backpack before the routine. “There’s enough crying going on out there. You’re not allowed to beat yourself up. You helped me fly at Nationals. You helped us get to Nationals. And most importantly, you did your job as a backspot this year. We’ve competed three times, done dozens of game-day performances, and you kept your stunt group safe.”

“I dropped you three times over the course of the year.”

She lets go of my hair. “Oh well. I’m still alive to win Nationals next year, am I not? We are.”

I shake my head.

“What does that mean?” Her hands fumble with my glasses. “Are you … are you not staying on the team next year?”

I haven’t given it much thought. I’ve liked the weight of her in my hands and the burn in my shoulders. It makes my brain quiet. It snuffs out the spiraling thoughts about Stanford, San Francisco, Hong Kong, Cantonese, my parents, my grandmother …

It leaves just the physical exhaustion.

I want to stay. Not for her, not for college, but for myself. “You know what, I’ll be there.”

She beams, and the ice from before melts away. She slides my glasses onto my nose, and I should be happy, but I’m mostly confused. “How are you less upset now than during Mathletes?”

She leans a touch closer. “I was devastated when the stunt failed. I mean, I was getting ready for a lengthy cry alongside Addy. But then I saw your face, and crying took a back seat. Cheering you up was more important than despairing about a mistake in a routine.”

I love you.

The thought crashes through my mind like thunder, deafening, drowning out everything else. She’s still talking—I can see her lips moving—but I’ve gone deaf. Blood roars through my ears, and my heart pounds against my ribs. I’m in love with her. What now? What now?

She bumps my elbow. “And the name thing? Let’s forget about it. It’s not important.”

What name thing? Oh, from earlier today, yeah, whatever, forget about it. I’m in love with you. I jerk my head in agreement.

She smiles and presses a kiss to one corner of my lips. I need her lipstick tattooed on my cheek. Forever.

What now?

27 Not an option.