Russel Middlebrook: Double Feature Part 11

"What a coincidence," I said. I turned my back on him. "Russel, we should go." The river of people had pulled 14 Gunnar and Em away from us and had probably already deposited them in the parking lot.

"Yeah," said Russel. "Sure. Well," he said to Kevin.

"See you."

I prodded Russel back into the flow of exiting people, but it had lessened to a mere trickle now.

"Hey, Russel?" called Kevin. Before I could stop him, Russel looked back. "We should get together sometime,"

Kevin went on. "Just to talk."

"I mean it!" I said to Russel, firmly. "We really have to go." Before either of them could say anything else, I grabbed Russel by the jacket and started dragging him away. Gunnar and Em were waiting for us outside. I also saw the girl in the epaulets, on the other end of the campus- so far away that I'd never catch up to her now.

I guess that secretly I'd been expecting something to happen after all.

15.

CHAPTER TWO.

This is the part where I'm supposed to complain about my family.

16 I wish I could. There are few greater joys in life than fin is.h.i.+ng a test before anyone else and complaining about one's family. The truth, however, is that my family is pretty decent.

I love my mom. She's one of those people that, whenever she's around, you have the feeling that things can't ever get too out of hand. It's hard to pin down exactly why. I think it's because she's verbal, but not pretentious; she's thoughtful, but not neurotic; and she's organized, but not rigid. Her fatal flaw is her taste in clothing, which is just inexcusably bad.

She has a Ph.D. in education and is always doing research on various teaching methods. Not surprisingly, I ended up her best subject. Free school, homeschool, unschool, Montessori school, progressive school-you name it, I've done it. Finally, when I turned fourteen, I put my foot down and said I wanted to go to plain old public school. To her credit, she said okay.

Her parents were born in China, but she was born in the United States. Even so, she was raised to be very much the dutiful Chinese daughter, always deferential and attentive, especially to men. To hear her tell it, she was. Around the time she turned thirty, however, she realized that she'd been a fool, that you didn't get anywhere in the United States by being deferential and attentive, especially to men. 17 In the United States, you got ahead by being loud and aggressive. She's always saying that in America, it's not so much what you say, but how you say it.

By the time I came around, my mom was determined that I not make the same mistakes she had. So from a very early age, she always encouraged me to speak up. Supposedly, she wouldn't feed me until I cried at a certain volume-sort of the Ferber Method in reverse.

I think she created a monster. Sometimes I wonder if my mom regrets raising a daughter who has a definite opinion about everything and who, unfortunately, doesn't always know when to shut up. I've certainly horrified enough of our relatives.

My dad, for example. He is much more traditional. He was born in China and didn't come over to the United States until he was seven years old. He's always shaking his head whenever I say or do something shocking, but he never actually criticizes me. The truth is, I think he's secretly proud of the fact that I stand up for myself. It's like I get to say and do all the things he never let himself say or do.

He's a Ph.D. too, but he prefers to teach rather than do research. He's also soft-spoken and mild-mannered, but absolutely uncompromising. If I get my candor from my 18 mom, I get my sense of ethics from my dad. He's the kind of person who always corrects the checker for undercharging him-even if it's just a dollar, even if the checker is obviously incompetent, and even if it means my dad is going to be late. He's a big believer in personal sacrifice, and I am as well. He often says, "If ethics were easy, everyone would have them." If my dad gets embarra.s.sed by my mom for being outspoken, she gets frustrated with him for being so obstinate. According to her, the world will not end if she lies and tells the waitress that one of her kids is a year younger than she really is, so we can still order off the d.a.m.n children's menu.

Finally, there's my sister, Lei. She's six, so there's not a lot to say. She likes Barbies. This drives both my parents absolutely bonkers, which I think is to their credit, but what can they do?

I am named after my father's mother, Grandma Min, who now has Alzheimer's and who lives in an Alzheimer's unit a couple of miles away. I used to be jealous that my name wasn't Heather or Catherine, like the other American-born Chinese girls I know. Now, however, I appreciate that my name is a little unusual.

Earlier this year, I came out to my parents as bi. As I'd expected, they'd experienced some difficulty at first. Still, my parents pride themselves on their education, and on 19 the very idea of education. Once they got over their initial distress, they went out and educated themselves. Despite what some people try to pretend, the research on s.e.xual orientation is clear and overwhelming: it's a characteristic, not an illness; the feelings are involuntary, not freely chosen; and it's not changeable. My parents had learned that, and they'd immediately come around.

Finally, while still on the subject of my family, I'd like to take a moment and make fun of all things Chinese. Because I am Asian myself, I can do that, and no one can call me racist.

So here's to all the vinyl tablecloths, and to a hundred different Tupperware containers in the fridge, each containing one little bite of food. Here's to school supplies given as Christmas gifts, and to mothers who can't just order what's on the menu. Here's to too many d.a.m.n dragons, and dads who think they can fix anything, but only end up making it worse.

There. Now that that's out of the way, we can move on with the story.

For as far back as I can remember, my mom and I have had tea together whenever I got home from school. I should 20 probably think it's silly. After all, I am sixteen years old.

Most kids my age barely even talk to their parents, much less have tea with them. The truth is, I kind of like having my mom fuss over me for a few minutes every day. The fact that we have Ding Dongs with our tea doesn't hurt.

The afternoon of the zombie meeting, my mom and I sat at the kitchen table while we waited for the tea to steep. It isn't a tea ceremony or anything, but it is true that we never start talking until the tea is done. Mom always uses fresh tea too, never tea bags. She can actually be quite sn.o.bby about this; she refuses to even drink the tea at most restaurants.

Finally, my mom poured two cups, one for her, one for me. According to tradition, you're supposed to drink the tea in three gulps, but we never do.

"So," said my mother. "How was your day?" She was wearing paisley with plaid. It looked like a pair of drapes threw up on her. Still, I'd long since learned that it was futile to point out things like this.

"Oh, it was fine," I said. It was technically still the afternoon, so we were drinking green tea. I explained about the meeting for the zombie movie, but I didn't mention the girl in the epaulets.

"That sounds like fun," said my mom.

"Yes, I think it will be." 21 I sipped my tea while my mom nibbled on her Ding Dong, watching me.

Finally, she said, "Min, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" I said. "There's nothing wrong. Why do you think something's wrong?"

"You seem sad."

"No. Not at all."

"You're lonely, aren't you?"

I kept sipping my tea. I refused to affirm or deny the accusation.

"I remember what it was like," said my mom wistfully. "More than anything in the world, I wanted a boyfriend." Her eyes met mine. "Or a girlfriend!" she added quickly. "Not that I wanted a girlfriend. Just that it's okay if you want a girlfriend too."

This is a good example of how much my parents had come around regarding my s.e.xual orientation.

"I guess so," I said noncommittally.

My mom studied my hair. "Did I tell you how much I like the purple?"

I sighed. "Yes, Mom. About a hundred times." I didn't regret dyeing my hair, but it would have been a lot more satisfying if my mom had been horrified, like any normal 22 parent.

"Well, I do," she said. "It really expresses your individuality."

"Thanks," I said, but individuality or not, I still wasn't going to tell her I liked her pants.

That Sat.u.r.day, we had our first day of work on Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies. We had an 8 A.M. makeup call at the school where they were filming. I wasn't thrilled to go that early, but in my family of workaholics, I'd long since been transformed into a morning person whether I liked it or not.

Climbing out of my car in the parking lot, I spied Kevin nearby.

"You!" I said, approaching him like a storm.

"What about me?" he said. He looked taken back, to say the least.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? I wanted to be a zombie. What's wrong with that?"

"That is not why you're here, and you know it!"

"It is so!"

"Kevin!"

"What?"

"What, are you stalking him?" I said. 23 "Who?"

"You know who!"

"Min! No, I'm not stalking him."

"Look," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm warning you that-"

Right then, Gunnar drove up with Em and Russel.

They piled out, and we all acknowledged one another. I obviously couldn't talk to Kevin anymore, so I just stood there glaring at him. Once again, he would not look me in the eye.

As we walked inside, everyone was talking, but I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Kevin. What was he up to? It didn't make any sense. The exact reason he and Russel had broken up all those months ago was because Russel had come out to the whole school but Kevin hadn't. He'd been too petrified about becoming even slightly less popular. He'd actually teased Russel for being gay, to draw attention away from himself. After that, Kevin had even had the temerity to want the two of them to keep seeing each other, in secret, but Russel had said no. I absolutely supported him. I'd tried a relations.h.i.+p in hiding once, with my first girlfriend, Terese, and it had been a complete catastrophe. It was impossible. It required that you be two completely 24 different people, and in high school it's hard enough just being one person. I would never make that mistake again, and I wouldn't let Russel do it either.

Kevin knew all this, so what was he thinking now?

A couple of production a.s.sistants were waiting for us at a table just inside the door. They collected the release forms that we'd had to get signed by our parents and presented us with plastic numbers, the kind you get at a hardware store to put on your mailbox. I was number six.

More extras were arriving all the time, so one of the a.s.sistants led us to what they called the "hospitality suite," which was really just the school cafeteria with some boxes of doughnuts and bagels, trays of fruit, and jugs of orange juice spread out on one of the tables.

There was only one teenager in the hospitality suite before us: the girl in epaulets. She was wearing a different jacket now, though, one that didn't have epaulets.

I was so surprised, I dropped my plastic number. I don't know why I hadn't expected to see her again, but I really hadn't.

Russel reached down and picked it up for me. "Oops," he said. "You dropped this."

I didn't answer. I was watching the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets, standing all by herself near the doughnuts. Apparently, she'd come alone. Right then, I 25 decided I wanted a doughnut too. I sidled up beside her and reached for a napkin. I could see her perfect profile, not to mention the fact that she wasn't wearing makeup.

She immediately turned to me. "Hey there," she said. "So you want to be a zombie, huh? That'll be a challenge."

Wait, I thought. That was way too similar to the line I'd been going to say to her, about how hard it would be to turn her into a zombie. I couldn't say it now.

"Oh," I said instead. "Thanks." Or did she mean something about my being Asian?

"Nice hair," said the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets.

"Thanks," I said again. At this point, the plan had been for me to comment on her epaulets, but she wasn't wearing them anymore.

This was stupid. I was interested in this girl. Why couldn't I talk to her?

"Carrots and peas!" I blurted. It was the only thing I could think of. That said, we were here to be movie extras, and Gunnar's account of what extras supposedly say in the background was a fun piece of trivia.

"Pardon me?" said the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn 26 Epaulets.

Before I could explain what I was saying, the production a.s.sistant stuck her head back into the cla.s.sroom.

"We're ready for numbers one and two," she said.

The Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets looked down at her number. "Oh, that's me. Well . . . bye." She smiled at me and strode over toward the production a.s.sistant.

Wait! I wanted to say. I needed to explain what I meant when I'd blurted "carrots and peas." Because if I didn't explain, she was going to think I was stupid or weird-she might even think I had a mild case of Asperger's syndrome, like Gunnar.

Before I could say another word, she was gone.

It was destiny. Me and the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets were destined never to talk.

"All right," said the production a.s.sistant to the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets. "And two? Who's two?"

No one moved.

"Come on, folks, we're on a tight schedule here."

I looked down at my own number at last. It said "two," not "six." When I'd dropped mine and Russel had picked it up, he must have given me his number by mistake.

"Oh!" I said stupidly. "I'm two!"

"Well, come on," said the a.s.sistant impatiently. 27 A couple of people t.i.ttered, but I didn't care. I still had another chance to talk to the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets. Maybe I'd even be able to explain what in the world I had meant by "carrots and peas."

They led us to a cla.s.sroom, which had been set up as the wardrobe department. Once there, the costumers took one look at us and said, "Cheerleaders." Then they asked us our sizes.

We told them, but then I added, "I never really thought of myself as the cheerleader type before." "Don't have any choice," said one of the costumers. "We desperately need cheerleaders for the first scene."

"Oh," I said. "Really sc.r.a.ping the bottom of the barrel, huh?"

The Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets laughed.

The costumer looked up at me and smiled. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant we only had six female extras show up today. You'll make a great cheerleader." She tousled my hair. "Hey, love the streaks."

"Thanks," I said.

"But we'll probably have to put you in a wig for filming. Cheerleaders and purple hair don't really go together."

28 "Yes," I said. "That's why I did it."

They gave us costumes in our sizes, then sent us behind this part.i.tion to undress.

"Can you believe it?" I said to the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets. "Cheerleaders?"