Tiny Pretty Things by Sona Charaipotra, Dhonielle Clayton Read Free Book Online Page A

me in a studio.
    I listen to her breathe for three more beats. She finally speaks: “What did you have for dinner last night? Stay away from that fatty American food. I’ll drop off jap-chae and baechu gook .” And there she goes, burying her secret, the thing my mother will deny until the day she dies. “Maybe Hye-Ji can tutor you in math again. I was speaking to her mother. Mrs. Yi says that Sei-Jin and the other girls always ask you to their parties, but you never go. Sei-Jin and Hye-Ji are nice, pretty girls.”
    Sei-Jin is not a nice girl. Deep down, neither am I. Our moms think we’re sweet and obedient kids, behaving just how we would if we’d been born and raised in Korea. Sei-Jin and I used to be roommates and best friends. My heart squeezes a little, even though I don’t want it to. I glance at Sei-Jin’s room door, our old room door, and remember how close we used to be. I haven’t had a real friend since her.
    I tell my mom a lie. “I went to one tea that Sei-Jin had. And they all spoke Korean the whole time. And really fast. I couldn’t keep up.”
    “That’s your own fault,” she interrupts, not taking any of the blame for the way she raised me. I know little Korean phrases, all the foods, and just enough to eavesdrop during her Korean social events, but not enough for a full conversation, which is depressing when I think too long about it. “I raise your allowance, you take a language class. Will help on college applications. Oh, also, you sign up for the SAT? The academic counselor says one is in late October and . . .”
    “I have rehearsals for three hours every night for the next two months,” I say, quietly seething. “I told you, I’m the understudy for the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
    “Understudy,” she says with disdain. I want to give her the understudy speech Morkie gives after every casting: that I could be thrown in last minute, that I was picked because I’m a fast learner, that I can handle the pressure of dancing the role for the first time live, that it’s an enormousresponsibility.
    “E-Jun, that’s all you’ll ever be. They’ll never cast an Asian in the lead. You accept that. The Russians never did, even when I was there. . . .” She pauses, tucking those secrets back in. “Better start working on getting into good college now.”
    “They cast a black girl as the Sugar Plum Fairy. My roommate, Gigi,” I say, not really sure if that made things worse or better. Point is I didn’t get the role.
    Silence follows again. She says the word understudy again. I can hear her disappointment turn to anger. “I’m serious now, E-Jun,” she says. “No more nonsense. Time to focus. This will be your last year if you can’t be any better than understudy. No more dancing. You’ll be going to the public school in our neighborhood.” Then she simply hangs up, not even waiting for me to argue or to say good-bye. Listening to her talk about dance, you’d never know she’d walked through these very halls, lived in one of these tiny dorm rooms, danced in the studios, was part of the company. But something happened, something bad, and she never told me why she’d stopped.
    She’s since become a successful businesswoman, importing high-quality dancewear from Korea, and she wants me to follow in her footsteps and eventually take over. That is the Korean way. What little of it that I know. She raised me all alone—her parents disowned her for staying here and having me. I’m all she’s got. So part of me knows I should obey her. Be a good daughter. Go home on weekends, and shop with her at the Korean markets on Saturdays, attend church with her on Sundays, and return to the time when I used to curl up in her bed like a little spoon in front of her.
    But the thought of going to a public school unnerves me, making me want to throw up again. Now, the bathroom is full of girls getting ready for ballet class, and my stomach is basically empty. So I head to the Light instead.