Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

As much as I hate to admit it, when it comes to my new school, its uniform gives me a lot more to work with than Mingyang’s did. Mingyang High, my old school, is also a Chinese school, but it’s all about integrating as much of Indonesian culture as possible, so its uniform is an atrocity made of batik-inspired cloth—with a pattern that I think is supposed to be seashells but has ended up looking like amoebas—cut into a bizarrely shaped blouse and skorts. It was voted Worst Uniform in Jakarta five years in a row. One would think that winning this nebulous award would’ve encouraged the folks at Mingyang High to revisit the uniform, but nope.

Xingfa’s uniform, on the other hand, is the cute Japanese-style sailor uniform: white skirt and top with a large blue collar and a red sash. It makes me look like a manga character, and I fully approve of this. I admire my reflection after I’ve put it on with my regulation white socks. The skirt was the only thing I was meh about. According to Xingfa’s rule book, it should be four fingers’ width below the knee, which…uh, no. The day the package containing my new uniform arrived, I quickly sent the skirt out to be shortened so that it fell an inch above my knees. That’s one thing Mingyang did right: our amoeba-covered skorts were at least allowed to be thigh-length. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tiny bit worried, though. Mingyang is known for being one of the most liberal, progressive schools in Indonesia, a country filled with conservative, traditional schools. Xingfa, on the other hand, is known for its “discipline,” code word for super-strict traditional school. Which again raises the question of why Mami and Papi have chosen to transfer me to Xingfa.

I woke up half an hour early this morning so I could pull my hair into a messy braid and twine it around my head into a braided headband, and dare I say it: I look super cute. I pick up my phone, which is wearing a custom phone case I designed myself. It says gamer goddess in a beautiful cursive font, surrounded by an explosion of flowers. Just because I can’t be publicly a girl in-game doesn’t mean I’m not proud of being a girl gamer in real life.

I strike a pose and take a selfie before sending it to my WhatsApp group chat. A second later, my phone buzzes with replies.

WHAT! Your uniform is SO cute! I hate you!

Cassie:I love it! And your hair! Aah! You’re going to slay them!

Over summer break, my cousin Sharlot visited us from Los Angeles. At first, it was a complete trainwreck. She and I didn’t hit it off, and to make matters worse, she got roped into fake-dating George Clooney.

Well, George Clooney Tanuwijaya. Only male heir of the Tanu Group, one of the nation’s biggest corporations. Their fake dating was exposed in the most humiliating way possible, and it was awful. Sharlot was devastated, but then she climbed out of her cave of sadness and we became a lot closer than before. Plus, the fake dating actually evolved into real dating, and now Sharlot and George Clooney are one of those couples who seem to have everything together and will no doubt get married once they finish grad school. I introduced her to Cassie, my BFF, and they got along so well that the three of us formed a group chat called the Bad Betches, and since then, we chat on it almost every day.

I miss you guys so much.

Cassie:I know! Lunchtime is going to be so weird without you.

Sharlot:Hey, at least you guys are still living in the same country! I’m all alone in Cali!

Kiki:Your boyfriend literally flew halfway around the world to be with you. You’re hardly all alone

Cassie:Srsly! #relationshipgoals

Sharlot:Yes, but I miss you guys! Female friendships > boyfriend

Kiki:Gasp! George would be heartbroken to see that

Sharlot:Why would he see it?

Kiki:Screenshotted and saved for future blackmail

Cassie:Kiki, pls look out for cute girls at your new school for me

Kiki:Always!

Cassie:Love you!

Sharlot:

I’m beaming when I tuck my phone into my skirt pocket (my skirt has pockets! Yay!) and glance up at my reflection once more. I nod to myself. “Looking good, Kiki.” Maybe I sound slightly deranged, talking to myself like this, but I’m all for positive self-affirmation. Mami says that even when I was a baby, it was obvious I thought I was the shit. At my baby class, I was always the first to crawl toward the ball or whatever the teacher was holding up.

I swipe on some tinted lip balm, pull out a few strands of hair from my braid to keep it from looking too severe, and release my breath. Okay, time to slay.

Mami and Papi are downstairs in the dining room, already halfway through their breakfast. Well, if one can call a glassful of alarmingly green veggie juice breakfast. No, wait, today’s concoction isn’t witch’s-brew green; it’s actually more mud-colored.

Noticing my look of disgust, Papi lifts his glass and wiggles his eyebrows. “Bayam, kale, bok choy, and kunyit.” Spinach, kale, bok choy, and turmeric.

I give him the ugliest sneer I can twist my face into, and he laughs.

“Hey, this stuff’s going to make us live to a hundred! Just you wait and see.”

“I’d rather die young than drink that,” I shoot back without any venom. I think it’s kind of adorable that Papi is so into his disgusting vegetable juice.

“Aduh, choi! Touch wood!” Mami cries, knocking hard on her wooden chair. “Kiki, how many times must I tell you not to say such inauspicious things?”

Papi and I share a look. Normally, I would’ve been a bit more considerate and not said such things in front of Mami, but honestly? Just a tad resentful toward her this morning, because moving me to Xingfa was her idea. I should’ve known she would do this after the way she reacted when she found out that George Clooney (the knockoff, not the original) goes to Xingfa. But how could I have known that even my ambitious mom would be ridiculous enough to take me out of Mingyang High and enroll me in Xingfa for the last year of school? I mean, really now. When she told me a month ago, she was, like, “Mami and Papi made a mistake enrolling you in that hippie school. Now you can barely speak Chinese, you have no manners, and you’re too—too prideful!”

“It’s called confidence, Mami,” I snorted.

“You see!” she crowed. “You’re talking back to your elders. You need a good, traditional school instead of Mingyang, which is too—too liberal. Xingfa is a very traditional school. It’ll get you in line.”

I looked at Papi then, expecting him to step in and tell Mami to back down, but instead, he gazed at me, unsmiling, completely serious. I realized then that he was on Mami’s side.

“Mami’s right,” he said after a second. “You’re too—too…what’s the word? Pede?”

Pedeis short for percaya diri, which literally translates to “belief in oneself.” It means confident but in an arrogant way.

“This is such BS,” I groaned.

“No, we want you to learn to be humble,” Papi said.

“If I were a boy, you’d be praising me for being confident.”

Mami glowered at me. “Maybe. But you’re not a boy.”

Papi sighed then. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be confident, Kiki. Unfortunately, our society is still very conservative, and I worry that you’ll struggle in the real world. Learning to fit in with social norms is important.”

Story of my life. Whether in-game or in my own house, things would be a lot easier if I’d been born a dude. Fast-forward a few weeks, and here we are on this fine morning, with me making tiny passive-aggressive remarks and/or well-timed snorts to show Mami that I haven’t quite forgiven her yet. Technically, I guess I should also be mad at Papi, but the bulk of the blame rests with Mami. She was the ringleader in this whole mess.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal the color of a radioactive rainbow and start eating in front of them. Mami winces as I eat. I know she’s dying to tell me that I might as well be eating poison, that I’m going to give myself cancer, and so on, but she thinks better of it. Instead, she forces a smile and goes to the fridge. She brings out a takeaway cup of Starbucks caramel latte, which she sets down in front of me.

“I got it for you this morning.”

Damn it. Why does she have to go and be nice to me now? I consider turning my nose up at it to make a point, but the point doesn’t seem worth making anymore, and gosh, I can see that she’s ordered extra caramel drizzle on the top. “You’re playing dirty,” I grumble.

“Fine, I’ll throw it a—”

My hand shoots out and grabs the cup.

“What do you say to your mother?” Papi says, like I’m all of three years old.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

She gives me a beatific Mother Mary smile. “You’re welcome, nu er.” Nu er is Chinese for “daughter,” and my parents love using it when they feel the need to remind me that I came from their loins. “Now get going. You don’t want to be late on your first day of school.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I stand up, slinging my bag over one shoulder, and hear Mami’s sharp intake of breath. I close my eyes. I don’t know what she’s going to complain about this time, but she’ll find something, of that I’m sure.

“Your skirt—”

Oh, crap. She’s noticed that I had it shortened. I arrange my features into those of an innocent pup before turning around to face her.

Papi is craning his neck to see what the fuss is about. “What’s up?”

“Did you have your skirt shortened?” Mami asks in a dangerous, low voice.

“No…?” I look down like I’m just as surprised as she is. “It came like this.”

Mami’s eyes narrow. The tension in the room crackles. I can practically hear her mind whirring madly, rushing through her options. I wonder if she’s going to make me wear shorts underneath. Just as I’m about to lose it, one corner of Mami’s mouth quirks up. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she’s trying to fight back a smile.

“Never mind,” she says suddenly. “Off you go, don’t be late.”

What the hell just happened? Papi and I stare at her for a couple of seconds, both of us equally bewildered, before I shrug. “See you kids later.”

“See what I mean?” Mami grumbles. “No manners.”

“We’ve failed as parents,” Papi agrees, before giving me a wink.

---

I’m not sure what to expect from Xingfa, but I know what they can expect from me: awesomeness. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve got the confidence of a mediocre white man down pat.

In the car, Pak Run, our family driver, quirks a smile at me through the rearview mirror. “You ready for your first day?”

“You know I was born ready.”

He snorts as he backs out of the driveway. Pak Run’s been with our family since I was a baby, and he might as well be a blood relative by now. “Buckle up.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s not the law here to buckle up when sitting in the backseat, but Pak Run’s made it clear he won’t go anywhere unless I’m belted, which, you know, props to the man for having integrity.

My phone buzzes again. This time, the message goes through Discord instead of WhatsApp, and my heart does this little skip, because the only person I chat with on Discord is Sourdawg.

Sourdawg: First day of school! Knock ’em dead, kiddo!

I laugh silently.

Are you secretly a sixty-five-year-old man?

Sourdawg: But forreals though, g’luck

Dudebro10:Thanks. Have you sent the email to the sourdough company?

Sourdawg:Ttyl!

As usual, my cheeks are hurting from grinning so hard. Typical Sourdawg, running away at the first sign of conflict. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and gaze out the window at the awful Jakarta morning traffic. Xingfa is in North Jakarta, and we live in the south, so at least we’re going against the flow of commuter traffic. Still, it’ll take us almost forty-five minutes to get there. I check my bag to make sure I’ve brought my textbooks and iPad and my aquamarine pencil case, then take out my compact to check my reflection. No spinach in my teeth. Not that I ate any spinach this morning, but I’m convinced that spinach was designed by Mother Nature to magically appear on teeth right before a big date or an important interview.

By the time the car arrives at the school, I’m surprised to find that my stomach is clenched into a tight knot. When I get out of the car, I almost stumble, because my legs are watery. I can’t believe I’m so nervous that I literally can’t walk.

“You’re going to be okay. Just relax,” Pak Run calls out.

I manage a weak smile, then turn around to face the looming school building. Okay, so it’s actually a really pretty building and doesn’t do much looming, but I swear I can feel the school looking down at me and judging me. Right, I’m officially losing it. I tighten my hold on my messenger bag, take a deep breath, and mutter, “I’m the GOAT. I’m the GOAT.” Except now I’m thinking of the animal instead of the acronym.

“Ci Kiki!” someone cries out from inside the building.

I look up and spot Eleanor Roosevelt, aka the little sister I’ve always longed for, waving crazily at me from inside the reception hall. Immediately, my muscles loosen and my legs spring back into action, taking me up the steps two at a time. “Eleanor Roosevelt!” When I first got to know her through her big brother, George Clooney, I made the mistake of calling her Ellie. She gave me this look that seared all the way through my blackened soul and said, “My name is Eleanor Roosevelt Tanuwijaya. You can call me Eleanor Roosevelt.” I pointed out to her that even the original Eleanor Roosevelt probably didn’t go by Eleanor Roosevelt, and she said, “Yes, but I do.” And that was that.

She throws her skinny little tween arms around my waist the moment I get inside the building. “I can’t believe we’re actually in the same school!”

I hug her back, breathing deeply. Eleanor Roosevelt is probably the only good thing about switching schools. I can’t explain the bond that we have. We each have friends our own age, but there’s just something about Eleanor Roosevelt that reminds me of myself. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s so rare to come across someone just as loud and unapologetically obnoxious as myself. People are always telling Eleanor Roosevelt to quiet down, or stop talking, or stop meddling, and I totally get her frustration at having to make herself smaller and quieter for other people.

Even now, Eleanor Roosevelt is yammering a mile a minute. “Oh my god, you look ah-may-zing in the school uniform! Of course I expected nothing less from you, Ci Kiki.” She stops and gasps, her eyes widening like an anime character. “Did you shorten your school skirt?” she whispers in a mock-scandalized tone.

“Maybe a little.” I wink at her, and she squeals with laughter.

“I love it!” Then she hesitates. “But maybe others might not?” Just as my anxiety spikes once more, she quickly waves her hands. “Nah, of course they will. You’re going to set a new trend, I know it. Save us from these eighteenth-century bags, am I right?” She gestures at her own pleated skirt, which goes halfway down her calves, making her look awkwardly tall.

“They are incredibly unflattering,” I agree. I totally expected that all the older girls would have shortened their skirts, but Eleanor Roosevelt’s reaction makes it obvious that no one else has, which is worrisome. Still, as she said, maybe I’ll set a new trend.

I’m nothing if not an optimist.

“Anyway, there’s someone I’ve been dying to introduce to you,” Eleanor Roosevelt says. She doesn’t wait for my reply before turning around and calling out, “Sarah Jessica Parker! C’mere!”

A bespectacled girl walks out from behind one of the ginormous pillars at the front of the school and approaches us with a shy smile.

I bite back my grin. “Sarah Jessica Parker, huh?”

“It’s actually Sarah Jessica Parker Susanti. Sarah Jessica Parker is an actress best known for playing Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City,” she says with all the earnestness in the world.

I want to hug this kid. “Yeah, I know who SJP is.”

“My mom is a huge fan.”

“I figured,” I say solemnly.

“Anyway,” Eleanor Roosevelt says, “we’ve been so excited about you starting here at Xingfa, because we have the most amazing opportunity for you. C’mere.” She links her arm through mine and leads me firmly through the large reception hall and into a side corridor that’s a bit less crowded.

Uh-oh. George has always said that his little sister is going to either appear on the cover of Forbes one day or end up in prison for running a worldwide scam. I mean, I love the kid like no other, but I can totally see it. “Yeah?” I say warily.

Eleanor Roosevelt gives Sarah Jessica a signal, and Sarah Jessica taps on her phone with a flourish. Sad violin music wails from the phone. I glance around us as students stream past. A few of them are definitely giving us curious side-eyes, but most of them are busy reading books or scrolling through their phones as they walk. Still, I do wish that Eleanor Roosevelt and Sarah Jessica Parker hadn’t chosen this very moment to do this strange presentation.

Eleanor Roosevelt clears her throat and starts talking in a dramatic voice. “Life can be so lonely sometimes, especially when you’re in school.”

I want to point out to her that when you’re in school, you’re least likely to be lonely, because you’re surrounded by friends all the time, but I’m dying for this to be over, so I just nod and give her an encouraging smile.

“You’re snowed under tons of schoolwork—projects, tests, and exams, oh my! How utterly depressing. Is this the fate of our youth? Are we destined to spend our best years languishing away, studying and studying and studying?” she moans. Then she brightens and holds up an index finger, just as the sad violin strings are replaced with a jaunty, uplifting tune. Wow, she’s practiced this. “But it’s okay, because Lil’ Aunties Know Best is here to solve all your dating problems!”

I laugh and clap before I realize I have no idea how Lil’ Aunties is going to solve anyone’s problems. But Eleanor Roosevelt is delivering her speech with such passion that I’m, like, heck yeah, solve world hunger, Lil’ Aunties!

“We may be young, but the Lil’ Aunties will find the perfect match for you. You want someone tall, pale, and handsome? Done. You want someone who’s into algebra? We got you covered. You want someone who will be respectful toward your elders and has at least one athletic extracurricular activity? We’ve got just the right person for you! WhatsApp us today and meet your soulmate tomorrow!” Both Eleanor Roosevelt and Sarah Jessica do jazz hands, and the music ends.

I clap, though not too loudly, because I’m super aware of all the stares from other students as they make their way to class.

“What do you think?” Eleanor Roosevelt says, her eyes shining with barely restrained excitement.

I have to fight to keep the grin on my face. “I mean, yeah, that was great. Very, ah, very convincing. But I think we should go to—”

“Yasss!” Eleanor Roosevelt turns to Sarah Jessica, and the two of them bump fists. “I knew you’d love the idea. I just knew that you’d get it.”

I have to smile at that. “If anyone were to run a successful matchmaking service, it would be you. But, um, are most parents going to be okay with their thirteen-year-olds dating?” Most parents in Indonesia don’t even want their sixteen-year-olds dating.

“Oh!” Eleanor Roosevelt cries. “It’s not for us, gosh no.” Sarah Jessica Parker shakes her head vehemently. “It’s for you seniors!”

“Uh-huh…Again, if anyone can run a successful matchmaking service, it would be you. But how many seniors do you know?” I can’t see anyone going for a matchmaking service run by two thirteen-year-olds, but I don’t say that out loud, because she’ll probably find it patronizing.

Instead of deflating at the very legit point I’ve just made, Eleanor Roosevelt’s grin widens. “Yeah, that’s where YOU come in, Ci Kiki.”

Uh-oh. “I’m…not following.”

“Well, you’re a senior. And you’re new. This would be the perfect way for you to get to know more people at Xingfa!”

“I—I don’t know…I’m going to be pretty busy with college apps—”

“Exactly!” Eleanor Roosevelt cries. How is it possible that her eyes are literally wider than before? I swear her face is 70 percent eyes right now. “This will be so good on your college apps!”

“Um, yeah, I don’t think that using a matchmaking service—”

“You wouldn’t just be using the service,” Sarah Jessica says. “As our first-ever participant, you’ll be granted a position within our company.”

“I don’t know—”

Eleanor Roosevelt holds up a thumb. “Organizational skills.” An index finger. “Communication skills.” Her middle finger. “Social networking.” Her fourth finger. “Marketing skills.” Her pinky. “And later, once we’ve conquered Xingfa, we can expand to other schools, and that shows entrepreneurial spirit. It’s going to blow your college app profile out of the water.”

“Uh…” Despite myself, I’m pretty freaking impressed. How are these kids only thirteen? When I was thirteen, all I did was play shooting games. Oh wait, I’m still doing that.

“But the icing on the cake,” Eleanor Roosevelt adds, “is our app.”

“Wha?” I can’t believe I’m the elder here and I’m the one who’s lost in this conversation.

She gestures with a flourish at Sarah Jessica. “You might not have guessed from how fabulous she looks, but our Sarah Jessica Parker is a programming genius. She’s going to make an app for it.”

Sarah Jessica curtseys. “I do like making apps. I’ve made a couple of them before, just to try my hand at it. It’s really easy.”

I nod slowly. “Really easy to make a phone app, huh?” I echo, still struggling to follow what’s happening.

“Piece of cake. It’ll be like Tinder,” Sarah Jessica says with all the confidence in the world.

“Okay, I’m not even going to get into the fact that you two are way too young to know about Tinder.” I frown sternly down at them, and they roll their eyes. “But there’s also the fact that, uh, premarital sex is really—I mean—” I struggle for the right words. “It’s, you know, you—you kids are too young!”

“Oh my gosh, Ci Kiki,” Eleanor Roosevelt groans. “Of course it won’t be about the sex. Ew. I mean, it’s like Tinder but a lot more innocent. Like an innocent, parent-approved Tinder.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “George will kill me if you get into any trouble, you know that?”

Eleanor Roosevelt smiles sweetly up at me. “Then you better make sure I don’t get into any trouble.”

I know when I’m defeated. “All right, I’ll help you guys out with it, but I do not want to be involved in the actual dating.”

“Are you sure?” Sarah Jessica says. “Going on dates will really help your social life.”

I toss my hair over my shoulder and wink at them. “I don’t need help finding dates.”

Eleanor Roosevelt raises her brows at Sarah Jessica. “See?” she says. “I told you Ci Kiki is the best.”

Sarah Jessica looks like she’s about to continue arguing, but just then, the bell rings.

“That’s the first bell,” Sarah Jessica says. “Means we’ve got eight minutes before classes formally start.”

“Okay, well, I’ve gotta run,” I say.

“We’ll revisit this later,” Eleanor Roosevelt calls out to me as I hurry down the hallway toward the Secondary School building.

“Sure!” Phew—saved by the bell.