Bitter Melon (25 page)

“Second,” I say, my voice nonchalant.

“How come you went down from first to second?” she asks.

She is comparing this win to my CAA win. She doesn’t realize that this is a different kind of competition with a different pool of competitors. This win should be compared to my third-place win in my first competition. My initial urge is to tell this to Mom. Then I recall that she convinced me that I was ugly. Who is she to tell me that my second-place win isn’t good enough?

About ten minutes later, Theresa calls. I want so badly to tell her about Derek. But I’ll have to wait until the two of us are alone, out of Mom’s earshot.

“How did it go?” she asks.

“I won second,” I say.

“Oh. That’s great.” Her voice sounds flat; she’s not her usual chipper self.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on. Tell me.”

“It’s stupid.”

“How many stupid things have I told you?”

Theresa is quiet for several seconds. Finally, she says, “The Winterball was yesterday.”

I completely forgot about that. Theresa hasn’t mentioned Alfred since the week after the fall dance.

Suddenly, a cold realization dawns on me. I blame my mom for sabotaging me and Derek. Haven’t I done the same kind of thing to Theresa? Theresa probably would have called Alfred had I not discouraged her. Then maybe they would have gone to the Winterball together.

I feel nauseous. My body breaks out in cold sweat.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s not your fault,” Theresa says. “I’m making a big deal out of nothing. I should just forget about it.”

I say a silent prayer of contrition and ask for forgiveness. I vow to make this up to her somehow. I vow never to betray Theresa again.

The following morning, Mom makes good on her promise to weigh and measure me. I am shivering in my underwear as Mom hauls the scale from underneath the bureau, along with the measuring tape, which is coiled perfectly and perched on top. Though I am starving, I am not allowed to eat my green banana. In fact, I am not permitted even to drink a glass of water. Mom doesn’t want me doing anything that might add an extra pound to the scale. I can have only a cup of tea, since tea makes me go to the bathroom, which may reduce the reading on the scale.

Of course, this is ridiculous. If I pee out a pound of urine from caffeine intake, I am not really a pound thinner. I am excreting water, not fat. And how can one banana affect my result? I watch Mom as she pores over my charts, analyzes my diet, and makes adjustments. Mom gestures towards the scale. I’m about to step onto it, but something holds me back.

You should be one hundred fifteen. No wonder you look so fat
.

You should be thirty-six inches by twenty-four inches by thirty-six inches
.

If that’s such a big deal, then how come Derek likes me?

“Hurry up,” Mom says.

A lot of people do care about superficial things
, Ms. Taylor said to me.
But you don’t have to buy into that just because they do
. I replay the awards ceremony from last night, except with a twist. Derek is about to slip me his note asking me to call him; then he stops himself and whips out a measuring tape. “Oh, wait, I forgot. I need to see if you measure up first,” he says. Then he raises his hand, addressing the crowd in the bleachers. “Excuse me. Does anyone have a scale?” I stifle the urge to giggle.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I hear myself say.

“Yes you do,” Mom says.

“No I don’t.”

“It’s good for your future.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Are you saying that you don’t want to improve yourself? Even if you end up a
fei po?” “Fei po”
means “fat hag.”

“Yes,” I say, even though it sounds like
Yes, I want to be a fat hag
.

Mom flings the scale across the room. It crashes into the wall. Then she walks over to me, grabs me by the arm, and drags me towards the scale. I pull myself back. Mom grabs me by the neckline of my pajama top. It tears open down the front, sending buttons flying everywhere.

“Look what you did!” Mom screams, panting. “Do you know how hard I worked to buy you those pajamas?” I’m frightened
by how far this has gone, but I force myself to meet her stare. “Fine, then,” she says. “Be fat, disgusting, and pathetic.” She turns and walks out the door.

I am shaking with terror and disbelief. This is the first time I’ve ever said no to my mother. I am also relieved. From now on, my mother can no longer poke and prod at my body. Someday, when I’m in college, I won’t be living here anymore. My future home will not have a scale. I will never weigh myself again.

The following week, I notice a change in Diana’s mood. She no longer smiles when she sees her classmates. Her shoulders slump when she sits and walks. The first time Theresa and I notice this, we exchange knowing glances. Though I am sad for Diana, I can hardly suppress my happiness for myself. That happiness is quickly followed by frustration, because without Derek’s number, I can’t take advantage of my opportunity. I try looking up his number in the phonebook, only to find a dozen Collinses. How many families would I have to bother before finding the right one? And what if I go through the whole list, only to discover that Derek is unlisted?

Mom and I pass Christmas Eve with Nellie and Theresa. Nellie gives me a leather-bound journal. Theresa gives me a teddy bear. Mom gives me a girdle. The following day, Nellie, Theresa, and Theresa’s brother, Ben, fly to Hong Kong to spend the rest of winter break with Theresa’s dad.

In January, speech class is over, and psychology takes its place as my senior-year elective. I still see Ms. Taylor on a daily basis, because she is also my English teacher. I remain active on the speech team and anticipate my February competition, when I will get to see Derek and finally ask for his number.

Unfortunately, I come down with stomach flu the day before the competition. As I spend the entire night on the toilet, I tell myself that my illness will pass by morning. The next day, I get dressed and eat a banana to give me energy, only to throw it up on my outfit. My fear of doing this during the competition is all that motivates me to give up. All day, as I lie in bed, I imagine Derek looking for me at the competition, wondering if I am avoiding him on purpose. During brief bouts of disturbed sleep, I dream that I am running to the competition, but my feet are heavy, as if anchored in wet concrete.

Mom is overjoyed that I have finally lost some weight. She is probably plotting how to keep me permanently ill so I can continue on this righteous path.

April rolls around and so does the next speech tournament. If I do well in this competition, I can go on to the state championship and then to nationals. A week before the tournament, Ms. Taylor beckons me to her desk after English class to schedule some after-school practice time.

“By the way, have you heard back from Scripps yet?” she asks.

“No, not yet,” I reply. Not only have I not heard back from Scripps, I haven’t received any word from any of the scholarship organizations. A sliver of worry scrapes against my chest. “Is that a bad sign?”

“No need to worry,” Ms. Taylor says. “I have a good feeling
about this. I’m so excited for you. You’re going to meet so many new and interesting people.”

As I imagine myself at Scripps, I suddenly realize that I will know no one. This thought fills me with terror.

“I wish you could be my teacher in college too,” I say.

“You’ll have other great teachers in college,” Ms. Taylor says. “I’ll be a distant memory.”

“No. I’ll never forget you. Maybe I can visit from time to time.”

“Well … can you keep a secret?”

I nod, eager to hear any of Ms. Taylor’s secrets.

“I’m looking into getting a teaching job in North Carolina. My mother’s sick, and I want to be closer to her. It’s not finalized yet, but I’m getting some good offers.”

My heart sinks. “I’ll miss you,” I say.

Ms. Taylor’s eyes sparkle like sapphires. “You’ll be fine. You’ll have yourself and your achievements.”

That afternoon, I search our mailbox as soon as I get home, hoping that today is the day that I will hear from Scripps. But all I see are bills and junk mail. I sigh and proceed upstairs.

Mom’s company is forcing her to take some of her vacation days; otherwise she will lose them. That is why she and I join Auntie Nellie and Theresa for dim sum on 27th and Geary the following Saturday morning. We arrive by ten forty-five,
because by eleven thirty, there will be a crowd of customers spilling out onto the sidewalk, waiting to get in. Already the restaurant is full. The body heat of the customers causes steam to form on the windows. Waitresses push their dim sum carts through the narrow spaces between tables while shouting out the names of their dishes above the loud hum of Cantonese conversation. We are sipping
gok poh
tea, a combination of chrysanthemum and
bonay
, while eating steamed dumplings.

“I have good news!” Nellie announces. “Theresa got into Berkeley!” She is so excited that she ought to be wearing a party hat and throwing confetti.

I look at Theresa with surprise. I’m her best friend. Why didn’t she tell me? Theresa just looks at her lap.

“Have you heard back from Berkeley yet, Gracie?” Nellie asks.

Mom takes a careful sip of her tea. “No. Not yet.” Her smile reminds me of cracked plaster.

Nellie shoots a nervous glance at Mom, then at me, and then at Mom again. “I’m sure that her acceptance package is coming soon,” she adds quickly. “If they are willing to accept Theresa, then they would be foolish not to welcome Frances.”

We eat the rest of our brunch in silence. Nellie is careful not to mention another word about Theresa’s accomplishments. Mom strains to keep a composed appearance as her fault line of worry widens.

On our way home, Theresa and I walk ahead as Mom and Nellie lag behind. Nellie begins chatting about the latest Hong Kong celebrity gossip while Mom pretends to listen.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Berkeley?” I ask Theresa.