September 9th, 2005
It's another peaceful, early morning in the Pelican.
I carry my breakfast tray to a sunny spot at the end of a long table and sit. The smell of my custom order omelet wafts in the air, bringing me back to the way Ma's kitchen smelled in the mornings before Ba drove me to school.
Our family had stumbled upon Mackenzie's, the quaint farm-to-table diner on a spontaneous weekend drive outside the city last fall. It was one of those rural cash-only places, where most of the customers were retired locals. Ma, Ba, Lex, and I stood out instantly with our black hair, beige skin, and conversations interspersed with Mandarin. It didn't matter though, because their mushroom omelet was the single most delicious omelet I'd ever tasted in my entire life.
Ma spent days trying to recreate Mackenzie's mushroom omelet, driving over an hour away to find the freshest mushrooms and best eggs, even stopping at random farmer's market stalls to inquire about local cheeses. Ba and Lex and I sampled so many omelets that our family couldn't look at eggs for two weeks.
I stare at Jorge's omelet on my plate and smile at the memory. Even though Ma never quite cracked the code to Mackenzie's mushroom omelet, she'd make her own version and serve it to us in the mornings. In the end, it was Ma's thoughtfulness and love that made the meal special.
I grip my coffee mug a little more tightly. Thinking about my family stirs up uncomfortable emotions. I haven't called home yet even though I know Ma must be worried about me. I wonder if Lex is enjoying his first year of high school. Does Ba miss me at all? Or is he just relieved I'm not around anymore to remind him of his financial obligation?
A clattering sound interrupts my train of thought. Two seats down, a boy with beach-tousled brown hair appears. He props a grimy-looking longboard against the edge of the table and fishes out a tattered, leather-bound book from his backpack. Sitting, he starts to read while loudly slurping a glass of orange juice. I can tell by the gilded pages that he's reading a Bible. Just like Ma.
"Nice book," I comment airily. "My mom did her devotions during breakfast, too."
Startled, he glances up. His eyes are alert and bright, and his smile toothy and wide.
"It's a great book!" His eyes narrow for a second. "Hey, I know you... Cassie Yang, right? You played at the Talent Night last weekend."
"Uh... I did," I stammer. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Chase Sullivan," the boy grins. He extends a sun-tanned arm across the table, gripping my hand in a tight shake.
In one fluid movement, Chase slides his tray and Bible down the table and takes the open seat in front of me. The orange juice sloshes around in his glass.
"How long have you been playing keys?" he asks, slicing a banana into a bowl of granola, nuts, yogurt, and berries.
"Since I was a kid," I respond.
"You're very good," he says, stirring his concoction and spooning a giant scoop into his mouth.
"Are you a freshman?" I ask.
Chase shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a senior. I live up in Warbler in the upperclassmen complex near to Church Street."
"Oh. And you came to a freshman talent show?"
Chase grins. "I'm always on the lookout for good musicians."
"What for?"
"Gigs, band competitions, just to jam," he says, shoveling down the rest of his granola and yogurt. "After graduation, my girlfriend and I are gonna get married and move to Nashville to write our own songs. It's our dream. Our parents think it's a gamble, but I know she and I are destined to make music. I've already got a ring!"
"Those are big dreams!" I marvel, in awe and somewhat jealous. "I don't even know who I want to be yet..." my voice trails off awkwardly.
Chase gives me a curious look and wipes his mouth with a napkin. Reaching into his bag, he finds a notebook and tears a piece of scrap paper from it and hands me a pencil.
"Here, write down your info," he says. "I might need a keys player in the near future, and I like your sound."
"S-sure!" I reply, taking the pencil and jotting down my email and cell number. Chase takes the paper and shoves it into his bag along with his big Bible.
"Sweet, thanks," Chase smiles. "I'll see you around, Cassie Yang!"
Scooting backwards from the table, he hauls the longboard under one arm and grabs his backpack and tray with the other. He gives me a cheerful wave before dashing off, returning me to my quiet thoughts once more.
---
My sense of peace is disrupted moments later when the Hahn from Hell gives an unwelcome announcement at the start of class.
"Your first exam will take place in two weeks," she tells us. "Before you leave today, you will each receive a problem set of sample test questions I have used in previous years. The questions are designed to challenge your problem-solving skills and cunning. To help you prepare, you will work in small groups today and solve at least two of three problems I will give you shortly."
There's a murmur around the room as we sort ourselves into groups of four or five. Ranjit and I team up with Abbie Kerrigan and a boy named Hunter Zhou, who looks as though he is still asleep. The Hahn from Hell places a few handouts on Abbie's desk, which she promptly passes to each of us, and we begin to read.
The words swim before my eyes as I try to make sense of the problems. The problems are intricate and difficult, and some have several steps... how do I even begin to solve these? Anxiously, I glance up at Ranjit, whose brow is furrowed with concentration.
"This isn't bad," he mumbles.
"No, this isn't bad at all," Abbie nods in agreement.
"For the first problem, the rate of appearance of the product is related to the rate of disappearance of the reactants," he says slowly. "Guys, I know how to solve it!"
"And the second problem looks tricky, but the steps are easy," Abbie smiles. "I've already calculated the average rate of change in concentration."
"O-oh," I stammer, wanting to help. "Should I calculate the next part? The average rate of disappearance of hydrogen sulfite ion—"
"It's 2.7 mols per second," Hunter grunts without looking up. "I can plot the concentration of disulfate ion versus time."
"Great!" Abbie chirps. "I'll start the next graph, then."
"How can I help?" I ask, glancing around at my group nervously. But Ranjit is busy scribbling away, and both Hunter and Abbie have already begun to plot their graphs.
"You can attempt the next problem?" Abbie shrugs.
My group mates charge on ahead as though I'm not there. In every group project, there's always a straggler – and in freshman honors chemistry, it's me. I try my best to follow along, but it becomes clear that my peers' grasp of chemistry is far superior to my own. I'll need to redouble my efforts for this exam if I want to have a chance for a decent grade this semester.
"Cassie, did you figure out the third problem yet?" Abbie asks.
"Um... I—not quite," I admit reluctantly. "I think I'm a little stuck."
"We can help," Ranjit says encouragingly. "Let's see... Oh, this is simple algebra. We can calculate rate change by writing it out like this..."
I force myself to smile despite feeling crushed. Why am I so terrible at chemistry? I try my best to pay attention to Ranjit's patient explanation, but I'm too disappointed with myself to be truly attentive.
Eventually, class with the Hahn from Hell ends. I shove the problem set into my backpack before muttering a "see you later" to Ranjit and spend the remainder of the morning trudging unenthusiastically from one lecture to the next.
The day is hot, and my back is sweaty from carrying heavy textbooks around campus all morning. I walk out of Bustard Hall after attending my fourth class in a row hungry, tired, and shoulders aching, and collapse onto the nearest wooden bench. Pulling out my cell, I ring home for the first time since coming to college.
"Hello?"
Lex picks up, his voice already deepened in the few short weeks since I left.
"It's me," I say.
"Hi Cass. I didn't think you'd call."
"Why not?" I interject. "Are you telling me I can't miss home? And why aren't you in school right now?"
"You don't seem like the type to get homesick," Lex sniffs. "And we didn't have school today. In-service."
"Oh. How are you?"
"Fine," Lex responds. "Ma wants to talk to you."
"Oh. Okay—"
"Zhen-zhen? Is that you? Where are you?" Ma's voice crackles through the line.
"I'm at school, Ma."
"You sound tired," Ma comments. "Ni chi bao le méi? How are classes going? I hope you are not working too hard, being pre-med is not easy and you need to take care of yourself..."
I pinch the space between my eyes and try not to cry. I can't let her know I'm struggling because she'd tell Ba, and I need to prove to Ba that I can succeed at this on my own. My academic success is my one-way ticket to his love and acceptance. Taking a calming breath, I steady myself and respond.
"Don't worry about me, Ma. I'm fine," I lie.
---
My mood does not improve when I return to the dorm to find Sabrina fluttering around our clothes-strewn room, packing a weekend bag.
"Cassie! You're just in time – I'm about to leave!" Sabrina huffs as she skirts around me. "By the way, have you seen my red jacket?"
I sidestep a pile of colorful bras and assess the collection of instant mac-and-cheese encrusted mugs scattered over her desk.
"No, sorry. Wait, you're leaving?"
"Yes, just for the weekend! Greg and I made plans. We haven't seen each other in like a week, you know," she looks at me meaningfully. "My dad will be here any minute."
A sad, hollow feeling begins to tunnel through me. I'm happy Sabrina is reuniting with Greg this weekend, but a part of me wishes she could stay so I would feel less alone.
"Oh, cool," I intone, just as Sabrina's phone chimes.
"My dad's here!" she exclaims, shoving random things into her duffel and zipping it shut. Grabbing her mesh laundry hamper, she smiles. "Try to have a little fun this weekend, okay? See you Monday!"
Without another glance, Sabrina sprints into the hallway and down the stairs. The door swings wide open in her wake.
"Great," I mutter out loud miserably.
Turning, I step around what's left from Sabrina's tornado until I'm in front of my bed. With a frustrated groan, I flop face down onto the mattress. I lay there for a while, listening to the wind rustling the leaves on the tree outside my window.
I'm still face down on my bed when someone raps lightly on my door. At the sound of footsteps, I lift my eyes from the pillow and see Becky with her hands on her hips.
"Some of us are going out for dinner on Church Street tonight," she says. "Wanna come?"
---
One hour later, I settle on a rarely worn plum halter with jeans and a pair of pearl earrings. The shiny gloss on my lips feels foreign, as does the faint brush of mascara to my lashes, but Becky insisted that I look nice. Although the chic feminine look contrasts my usual attire, I feel lovely and grown. Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I lock the door behind me and head downstairs to the lounge.
I'm greeted by a group of people from my floor. Becky and Jenna are matching with their pastel-colored tops and low, hip-hugging white jeans. Noah and his roommate Carlo, along with Mohan, are all wearing smart button-downs and nice pants. Even Kevin looks fresh in an orange polo and jeans.
"There you are," Ranjit smiles when he sees me. "You clean up nice," he remarks.
"So do you," I tease, taking in his crisp white shirt and dark jeans.
"Is this everyone, then?" he asks Becky, who slips her hand around the crook of my arm. I've somehow become more endearing to her ever since Zac started visiting me every day.
"We're waiting for a few more," she says, batting her eyes. Before Ranjit and I can ask who, her eyes light up. "You made it!" she squeals.
I turn to see Zac and his roommate Lee step into the lounge. Zac looks different dressed in a light blue shirt and neat shorts. His top button is undone, showing a healthy, golden tan from many afternoons training outside.
"Practice ended a little late. Thanks for waiting," he says, flicking his eyes towards me for a brief second. "Hey," he smiles.
"Let's go!" Becky calls to everyone, herding us out of Swan Hall and into the evening summer air.
It is a gorgeous night, which lifts my spirits considerably. The sun at golden hour bathes campus in a warm glow, and a gentle breeze tickles across my exposed back. There's a tangible sense of vitality and giddiness in the atmosphere... I feel young, alive, and full of possibility.
Our laughter peppers the air as we cross Fiore Street and trek up the Lawn. We follow the walking path through a thicket of carefully manicured dogwoods and pass the large, bubbling fountain inscribed with Copper Hill's motto – "Wisdom will always find those who seek it." We pass under the arches at Cardinal Hall and begin to walk by the dignified lecture halls surrounding the Lawn.
Soon, we approach Church Street – the heartbeat of the university town. The long, one-way street is a piece of Copper Hill history, with old art deco building interspersed with newer, more modern boutiques and eateries. Large barrel planters with colorful blooms line the curb, where bike racks and parked cars squeeze tightly together down the boulevard. Locals push little babies in strollers and hold the hands of their younger children while window shopping, and live music can be heard floating across the street. The rich aromas, bustling sounds, and the twinkling lights of the various shops and restaurants greet us like a warm hug.
"We can make it!" Mohan yells as the pedestrian crossing light begins to blink its countdown. Laughing, we all dash across the street while Zac jogs lazily behind us, the last to rejoin the group.
We pass the rowdy crowds at Angelo's – the broke college student's go-to greasy pizza joint – and sidestep a cluster of drunk people in an alleyway. Next to Angelo's is a clean and brightly lit convenience store called Sutton's. A smattering of stores line the opposite side of the street, some familiar (like Starbucks) and others not, like the local legend, Lou's Deli Shoppe. After several blocks, we arrive at Eddie's Tavern, an old saloon-like restaurant with outdoor seating and string lights stretching down from its maroon awnings to wooden planter posts. I follow closely behind Ranjit as we step inside into the din.
A lone musician plays original songs from an elevated podium in one corner of the restaurant. The volume of his amp and vocal mic are far too hot for my liking, and I cringe. Around us, glasses and tableware clink, sports fan cheer by the bar, and dinner guests yell loudly at each other to be heard. To my relief, the hostess motions for us to follow her upstairs for our table, away from the din.
Our group of ten is seated around a heavy wooden table overlooking Church Street. I'm the last to sit, so I take the remaining chair on the end, next to Zac. The smell of his fresh, woody cologne catches me off guard – did he put cologne on just for tonight?
My stomach growls loudly and a sudden wave of lightheadedness hits me. I realize then that I have not eaten since breakfast with Chase earlier in the morning.
"Are you okay?" Zac watches me with a concerned look.
Laughing, I nod. "I'm fine," I assure him. "Just hungry."
"Same," he groans. "Practice was brutal."
A middle-aged waitress comes to take our drink orders, and everyone pores over the menu. I let my eyes glaze over the endless options and pause. I can't remember the last time I ate out with friends. Ma and Ba were particularly strict about how I spent my time, preferring that I stay home and study instead of socializing. If we ate out, we did so as a family, and Ma or Ba would take care of ordering for us. What do I even choose to eat now that I'm on my own?
"Be back in a bit," Zac pushes his chair away from the table and stands. "Can you order the turkey burger for me with salad?"
I nod as he disappears down the stairs. When the waitress returns, I relay his order to her and randomly select a blackened chicken sandwich with avocado for myself. I pass her my menu and slowly sip my water, taking in the view of Church Street through the window.
By the time our food arrives, I am so famished I can no longer focus. I devour my chicken sandwich until there are no crumbs left, savoring every bit. Zac watches me with amusement.
"You weren't kidding about being hungry," he chuckles.
"I feel much better now," I smile with relief, sinking back into my seat.
He opens his mouth to speak but stops as something catches his eye. Sensing movement behind me, I set my water glass down and turn. A bright, orange balloon floats into view – and with it, a trio of waiters who begin to clap and sing.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!" they sing loudly, swarming me.
"It's not my birthday!" I protest, bewildered.
Becky squeals. "Oh my God, Cassie! You didn't tell us it was your birthday!"
"—Happy birthday dear Cassieeeee," the waiters bellow, placing an enormous ice cream sundae brownie with a pink striped candle in front of me, complete with chocolate drizzle and a single red cherry on top. The orange balloon, which is tied to the goblet holding the dessert, bobs happily before my face.
I shake my head and laugh awkwardly. My friends misinterpret my nervous laughing as embarrassment, and they sing even louder.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!" the entire table joins in singing. Noah has even taken to adding a bass harmony.
"Blow out the candle, birthday girl!" Mohan shouts from the opposite end of the table.
"But it's not my birthday!" I whisper-yell, whipping my head around in confusion.
"Don't leave us hanging!" one of the waiters call out.
That's when I see it – Zac grinning from ear to ear, wearing a most amused and mischievous expression on his face.
"This was you, wasn't it?" I say, giving him a look.
"Happy birthday, Cass!" he snickers.
His eyes twinkle roguishly, and I concede. But as I do, I feel the burdens of the day float away from me. Of all the people he could have chosen to prank, Zac picked me. A warm, happy feeling burrows into my chest and I give him a grateful smile. The whole table cheers as I blow out the candle for my fake birthday, and I pass the ice cream sundae around the table for my friends to share.
Author Notes:
- "Ni chi bao le méi?" means "have you eaten yet?"