When I arrive at home, the spicy aroma of Korean red pepper and fish cakes makes my mouth water. Spicy rice cakes. My mom is Korean and every once in a while, she makes Korean food, which I love. Usually, though, we eat whatever my dad or brother wants. I wonder what the occasion is.
"I'm home!" I call out as I place my backpack in its designated spot next to my piano.
"Amelia, try this." My mom comes dashing over with a steaming wooden spoon in her hand. She brings it to my lips and I nearly die on the spot.
"It's yummy," I gush and she smiles.
"Does it need more spice?"
"Hmm... a little," I say.
"Your dad and Daniel don't like spicy food," she points out.
"It's good, then."
"Sit down," she instructs. "How's school? Are your grades okay? How was your stats test?" She drills me as she places a tiny serving in front of me. My mom is ultra conscious of my weight. She's the size of a bird herself and expects me to be the same.
"It was okay." Last time I thought I did well, I got a B on my stats test.
"Just okay?" she repeats worriedly. "Do I need to get you a tutor?"
"No, I think it'll be fine." My stats grade is a 91 right now and it makes me really anxious but my mom's go-to tutor is a scary Korean woman who yells at her students whenever they do a problem wrong. I'll just have keep my fingers crossed and hope for a curve.
"Your piano teacher told me you're struggling with your Liszt piece. Did you practice last night?"
I pick at the fish cake with my chopsticks. "Yeah, it's just hard because my hands are small. I can barely reach an octave."
My mom grimaces as if thinking of ways to magically hire someone to make my hands bigger.
"Well, your competition is in a month," she reminds me. "Don't slack off. You don't have time for football and whatnot."
I pause mid-chew. So this is why she made the food, an excuse to confront me. I guess my dad told her about me coming home late on Friday. Honestly, I'm surprised she's left it at just a lecture. Then again, she doesn't know I was at a party or drunk or fighting with someone.
"Going out was a mistake," I tell her.
"And then you had less time to study for your statistics test."
I press my lips together. She's right, as always.
"Honey, I don't want you to feel stress but this is your junior year. What if you don't get into UPenn?"
Do I even want to go to UPenn? Sure, it's a great school but the cold weather, the overall "I'm way richer and smarter than you" aura... Is it really for me?
"I'll just do better on the next test," I say.
Before she can protest, my dad walks in, staring down at his notes. He pours himself a glass of water in his Lincoln High mug and then finally looks up from his notebook.
"Where's Daniel?" He asks for my younger brother immediately.
"He's at a friend's house," my mom replies. As always. Daniel's always hanging out with his friends and playing video games even on school days. A jealous sigh escapes me.
My dad simply nods. "I'll go over the plays with him later. Is that rice cake?"
"Oh yes. I'll get you a plate."
My dad sits across from me, writing in his book as my mom recooks the food. The only sound is my mom running around the kitchen to make the food even more watered down for my dad's tastes.
As usual, we sit without conversation so I'm surprised when my dad asks, "how was lunch with Zack?" His tone is disapproving.
I swallow the rice cake way too soon and start to choke. My dad watches and I grasp for my water cup. After a coughing fit and a gross regurgitation, I sip my water slowly to plan my response.
"It was fine," is all I come up with.
My mom places a heaping dish in front of my dad. Her thin brows furrow and I know I'm in for it. Her face is alarmed, to say the least.
"You had lunch with a boy?" she asks as if betrayed.
"It's not like that," I deny immediately. "He helped me fix my car so I bought him lunch to repay him." Her face remains stricken. "We didn't even eat together," I add. This noticeably relaxes her.
"Okay," she says finally. "But you know you don't have time for boys."
"It sounded like you were fighting outside," my dad notes suspiciously.
"Huh? Oh, no. It's more like... banter."
He's quiet for a while. "Alright. Just be careful around that boy, Amelia. I don't want you hanging around him."
I wonder how much my dad knows about Zack. I've hardly known the guy a few days and I'm already aware of the anger issues, sexual innuendos, and self-involvement. My dad's known him for years.
"Don't waste your time on high school boys. They're a distraction," my mom adds. "Once you graduate from college, you can have a boyfriend."
I almost choke again.
BOYFRIEND?! ZACK DARRINGTON?! Hah.
"It's not like that," I repeat. "He and I don't even talk, I swear." I stand up and wash my dishes. "Thank you for the food, mom," I say and make my way upstairs to lock my room and start studying for my Mandarin test.
Occasionally, I sneak in a couple of scenes of a Kdrama: the type of scenes that make me want to fly to Korea and fall in love. But I know that's not reality. Young love isn't meant for people like me with no free time, average faces, and overprotective parents- well, one at least.
I can't even remember the last time I truly liked a boy, especially one that liked me back. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I spoke to a boy who I found mildly attractive except Jaden Brown.
Here's the thing- I don't like Jaden Brown and not just because he has a girlfriend. It's more like I appreciate that a genuinely good guy like him even exists. He could act like Zack if he wanted to but he doesn't. Just the thought of Zack makes my stomach churn.
My mom is right. Boys are distractions, even egotistical, rude, perverted ones. Why would I think about him anyway? I'm never going to speak to him again.