Bitter Melon

Nellie is just scanning the letter grades. But Mom鈥檚 eyes are examining every detail. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 Speech?鈥� she asks. 鈥淎nd where鈥檚 Calculus?鈥� She flips over the report card, in case Calculus is written on the back. But there is no Calculus back there, just her forged signature at the bottom. Mom blinks for a moment, confused, like maybe she had indeed signed the card and gone senile. For confirmation, she looks at me. The look on my face answers her question.

Mom walks towards me. Her right hand, which is still holding the report card, swings towards me and whips me across the face. The report card makes the sound of thunder against my ear. My neck cracks as my head turns from the impact. A second later, my cheek stings and grows hot, swollen, and tingly. I resist the urge to rub my cheek. That will only make her hit me harder.

Through the kitchen doorway, Theresa鈥檚 head is bowed, and her eyes are glued to the sink. In contrast, Nellie鈥檚 eyes widen with alarm, like two spotlights. Her clownish smiling lips morph into an O of surprise at Mom鈥檚 reaction.

鈥淕racie! Don鈥檛 be so hard on Fei Ting!鈥� she cries. 鈥淲ait here.鈥� She waddles to Theresa鈥檚 room. Moments later, she returns, holding my trophy. 鈥淟ook. She won this at a speech competition.鈥� The brassy trophy catches the light, and for a split second, I am blinded by its brightness.

Nellie hands the trophy to Mom, who is once again confused. Nellie is hoping that my success will soften Mom鈥檚 anger. I am hoping so too. But my hopes prove futile. As Mom scrutinizes the trophy, I can almost see the images in her mind flashing behind her eyes like a slide show, documenting every moment I was not home and not accounted for. With each passing second, her frozen expression thaws, giving way to a steely stare.

鈥淪o all this time you鈥檝e been working so hard on Calculus, hah?鈥� Mom says. Venom drips from the word 鈥淐alculus.鈥� 鈥淭o win this award, you must have put in a lot of time practicing. Is this why you weren鈥檛 at Princeton Review on the day of the earthquake? How many other classes did you miss?鈥�

I don鈥檛 answer, hoping that her question is rhetorical.

鈥淗ow many!鈥� My ears pop from the shrillness of her voice.

One thing I should know by now: if I answer her questions, she鈥檒l be angry that I gave the wrong answer, but if I don鈥檛 answer, she鈥檒l be mad that I ignored the question.

鈥淭wo,鈥� I say.

Then she lunges towards me.