Overcast | ✓

Clumsy Boy

Elio takes one look at me as I step through the door and immediately bursts into laughter. I cross my arms as he doubles over, weakly pointing at me.

"You," he says, wheezing. "Look like Elmo."

I scoff and stare down at my red stained uniform. "I do not."

"What the hell happened?" Elio is still laughing a bit and I smile. I haven't seen him laugh in a long time. I almost forgot how it sounds.

"It was one of the pranks. I got cherry Kool-aid dumped over me."

"That's hilarious," he says and my mom peeks in from the kitchen.

"Sunny," she cries out in a startled laugh. "You look a bit like something out of a horror movie." This makes Elio laugh even harder.

"If only this were pig's blood. I'd be a regular Carrie White."

"This is the best prank they've pulled so far," Elio says.

"Easy for you to say. Ruby Thompson and I got barrels of sticky shit-"

"Language," mom scolds.

"Sticky stuff poured over us. And then the principal interrogated us. It was awful."

"Ruby Thompson? Are you two friends again," my mom asks and I shrug.

"Wow, Sunny. It's like you're popular or something," Elio adds in. "First Faye, now Ruby? How many friends do you have?"

"Not counting you: three.  So, I'm quite far from popular."

"Well, you're a lot closer to it than you were a month ago." I roll my eyes and my mom clicks her tongue.

"Anyway, dear. Wash that out of your hair and put on something decent. Bà and ông are coming over for dinner." I let out a dramatic groan and lean against the door. "You're going to dye all our surfaces red," she says, which makes Elio start laughing again. I brush past the two and head upstairs, escaping into my bathroom to rinse the Kool-aid away.

***

"You keep getting taller, mình anh," my grandmother says as she hugs Elio. Everytime my bà and ông visit, they say the exact same things. My grandmother tells us how much we've grown, my grandfather nods solemnly like a sculpture coming to life. They criticize my mother for letting Elio forget almost all of his Vietnamese, they tell me to smile at least a million times. Then, we eat and say goodbye. It's agonizing, but brief, so I put in an effort once a month.

My bà releases Elio from her hold and turns to me with a wide smile. "My ngọt ngào! Tôi nhớ bạn," she says, which roughly translates to "My sweet! I've missed you.". Bà always makes sure to speak in Vietnamese when talking to me so I don't forget the language completely. I'm actually quite thankful for this.

"Tôi cũng nhớ bà, bà ơi," I reply. I've missed you too, grandma.

"Chàng trai," my grandfather says and Elio looks up. Boy. "Are you back in school?"

"Um, yeah. Well, sort of," he replies, grabbing his arm instinctively. "I've been out this week for tests."

"You're lucky you haven't been kicked out because of all those absences," ông laughs. Bà and ông are under the impression that Elio fell last semester, landing him a concussion and a broken arm. Mom thinks it's better to keep them in the dark about this type of thing.

My brother is dressed in a long sleeve shirt, a brown sweater vest, and slacks. This outfit, aside from his shiny dress shoes, is actually quite similar to his usual attire, unlike my long, navy dress and sandals. I hate the way long skirts feel against my knees, but my grandparents would probably have a heart attack if I were to wear a dress shorter than this or, god forbid, pants. They're very old fashioned. My closet is separated into the clothes I enjoy wearing, and the clothes I have to wear. On one side are sweaters and t-shirts and jeans. The other is long dresses and school uniforms.