The Asian Stereotype[slow updates]

CHAPTER TWO-THE ASIAN STEREOTYPE

er; something f i s h y

[JULES]

Gross. I can feel the silky bristles of his hair brush my neck, and I let out an involuntary shiver. "Get off me!" I hiss, untangling my arms from his grip, and shoving him to the floor. 

"Hello", I greet the blonde girl he was previously hiding from, lifting my arm in a lame attempt to wipe any tear stains or smudged lip gloss away. "It's nice to meet you, under these ugly circumstances." I shudder, and anger sizzles inside of me again--all I want to do for the rest of my high school life is curl up under the nurse's bed and never have to face the Evils of the Earth or any of the Cheerleading Barbies or anyone, ever again. I might ring my mom to grab Hot Pockets and fish-sticks though, the nurse's office has a pretty neat microwave. Just thinking of frozen, microwavable, unhealthy food causes my stomach to rumble loudly, and I blush.

a)—I’m in a room with a very hot  member of the other gender (yes, screw you hot guys who are actually idiots deep inside), and

b) The blonde looks so perfectly put together, with shiny hair in a neat ponytail, a soft smile (that disappeared once she saw me shove Jacen to the ground), high-cheekbones and sparkling eyes. The very cliché of perfect daughter, perfect high-schooler, perfect Popular, perfect Queenbee—sweet not scandalously sexy, with a look of friendliness that only added to her beauty.

Yep. I guess you know what I was thinking. Just by standing there, that girl had diminished whatever tiny bit of self-esteem I had left, I mean, c’mon, the guy I’d harboured a crush on for years had finally humiliated me in front of the entire school. Or part of it, but gossip spread faster than widlfires in Indonesia, so I’d be labelled as the Girl who had a crush on the most popular guy and was rejected in first grade.

How I love my life right now.

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Kayla. I don’t go to this school.” Her attention on me only lasts for a few seconds before she quickly fixes her gaze on the bloody boy on the floor.

Bloody as in literally bloody, because I had accidentally elbowed his nose when I “shoved him”, and bloody as in you have a bloody stinking attitude that I hate and hope you get exterminated in the fury pits of hell bloody.

My vocabulary—hmm, very proud of it indeed.

“Jacen!” She gasps, and rummages in her no-brand bag for a Kleenex. Now, I actually find it really refreshing to see a no-brand bag in this entire high school. Not that the students are rich—they’re kind of like bloodsuckers who leech for money. That’s what Jacen’s and my parents told us Asians in pre-school through Kindergarten—“Those Caucasions you’ve been schooling with spend an awful lot! Now we Asians have to learn to be thrifty in the great land of America!”

I have absolutely no idea where they got the great land of America from. I cluck my tongue instantly, in an effort to pronounce America like Marina and the Diamonds does, in Hollywood(if you haven’t listened to that song yet go go go go fatherfreaking GOOO!).

“Uh—muh—no, muhhh—Uh-muh-reeeekk—kuhh—or was it kaahhh?”

“What are you doing?” Jacen asks, vaguely amused by it. I see Kayla fawning over him, if it’s even possible to fawn over someone with a wrinkled tissue. Strands of her to-die-for blonde hair are in his face and he brushes it away, standing up.