“Wait, that’s not what I meant.” The camera pulls in. I accidentally glance at it and stutter over my own tongue. “It’s just that, you know, you’re really talkative and have this big personality, and in comparison your mom seemed kind of quiet, so I didn’t see the connection right away. But I’m sure she’s great too and—”
“A big personality?” Seyoon repeats, incredulous.
I don’t mean it as a bad thing. I wish I was half as sure of myself as she is. But what I think doesn’t usually correlate with what everyone else around me is thinking. I open my mouth to hopefully salvage this interaction before I offend herandher mom more, but Seyoon beats me to it.
“So that’s why you kept ignoring me back there,” she says bitterly. “Sorry I wastoo muchfor you.”
My stomach flops. I wasn’t ignoring her attempts at conversation; I was just failing spectacularly to form a response. “I—”
“Clearly you don’t want to be friends, that’s fine, but don’t make my confidence sound like a bad thing. It makesyouseem insecure.”
Her words pierce the weak point in my chest. The sting of irritation she sparked in me earlier ignites into a flare now. Shewasgoading me back then.
“Confidence?” I repeat, my voice quiet but steady. “Confidence is one thing. Butcockinessis declaring you’re going to beat someone five minutes into meeting them.”
Redness colors her face and she blinks, as if just now realizing what she’d said earlier. She stands, ripping her hands from my grip. I stand too. In my periphery, I notice the cameras move in closer, but the roiling anger in my gut is too overwhelming for me to care right now.
“I’m not going to apologize for believing in myself,” she says.
“And you’re probably not going to apologize for the arrogance either, right?”
“Okay, jackass. You’re a hypocrite, you know that? Calling me arrogant when you were the one sticking your nose up at everything I said, like you’re too good to talk to me. If what I said bothered you, why didn’t you speak up?”
Speak up.I’ve heard that my whole life, since I was a little kid who was too shy to talk to the grocery clerks, let alone the other kids at school. I bite my tongue until I taste iron.
At some point, one—or maybe both—of us must have taken a step forward, because the roll of bandage is on the ground and there’s only a few inches of space between our faces. She’s taller than average, but still shorter than me, coming up to my nose. She makes up for the distance by craning her neck up, giving me a good look at her lips pulled in a sneer. She has a perfect cupid’s bow. I can smell her shampoo from this close too: sweet, like honeycomb.Focus.
“Because unlike you, I act before I speak,” I grit out. “Which is why I’ll gloatafterI beat you, not beforehand.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
Two hands clap our shoulders and pull us apart.
“Ooh, a little friendly rivalry?” says an unfortunately familiar voice. “At least wait until I get here so I can make some witty commentary.”
4
STUART LITTLE MUST DIE
SEYOON
My first instinct is to bite the hand of whoever is currently holding me back from tearing a new one into the six-foot-bag-of-dicks who made the dumb decision to disrespect meandUmma in the same breath. But then I whip my head around and see who stepped between us.
Garrett Moxley.
“Seyoon Shin and Dean Parker! I’m right, aren’t I? Don’t answer that, I know I am.”
I should’ve recognized the smug voice from all those commercials. He obviously looks older than he did when he was onForest Feud, but still shockingly similar after twenty years. He’s kind of like an aged Shaggy fromScooby Doo, with salt-and-pepper hair, a fake tan, and a five o’clock shadow. He flashes me and Dean what he must think is a disarming smile. It’s insulting, but what’s more offensive is the Hawaiian-patterned, three-piece suit he’s wearing. It’s so ugly, I temporarily forget my anger and just gawk in disgust at his blazer.
Garrett’s eyes flicker back and forth between me and Dean until realization flashes across his face. He throws his head back and laughs. He laughs like he has money. You know what I’m talkingabout: that rich, white manHa! Ha! Ha!that comes from deep in their chest.
“Hold on, this is too good. History loves to rhyme, doesn’t it?” Garrett says. He points between us. “Have you guys made the connection already?”
“What connection?” I ask. Dean grimaces, so I think he has.
“The connection between your parents,” Garrett responds. “You don’t recognize the son of Vince Parker? The guy that beat your mom for second place?”
My jaw falls as the gears in my head turn. Dean shrugs under my accusatory stare, as if to say,Well,you never askedmewhoIwas related to.
