Chapter 4 #2
“It’s a diesel fuel engine. You get used to it.” Rick shrugs like it’s no big deal we’re breathing in a dense fume of carcinogens.
“Let’s just get in,” Dad says in a defeated tone. He opens the passenger door to the car and slides in.
Mom opens the back seat door behind the driver’s side and climbs in. I wait for Gavin to get in first, but he just stands there, staring at me.
“After you,” he has the audacity to say.
“I don’t do middle seats.” I purse my lips.
“This is not a time to have standards. You’re the only one who can fit in the middle.”
“Oh, so now you’re going to admit I’m skinny?”
“Wow. Can you stop thinking about yourself for one goddamn second?”
“Can you stop being an arrogant ass for once? I have to sit next to the window, or else I’m going to yak all over you.”
“I’ll find you a bag.” He motions for me to get in the car.
“Gavin, I’m serious! You sit in the middle.”
Gavin peeks into the truck. “That space isn’t big enough for one of my ass cheeks, let alone two. So you sit in the middle.”
“No, you sit in the middle.” I haven’t eaten anything all day, and the acid is rising in my stomach, making me put a hand to my mouth and retch a little.
“Oh my God. You don’t have to be so dramatic.” He throws his arms up by his sides.
“What are you two arguing about? Elena, stop being a nuisance and get in,” Mom calls out to us from inside the back seat of the truck.
Unsurprisingly I’m the one being called a nuisance, even though she has no idea what we’re fighting over.
The commotion gets Dad to peek his head out of the passenger door window. “Everything under control, Gavin?”
“Yep,” he says to Dad, then turns to me. “Fine, if it means that much to you.” Of course Gavin gives in as soon as Dad gets involved. He reluctantly does the shame crawl into the middle seat of the car.
As soon as I get in and close the door, claustrophobia sets in.
The last time I crammed into the back seat of a car this small was when I was backstage with Justin Bieber after his concert and we hopped into the back of his manager’s Porsche to avoid the swarming paparazzi.
Which is so not the same as this scenario.
I haven’t had to sit next to Gavin in the back of a car in years.
“Make sure to turn your phones on airplane mode. Else it’ll drain your battery,” Rick advises before we leave.
“Airplane mode?” Gavin pipes up.
“Mr. Ahn went over all this.” Dad turns his head to face us. “Blaire is in a National Radio Quiet Zone.”
“I thought that meant, like, quiet hours or something. Which is why I brought my AirPods.” I wave the case in front of his face.
“I think you’re thinking of noise ordinances. The Quiet Zone is in reference to radio frequency. As in, Wi-Fi and radio stations.” The more Rick explains, the less I understand.
“Didn’t you listen to anything Mr. Ahn said?” Mom says.
Not gonna lie, with all the bad news he gave us, I sort of tuned Mr. Ahn out. Kind of like how I’m tuning Mom and Dad out now. After I put my phone on airplane mode, I lean my head back and close my eyes, pretending this is all a bad dream.
—
Two hours later, when the car pulls over to the side, I wake up disappointed to find myself still in the back seat of Rick’s truck and still sitting next to Gavin, the annoying mouth-breather that he is.
Even more disturbing is what’s happening outside of the truck.
It’s dusk, with just a sliver of light peeking from behind the horizon, revealing nothing but dirt and tall grass.
No strip malls or gated communities. No tall buildings.
In fact, no buildings at all. Civilization as we knew it, gone.
Suddenly Rick startles us by getting out of the car and disappearing into the darkness.
All we can do is sit and watch helplessly.
“Rude,” I say. “He could have at least waited until we got to a gas station before pulling over to pee on the side of the road.”
“I’m not sure that’s what he’s doing,” Dad says, following Rick with narrowed eyes.
“I think there’s something out there,” Gavin says ominously.
A light turns on, and we collectively gasp.
“Is this a torture chamber? Is he abducting us?” I shriek.
Brynn told me about a case her mom worked on over some C-list celebrity who was embroiled in a human trafficking scheme on the side.
Even though we’ve lost all our fortune, I’m aware that I’m a hot, young Asian girl with dewy skin and zero cellulite.
I bet people would pay a lot of money for me.
What am I saying? People do pay a lot for me. But this would be so different.
“The tenants moved out not too long ago. I knew it would be somewhat dilapidated. But this is…” Dad doesn’t have to finish his sentence for us to know what he thinks.
“This…is a house?” Even Gavin’s having a hard time covering up the dread he feels, which humanizes him in a way. At least beneath the facade he’s not as down-to-earth as he pretends to be.
“This is where we’ll live for the next two weeks,” Mom confirms. “Our new home.”
“Temporary home,” I say, feeling compelled to make the subtle but very necessary distinction.
“At least we have a place to live,” Dad says, though the defeat in his tone is unmistakable. He gets out, and we have no choice but to follow.
Our phones are on airplane mode, but we’re still able to use the flashlight.
The four of us walk with our luggage in one hand and our phones in the other, stepping only in the lit area in front of us.
So far there’s nothing surprising other than an overgrown lawn of grass and weeds that seems to go on forever.
When we finally reach the screen door, it creaks as we open it and follow Rick in.
Rick gives us a tour, which is a gross exaggeration of the word, since he doesn’t have to leave the main room to do it.
The kitchen is attached to the living room we’re standing in, with three bedrooms on one side of the hall, the bathroom on the other, and brown shag carpet as far as the eye can see, which I’m sure is hiding stains of dubious natures.
Desperately, I try to find a silver lining somewhere, anywhere.
But the more I look, the worse it gets. The vinyl countertops are peeling along the edges.
The walls have mysterious burn marks in various places.
And don’t get me started on the smell. Every square inch of this place is covered in minor assaults on my dignity.
“There are a lot of quirks here. This will tell you everything there is to know,” Rick says, handing Dad a thick binder. “It’s basically a handbook of the town.”
“Thanks,” Dad says, relieved to receive it from Rick, though I don’t know why. If a town needs a handbook to explain itself, I’d say our worries are far from over.
After Rick leaves, we inspect the place, opening the doors like each room is a crime scene, which is not far from the truth.
The third bedroom is a closet with a consistent drip of brown water coming from the ceiling, leaving two bedrooms for the four of us to share.
And I could have sworn I misheard Rick, since in the short time I’ve known him he’s not been one to articulate his words, but when he said bathroom—singular, not plural—he indeed meant it.
“So, how is that supposed to work?” I point a finger to the dingy bathroom.
Dad walks in and looks around. “It’s got two sinks. One for me and your mom, and the other for—”
“Dad, I beg you. Please don’t finish that sentence.” But it’s too late. He’s already said the dreaded words.
“—you and Gavin.”
My head falls, along with my last shred of dignity. It’s bad enough I have to share a room with Gavin in this hellhole, but the bathroom? Is nothing sacred?
Excerpt
“Always strive for first place. Because coming in second is nothing more than being a first-place loser.”
The American Dream Achieved: The Story of Dale Ok, Founder of It’s Ok!
Transcript
60 Minutes Interview with Gloria Ok
Gloria: There’s absolutely no truth to the rumor. I’ve advised Dale against going into pursuing any business ventures with George Bronstein. When someone’s offer seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Interviewer: Earlier you mentioned that Dale is the one who manages the company. But it sounds like you play a significant role in the business affairs as well.
Gloria: Me? No. That is, of course we discuss business, but he’s the one who attends the meetings and makes the decisions. Besides, Dale knows from experience that there is no get-rich-quick scheme. It takes years of long—and often hard—work.
Interviewer: Is that because of his farming background?
Gloria: [hesitates] His what?
Interviewer: [flips through her papers] I don’t have a note that says that his life before the business is off the record. Is it?
Gloria: No, it’s not. I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble seeing the connection. What does Dale’s farming background have to do with the business?