Chapter 9 The First Entry #2
There was something about Monterey Bay that made time stop.
It was almost as if it were a gateway of sorts to an entirely new world.
Things were different, and in Nottingham, from the minute you stepped outside, everyone was rushing somewhere, everyone appeared busy.
But in Monterey, especially in Waverly Peak, time slowed.
No one was in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything, the people here seem to appreciate the summer more.
I would be the first to admit that I was never a summer person.
At a time when everyone around me was counting down the days for the summer, holidays, waiting for the sun to be at its peak in the sky, for the season of scorching rays of light and humid thunderstorms, I longed for the season of the sticks.
I longed for the cold, frost might as well have been in my veins.
I thrived in the snow, I lived for the ice.
My sister has always joked about how I seemed to defrost the minute fall swept around. I was always sluggish in June and July.
But I was making it my mission to have things be different this time around.
And so I woke up at five in the morning and made my way into the kitchen as I usually did like clockwork.
I peeled open the blinds and put the kettle on the stove so the hot water could boil.
I put on an apron and poured the flour into a bowl along with water, eggs, sugar, and milk.
The girls were very particular about how they liked their pancakes.
And I was very particular about pleasing them and doing things by the book.
Bae liked hers with no sugar and only honey, specifically.
Beck liked her with blueberries and whipped cream.
Jiwon preferred hers with chocolate syrup and two scoops of ice cream.
If words couldn’t be my forte, then I guess my love language was acts of kindness towards them.
I didn’t want them to have to do things that they didn’t have to.
Not if I was there. Not if I could help it.
Dad preferred to make his own breakfast, unfortunately, he wouldn’t let me dote on him.
And I was nothing if not doting. I picked up the crayons and paints Bae had left scattered in the living room the night before and took a glance at the picture she’d crafted, it was the same as the others I pretended I didn’t see.
I set up all the food on the table alongside the plates and glasses and watched from atop the staircase as one by one they all woke up sleepy-eyed and wearing pajamas.
I watched as the sun bled in through the window and lit up their faces as they woke up slowly.
I sat atop the stairs, writing in this very diary as I usually did, observing them as I observed myself.
They always cleaned up the kitchen after I made breakfast—I never had to ask them, just as they never had to ask me.
We just did things for each other, never because it was expected but because those acts of service were in our blood and bones.
It was in the way our mother would memorize our breathing patterns and always knew if something was wrong, it was in the way our father would knit us all ugly Christmas sweaters every year so we could take our yearly family photo underneath the tree.
It was simply just who we were. Sometimes cheesy, I’ll admit.
“Thanks for breakfast, Wyn Wyn,” Bae thanked me, planting a kiss atop my head on her way back to her bedroom, still wearing her polka-dotted footy pajamas, her Saturday ensemble.
“You needn’t thank me, Bae, ever,” I assured her, and she smiled.
“Your pancakes are almost like Mom’s!”
“Don’t tell her you told me that,” I warned her.
“I said almost, don’t let it get to your head,” she teased then ruffled my hair. I chased her down the hallway, diary in hand, as she giggled and I laughed too. However, there came a point where I couldn’t quite recall what was so hilarious in the first place.
Later that day, I went over to Mirrorball House at Cahya’s invitation—it was rather thrilling for me to be invited over and get out of the house for a change.
The Yeo’s house reminded me a bit of my own, lively and never dull. The fathers played pool on the porch, Sydney’s dad was there too, they all shared ice-cold beers from the cooler we’d carried outside.
Cahya, Jax from Gilmore Street, and I played water polo in the cold water—it was a relief to be with what was familiar to me.
I missed the water, even though I promised to be separated from it…
in all forms this summer. Sydney and Yesoh watched her little brother, Soleh, as he played with trucks on the picnic blanket they’d splayed on the grass.
“So you mean to tell me you think the best Hunger Games film is Catching Fire?” Cahya scoffed.
“I don’t think so, I know so,” I assured him and he gasped dramatically.
“Oh, you’ve done it now…” Jax warned.
“Done what?”
“He gets way too personal about those films.” Jax chuckled, placing a hand on my shoulder; it was cold. “You might as well have been talking about his country, his land, his family, his good name!”
“I just think it has the most action and heart,” I explicated.
“Huh, funny.” Cahya shook his head silently.
“How so?”
He shrugged. “My sister always says the same thing, she’s been dying on that hill forever.”
“Cool,” I brushed off, taking a glance at her across the pool, a big sun hat on and sunscreen smeared across her flushed cheeks as she kept a stern eye on her little brother so he didn’t crawl away. “I also think Barbie is better than Bratz.”
“Okay now we’re getting way too personal—” Jax interrupted and I laughed.
“You’re both wrong morons!” Sydney protested, splashing us all with a water gun in her American flag bathing suit.
“What was that for?” Jax complained.
“Monster High takes the crown, end of discussion,” Sydney declared.
“All this over Draculaura? Unbelievable!” Cahya refuted. “Frankie Stein is forever underrated.”
“Other people go outside, we spend all our time watching kids’ movies,” Yesoh pointed out bitterly.
“What’s got your pigtails in a bunch?” Cahya questioned.
“She wants to play chess but no one’s in the mood,” Sydney explained, feigning sympathy. “You know how she gets.”
“How?”
“She kinda always loses, she’s no good but you know her, she doesn’t give it up,” Cahya explained, whispering so she didn’t hear.
“Giving up would be worse I figure.” I smiled, shaking my head and getting out of the pool, walking over to her staring disappointedly at the chessboard.
“What do you want…here to make fun of me too huh?” she asked, glancing down in disappointment.
“No,” I reassured the younger girl, sitting beside her. “I’m here to play chess.”
“What?” She scoffed in confusion. “What good are you anyway?”
“I’ll have you know I was in the intermediate chess club at my last school,” I told of all my glorious middle school achievements. “I deem myself a worthy opponent, don’t you?”
She stared at me, trying to dissect whether or not I was being just cruel and trying to make fun of her. She took a slow sip from her bottle of water, narrowing her eyes at me with the utmost suspicion.
“Fine. Let’s play,” she agreed, trying to feign nonchalance, but I could tell she was rather pleased she didn’t have to spend the rest of the afternoon sulking on her own.
At first, I figured that she couldn’t possibly be as bad as the others had made her out to be, I thought that perhaps they were just being mean.
But after about ten minutes, I realized that they were being really nice actually and that she was no chess player.
It was almost as though she was playing by rules she created in her mind.
It was admirable, honestly, watching her determination to a game of her own.
But I played along. I figured she was the kind of person who needed someone to do that. To just play along for once.
“I win!” she shouts, standing up and shaking the chessboard a little.
“You what!” Sydney gasped from her place by the pool.
“No way?” Jax protested, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
“I’ll go investigate.” Cahya stood up from the pool, his curly hair dripping water as he eyed the chess board—it was evident from even the untrained eye, that she, in fact, had not won anything at all.
And that this was a game with no rules. Cahya glanced up at me and then back at the chessboard and back at his sister.
His gaze softened. He understood.
“See, I won, didn’t I? Fair and square?” Yesoh spoke with hope in her voice.
“Well, would you look at that…” Cahya smiled, shaking his head at me. “She really did beat his ass fair and square, you did good, Yesoh.”
“Told you…” she grumbled as he gave her a high-five.
Everyone gathered around and celebrated her, a glimmer of happiness in her eye at being acknowledged for her efforts. I watched from the corner of my eye, knowing that I would lose all over again just to see them all this happy.
Lose again, no hesitation, checkmate.