I Am Not Jessica Chen(5)
I tuck the pen away and follow silently after her to the dining room, where all the adults have congregated too, their conversation traveling down the well-trodden routes of real estate prices and our school’s extracurricular activities. Good. So long as they don’t turn their attention to college applications, I might be able to survive this evening.
The hot pot has already been set out on the long glass table, the rich, spice-infused water close to bubbling over, plates of thinly sliced raw lamb and beef and lotus root squeezed around it. Aaron slides into the seat next to Jessica, across from me. I try not to stare at him through the soft, rising steam. Try not to take account of everything both new and familiar about him. New: the way he rests his chin on the back of one hand. Familiar: the way he holds his chopsticks too close to the ends and discreetly picks all the chopped scallions out of his bowl.
Then his gaze catches on mine.
Get a grip, I will myself, quickly turning my head away, my cheeks burning. He’s going to think you still like him, and you don’t need to give him a reason to reject you all over again. Especially not when I’m still reeling from the last time I saw him, an entire year ago.
Once the meat has been thrown into the pot and the ground sesame sauce has been passed around, Auntie sits up straighter in her chair and clears her throat.
“Since everyone’s here,” she begins, shooting a not-so-subtle look at Uncle, then Jessica, who just smiles down at the table. “I feel like it’s a great time to share some super exciting news. We found out just minutes before you arrived, and, well . . .”
Even before she says it, I know. My skin tingles, and my breath clogs in my throat, my ribs caving in, bracing for the blow.
“Jessica got into Harvard!” The words come tumbling out in an excited rush, and my sensible, ever-composed aunt actually lets out a little squeal at the end, like a schoolgirl at her first concert. I’ve never seen her so excited. I’ve never seen my uncle so excited either—his complexion is as red as his wine, and he’s gazing over at Jessica with such fierce, obvious pride it seems to form a warm halo around them, encompassing their side of the family. The good side.
While I remain sitting, my fingers cold and numb, everyone else reacts.
“Wow, that—that’s incredible,” Mom gushes, reaching out to ruffle Jessica’s hair. “Of course, it’s not surprising at all—if anyone’s getting into Harvard, it’s our Jessica.”
Dad gives my uncle a heavy pat on the back. “Congratulations, congratulations. Your job is done, then. Now you can just wait to reap all the rewards of having a successful daughter.”
My aunt is grinning so wide I’m scared her face will split into two. “I can’t take all the credit—Jessica has always been so independent, so hardworking, so brilliant. We’ve never had to worry about her future.”
I swallow, and it’s as painful as swallowing glass. All my parents have ever done is worry about me.
“Don’t go bragging now,” my uncle is saying, but his grin is just as wide, his happiness like the sun, too bright to stare at without your eyes watering.
And there’s Jessica, sitting comfortably in all the attention like an empress on her rightful throne. It feels like watching the secret movie in my head playing out in real time, except all the roles have been recast. Instead of Mom and Dad pulling me into a bone-crushing hug, gloating about how smart I am, how successful I’ll be, while the others watch on in admiration and joy and envy, it’s Auntie and Uncle. And instead of me absorbing their compliments, drinking in the euphoria of this moment, it’s Jessica.
It’s always Jessica.
The moment stretches on long enough to dredge up other memories too, the ones I’ve worked so hard to bury. Like when I ran home and excitedly told my parents I’d gotten eighty-five percent on our end-of-year exams, only to discover later that Jessica had scored full marks. Or when both Jessica and I entered the school’s essay contest, and she’d come in first place, while I came in third, despite preparing for months. Or when the principal wanted someone to make a speech on behalf of the school at orientation, and only picked me after Jessica declined, because she’d be busy attending some prestigious awards ceremony with Aaron.
But I should be happy for her. Or I want to be happy for her.
“That’s amazing news,” I tell Jessica, the muscles in my cheeks locked into place. “Seriously. I—I’m so happy for you.”
“It’s hardly news at all,” Aaron says to her. “The three of us have been talking about this since we were kids. If you didn’t get into Harvard, that would be news.”
My whole face stings as if I’ve just been slapped. I do my best to keep quiet, keep smiling, keep acting like I’m just overjoyed about everything, but I can feel Aaron’s attention on me.
“What was our elaborate plan again?” Jessica says. “Me and Jenna heading off to Harvard together, and you flying in from Yale to see us every weekend on your private jet—that part might have been a tad unrealistic, but everything else might actually work out. . . .”
This is exactly what I’ve been dreading.
Please don’t, I beg inside my head. Please don’t ask me about Harvard. But of course there’s nobody around to answer my prayers.
Just when I’m considering how convincingly and elegantly I could fake-faint on the spot to escape the conversation, my uncle turns toward me. It almost seems to happen in slow motion, like the climactic scene from a horror movie, the air around us as still as death. “That reminds me,” he says, snapping his fingers. In my head, the violins from the imaginary horror movie soundtrack screech to a crescendo. “Jenna . . . you must have received the email too today.”