Chapter 3 - Harper

I stop for a moment and look at the traffic light that changes from green to red, and the light from the pedestrian crossing indicates that I can cross the street. I take a deep breath of air and release it very slowly. In the midst of my passionate outburst, I did not realize that I got off the subway two stations before my destination and therefore I have to walk a few more blocks, and no thanks. In heels I wouldn't even get to the corner. Not without first having caused a sprain. So I decide to take a taxi, to be able to get there quickly. I raise my arm and stop a yellow car that charges me twenty dollars to take me to the place where I was supposed to be two hours ago. Twenty dollars for a ride of just eight minutes? Not because of the distance, but because of the traffic. Anyway, I give it over like someone who is buying a pair of wings. The important thing is to arrive before the graduation ceremony ends.

During the short journey I can't help but feel bad for having gotten carried away, instead of running out of that subway station and rushing to get to Henry, but the idiotic smile that is reflected on my face when I remember how spectacular it was. being with an adonis like Daniel clears any hint of guilt from my mind. It’s not every day you have the luxury to be with someone like that. In the same way, at times, the thought that I am the worst sister in the world does not stop eating at me.

The high school auditorium is large, and packed with people, so I have to make a great effort to find my mother and little brother in the middle of that sea of ​​faces. As I do so, I can't stop thinking about Daniel, and the way he touches me, kisses me and… Oh my! Just the memory makes me feel like a thousand. I feel a bit confused and at times I get to contemplate the idea that I have imagined everything, because this type of thing does not usually happen to me. I am aware that I am the opposite of what men seek.

I'm a mess from head to toe! Although good, this day I am disguised as a decent person. Maybe that's what caught his attention about me, that I don't look like a twelve-year-old fresh out of a Comic Con.

Let's be clear. I'm not the type of woman who is addicted to fashion, makeup, expensive accessories, or even an enemy of spending long hours at the salon only to end up looking like a cheap copy of a Kardashian. I'm clueless, forgetful, and very flamboyant when it comes to dressing, I wear T-shirts with comic book superhero logos, gaudy colored leggings, and sneakers. I have a collection of converse of all colors in my closet, plus Vans and Sk8-Hi. Most of my pants are ripped at the knees, or badly worn. I hardly ever comb my hair, I prefer to wear hats or wool caps. I don't usually make up. I just use a moisturizing base on my face with sunscreen to take care of my skin. Yes. My mother taught me since I was little to take care of my integumentary system. Having perfect skin is an essential requirement in my mother's culture. I am slim, due to sheer genetics, because I don't exercise. I don't even like physical activity a little bit. Every now and then I like to break the rules and fill up on junk food, even though I have to put up with my mother's sermons afterward.

Henry on more than one occasion encouraged me to come out, since according to him, I meet all the requirements of a potential lesbian. And boy is he not judgmental! However, he cannot help but realize that I have never had a formal boyfriend, although he knows perfectly well that I am not a virgin, because I confessed it to him once I came home drunk. I think his doubts increased due to the fact that my best friend from high school, Cynthia, and with whom I have a beautiful friendship despite four years having passed since we graduated from high school, came out of the closet, declaring herself openly homosexual.

I am not a lesbian. Although I must confess that there are times when I feel a bit bisexual, especially when it comes to Helena Bonham Carter. But let's say that the reason I haven't been in a long-term relationship with a man is because I haven't met the love of my life. I think I have the innate gift of noticing the least suitable boys. Lara says I am addicted to suicidal relationships. To date, I don't understand what that means. Nor have I wanted to find out.

I don't have any emotional trauma, I was not bullied at school or anything like that, it's just that I have a little trouble relating to people of the opposite sex. I am shy, although avid connoisseur of sexual subjects. Cynthia and Lara have updated me. Also, in the last years of my life I have been so focused on keeping the family business flourishing that a romance or love affair with someone is not among my priorities. Love and passion for painting are on my list of important things. It is my refuge when I need to get away from it all. It is not traitorous or ungrateful, but on the contrary. I am happy among colors, oils, canvases and easels. I dream of the day my paintings are exhibited in a prestigious gallery, preferably The Bushwick Collective in New York. I have always liked aiming high.

“Hello Eun-Yeong,” my brother's voice makes me wince. He is the only being in the world who has called me by my middle name, since he was a two-year-old boy, because it was difficult for him to pronounce the letter r, so he avoided calling me Harper. “I think you were late,” he says sarcastically.

“Henry!” I exclaim and throw myself into his arms. “I'm so sorry. I tried to get there, but there was a mishap in the subway and also my cell phone…” I take it out of my pocket and show it to him.

“What the hell happened to your phone?” He opens his eyes. I know he is surprised to see the device smashed.

“It's a very long story,” I indicate with a rueful grin.

“Well, it's not like you've missed much either.”

“How long ago did it end?” I can't help but feel a lot of remorse for having let myself be carried away by my lower instincts, instead of being next to my brother on his special day.

“It must have been an hour or so,” he mutters.

“I wouldn't have come anyway,” the little voice in my head tries to convince me that I'm not the worst sister in the world.

“I promise to make it up to you,” I say. “I will take you to eat in that place that you like so much and...”

“Whatever,” he cuts me off. “I'll be outside,” he whispers with a hint of anguish in his voice. “Mom is over there,” he points with his index finger,” with Chris's parents. They are throwing a party for the two of them and I really am sick of everything. I just want to go away and forget that I ever came to this shitty high school.”

“Oh, come on! I don't think it was that bad.” I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you kidding?” He opens his eyes in an exaggerated way, horrified. “It was a fucking nightmare. The most horrible four years of my life.”

My poor little brother shrugs his shoulders and fixes his gaze on a distant point. I know he's looking back on the past few months. He's been through hell since Katie, the girl he's pined for since ninth grade, found out she liked him. Inadvertently, she found out when his best friend, Christopher, commented out loud over lunch. The girl passed by just at the time that Chris told Henry that he should dare to tell Katie Jones that he loved her. The girl's face was a poem and from then on she tried to avoid Henry, anyway. Coupled with all this, she had to cope with the sudden bodily changes of puberty. He was suffering from terrible acne, which prevented him from living fully like any other teenager, since looking in the mirror represented a terrible psychological torture. All this I know, because he told me himself a couple of weeks ago with tears in his eyes, during one of our many nights of Netflix and popcorn.

Having to see the one who caused his wet dreams, so radiant, in that blue dress she's wearing, accompanied by her whole family, only increases his anxiety about running out of the room.

He wants to close that chapter once and for all, and forget about the way that evil girl made fun of his feelings. He longs to get into his bed and not get out of it, unless the planet is under alien or nuclear threat.

I know, I can see it in his sad eyes.

It breaks my heart to see my little monster so dejected, and although I want to hug him again, I don't. He is not the type of guy to give or receive affection in public.

“I'll go talk to Mom. Wait for us outside,” I say and wink at him. Henry smiles ruefully. “Go start Mom's car.”

“But I don't have the keys,” he babbles.

“Let me ask for them for you,” I wink at him again.

Henry nods his head and walks away as fast as he can.

I am willing to look for my mother to fulfill my brother's wish. I know perfectly well how much my mother likes to celebrate. She always finds a perfect excuse to have a dinner, a barbecue, a meeting, a party, a treat and everything else.

Youra Lin Sang is my mother. She came to the United States as an eight-year-old girl. She is the daughter of Korean immigrants who came to the United States, fleeing the war and who managed to settle in the country after the asylum law was established. for immigrants from conflict zones. At the age of nineteen, she met my father, Abraham Hadwin, an American. Over time, my grandfather, with hard work, bought a gas station, which for many years provided us with sustenance. When she died, she passed it on to my dad.

My parents got married after seven months of dating. From that marriage, three children were born: I, who am the oldest, followed by Helen, who sadly passed away when she was ten years old, due to a congenital heart disease, and Henry, who is the youngest. However, two years ago, my father was killed by an assailant who shot him at close range to steal two hundred dollars from the cash register.

I shake my head hard to get those sad memories out of my mind and clear my throat, making myself noticed.

“Oh! Sweetie! You arrived!” My mother says, very excited. She comes over to me and hugs me.

“Yes, mother. I had a mishap in the subway and...”

“I heard there was a breakdown in the system," says Mrs. Gilmore, Chris's mother.

“That's right, Mrs. Crystal,” I wink, because the truth is that I don't like the mother of my brother's best friend, since she tends to meddle in matters that don't belong to her. Besides, she's a very mean person, despite beating her chest every Sunday in church.

“Nice to see you, Harper,” says Mr. Frank. Christopher's father is the antithesis of his wife. He is friendly, helpful and very docile. I don't understand how the hell he's still married to the Medusa of his wife. “I recorded Henry receiving his diploma,” he continues. “When we get home I d******d it to the computer and send it to your email.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Gilmore,” I reply, giving him a gentle smile. “Mother” I look at my mother “Henry is waiting for us outside. He doesn't feel good.”

“What's wrong with him?” My mother is concerned.

“He said he was feeling dizzy,” I lie. It's the only way for my mother to stop making party plans with complicated Crystal theme and we end up getting the hell out of it.

“Oh! Poor,” Chris’s mom mutters. “It must be all the stress of graduation, thinking about what his years to come in college will be like…” She puts a hand on my mom's shoulder. “You should give him some vitamins. I give them to Chris to keep him from feeling overwhelmed. Also, since he began training with the state basketball team, his health has improved a lot. It's a shame Henry doesn't like sports.” I can see a certain malice in her words. For her, only her son is praiseworthy

“Yes, too bad,” I reply scathingly and pretend to be dejected. “He is more interested in computing, programming, creating software... he may not end up playing for the NBA, but one day, perhaps, he will create an application for Android or Apple, valued at millions of dollars.”

A smirk appears on Mr. Frank's lips.

“Sweetheart,” my mother's voice has a warning tone. She knows that I have a blade instead of a tongue and that sometimes I don't say my words. “We'd better get going.” I wink at her to appease her. “I'll call you in the evening to agree and do something on Sunday, in honor of the kids,” he says, turning to Crystal.

“Okay,” the woman agrees.

“See you later, Mr. Frank,” I speak clearly. “Goodbye, Mrs. Gilmore,” I say through my teeth. I can try to be diplomatic, but I am never a hypocrite.

My mother and I walked away among the crowd of young people who were preparing to take photos with their family, friends and teachers.

“Remind me why you are still friends with that lady," I ask her to know.

“Because she's the mother of your brother's best friend and...”

“What a friend Chris turned out to be!” I murmur when I see the named in the company of certain boys who I know do not appreciate Henry.

“Why do you say that?" Mom doesn't understand my comment.

“No reason, mother,” I reply. I don't feel like explaining that for months I've noticed a certain estrangement between Chris and my little brother.

Once outside, we spotted Henry. He's leaning against the car, across the street. My little monster has his eyes fixed on the ground and looks very discouraged. My heart wrinkles to see him like this. I know he is going through a difficult time in his life. I understand.

After all, I was also a teenager.