Excerpt 1: As Clover sat on the circular dining table in the Jing house, she marveled at the subtle beauty of the room, marked and decorated exquisitely by Evelynne's mom, who was an architect and held a natural knack for design. The dining hall was simple: a beige-painted wall and a small, round table with four chairs, overlooked by a warm, glowing chandelier that hung soft, white jewels around its core bulb. The warm-lit bulb in the middle blossomed in the center like a spring bloom, casting a comforting mellow glow over the dining table. To the upper side of the back wall hung a base-clef shaped clock adorned with a little bluebird and a pendulum that rocked ever-so-slightly from side to side, following the silent tick of the clock's second hand. Clover had never seen another clock like that in her life, but it suited the home, and she remembered the story that Evelynne had once told her a few years ago, on the first time Clover had remarked on the beauty of the little timekeeper.
"I'd eyed that base clef-shaped clock the minute we stepped into the furniture store," Evelynne had said from across this very dining table, her eyes bright from memory. "When I showed my mum the clock, she agreed instantly. It was exquisite and charming, she'd said. Perfect for our dining room. I'd nodded my head to encourage her to consider buying it as per her description of it being 'charming' and all that, but I'd chosen it for a completely different reason."
"Why did you choose it?" Clover had asked, reaching across the table to grab a chocolate banana muffin they'd baked together the day prior.
Evelynne frowned. "I chose it... um... because I find the base clef comforting, I think. I miss it--the harmonies you get to create when your left hand accompanies your right hand on the piano. The restrictive high-pitched, treble-clef-only notes of the flute just don't do it justice."
A pause. Clover cocked her head in confusion. "I mean, Evelynne, I know you're not the biggest fan of the flute, but you dedicate most of your time to piano anyways, so why would you miss the base clef? Doesn't almost every piano piece have a left-hand accompaniment?"
"I still can't believe it's been two months since I stopped my piano lessons." Evelynne said at the same time, their voices clashing in the silence of the living room.
"You what?" Clover breathed, shocked.
"Oh, I didn't tell you that I quit? Sorry, I always forget whether I've told you or Jasper things; You two meld into one person in my memory sometimes. You all are literally identical in demeanor, you know?" Evelynne remarked. Clover elbowed her at that wild accusation, and Evelynne grinned briefly, before continuing. "Anyways, since I start freshman year so soon, there was a whole lot of discussion about my playing the piano, and we decided it was best that I don't continue."
"Huh." Clover let the information sink in, trying to sort out the details. As she re-played their conversation, Clover realized how mature Evelynne came off in demeanor despite her physical age and appearance. Late to the puberty game, 13-year-old Evelynne's cheeks still bounced with the baby fat of a child's when she spoke, her eyes round like an innocent doll. Yet the minute she opened her mouth, that picture quickly melted away. 8th-grade, middle schooler Evelynne spoke to high school sophomore Clover with the intellectual maturity and precocious eloquence of a fully-fledged adult. Which is why it didn't make complete sense to her that Evelynne would just quit piano--the love of her life, more so than any boy--so out of the blue. Since when did her parents have so much sway over her comings and goings?
"My parents signed me up to work with a college counselor, and that's partially why I stopped." Evelynne said with a start, broaching the silence. As if she anticipated Clover's next question, she followed up quickly: "Did you know we started college planning meetings in the beginning of January?"
"Oh ... noooo," Clover inhaled, her face contorting in mock shock and misery. "Not the dreaded, savior college counselor, here to save all of us from impending doom."
Evelynne laughed at the sarcasm and rolled her eyes.
"I've heard enough horror stories from you and Jasper to fill a lifetime."
"Bleh," Clover said, sticking her tongue out and waving her hands in a frantic, downwards motion, as if she were ridding of a bitter taste in her mouth. "I can't believe you've been indoctrinated into the college counseling cult. We've tried so hard to protect you. Bleh, bleh, bleh."
"Stop it. It looks like you ate a bug or something," Evelynne said.
"How do you know I didn't?"
"You're impossible."
Clover tilted her head in triumph at Evelynne's declaration, and the latter rolled her eyes. Still, despite Clover's goofy demeanor, her eyes quickly grew serious again, and Clover cupped her chin in her palms.
"But wait--I still don't get it. Why stop the piano? What does starting college counseling have anything to do with that?"
Evelynne shrugged hesitantly. When she didn't open her mouth again, Clover continued prodding. "Piano's your baby, Evelynne. Your baby, for christ's sake. You love it, don't you?"
"Well, maybe it's time I threw away this fever dream, grew up, and started considering my future," Evelynne said stiffly.
"What? No, how is playing piano a fever dream? That doesn't make any sense--"
"You know that stereotype that every Asian and their mom plays piano, declares it their 'passion,' and writes it on their college apps?" Evelynne snapped, interrupting Clover with a start. "Well, that stereotype plays against people like you and me. My level of playing is apparently too 'mediocre' to stand out; I'm not at the level of competing at international competitions, according to the college counselor I'm now working with. Which might be fine elsewhere, but we're not in the middle of nowhere, Clover," Clover flinched at the acidity in Evelynne's tone. "We're in the bay area. Almost every student you stop on the street plays the piano, and a good chunk of them play it exceptionally well. A lot better than me, to say the least."
"So what if the stereotype is true?" Clover said. "Does it really matter what other people think?"
"I want to say no, Clover. I really do. But these admission officers, these people deciding our futures, they consider your application based on the environment you're around, the people you interface with. They won't see my piano amounting to anything impactful unless I morph my passion into some ridiculous cause about volunteering to teach piano to poor, underprivileged kids in an impoverished community, which I'm not saying is bad; I just have no interest in pandering to this college process and twisting my passion into something that feels disgenuine to me. Because I'd just be doing it for a stupid, selfish reason like that, and it's not worth it, tainting something I love with that."
"But Evelynne, has your counselor, or whoever convinced you that your playing isn't good enough, even seen you play? I've never met someone who plays with as much wild passion as you, screw the technical prowess or whatever. You transform the instrument. You, quite literally, bring it alive."
"It doesn't matter whether I love it or not if the people who decide my future can't see the genuineness of my playing through awards, accolades, or other proof. Just doing well in something isn't enough, Clover. You have to be the top of the top for it to really play any impact and not be thrown away like "oh it's another Asian kid who says they love the piano, wow!" So why waste the time?"
"You've won local competitions though, Evelynne. You are good--"
"Enough, Clover. Please," Evelynne said. 'You, more than anyone, know how the game works here. You've been in Camden High and the south bay for a while now. Doing something I love, even if I'm "pretty good" at it, is not enough. I admit it--anyone who doesn't live here will think I'm being a dramatic, college-obsessed idiot, but you of all people understand my predicament now that you've lived here. Don't be naive."
Clover balked. "I'm two years older than you, Evelynne. I know I didn't grow up my whole life in this part of the bay like you and Jasper, but if you're talking about naivety--"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Evelynne bit her lip, her face flashed instantly with regret. "Please, Clover, I don't want to talk about this now. Can we change the subject?"
"But--okay. Okay fine."
And that was the end of it. Evelynne and Clover so rarely sparred like that; It was honestly usually their word against the world's when it came to disputes. This conversation had been so out of character for Evelynne that Clover had dwelt on it for days after with no satisfactory conclusion. Before this conversation, Clover could bet her life on the fact that even if she pulled and dragged Evelynne away from her favorite Yamaha grand, Evelynne would still bite and tear her way back to her childhood piano -- her precious "baby," as Evelynne liked to call it. It had always been this way since Evelynne first met Clover during band; Piano was Evelynne's number one talking point, which Clover and Jasper found both annoying and incredibly endearing. Nevermind the fact that Evelynne was so insanely good at everything else, including being appointed as the youngest Principal Flute in seven years for their middle school band, which had won all-state marching competitions on numerous occasions. No -- for Evelynne, it had always been piano first, everything else second. Every mention of music involved something along the lines of Shostakovich this, Chopin that. Bach this, Mozart that. Heck, the girl could even play one of Bach's fugues while nodding off to sleep, which happened ever-so-often in Evelynne's practice sessions, when Evelynne was so exhausted she could barely lift her eyes.
All this was to say that Clover knew Evelynne well. Too well, probably. There was no way in hell that Evelynne would just "quit" the piano at some random person's utterance, let alone a college counselor's word, of all people.
Excerpt 2: The crisp, chill air hit Clover like a wall as she stepped out of the house and started with a light jog, warming up the blood in her arms and legs. California weather--or bay area weather, at least--was relatively mild for the most part, but winter could still get cold; a good 40-50 degrees. It wasn't absurd to the point where Clover couldn't run in a short sleeves tee and runner's shorts, but it still took some mental careening every morning on Clover's part just to get out of the door. Luckily, it got a lot easier after the initial five minutes. Rather than queue another audiobook or podcast today, which was what she usually did, Clover let her mind wander in the morning silence.
College counselors. Gods, Clover hadn't thought about them for two years, as if her mind had selectively chosen to forget their existence entirely the minute she graduated high school. Clover didn't know if college counselors were such a huge deal outside of the bay area, but within the general vicinity of Fremont, Palo Alto, San Jose and various parts of the East and South bay, where she, Evelynne and Jasper grew up, they were a rite of passage at some point--if families could afford them, that is. The college counseling indoctrination phenomenon, as Clover often liked to joke with the three of them, was a particularly pervasive "second-gen" experience. Clover could feel herself simultaneously laughing and internally cringing at the thought.
Clover, Jasper, Evelynne--they were what people here called "second-gen." Clover's parents immigrated from mainland China to the United States in their mid-twenties, as did Jasper's mom and Evelynne's parents. Their parents were the first-generation immigrants--the ones who disrupted their livelihoods to immigrate to America for a better future. Many of them were first-gen college students too; Clover's grandparents had worked in factory communities spread across communist China and lived through the Cultural Revolution's chaos and famines, so Clover's mom and dad were the first in their immediate families to head to college. Clover was born in the states, (at Stanford hospital just forty minutes up from where Evelynne lived), and grew up in a bilingual household that mixed Chinese with English like honey and water. Mandarin Chinese was the first language she learned as a child, but English was her true mother tongue, what she thought her thoughts in and probably slept-talk in too. Evelynne and Jasper grew up much the same way, which was partially why the three of them got so close, so quickly.
Clover didn't question her identity the way many second-gen kids who grew up in homogenous, single-culture communities across the U.S. probably questioned their identity. She was never bullied for it either, the way she knew many people of her background were. A tried and true product of the bay area, Clover grew up in classes so full of second-gen immigrants that when she was in elementary school, she thought that she herself was "white," just because white people made up the vast population of the U.S. As far as her young mind was concerned, people like her and Jasper and Evelynne were the majority. By virtue of a child's logic, it made complete sense, until she decided one day to voice her findings to a teacher at her Chinese after-school, Golden Sun Education Center. The black-haired, dark-eyed female mandarin teacher at Golden Sun, who was in her early-30s, had taken one look at Clover and started laughing.
"You're not white darling. You're Chinese." When Clover couldn't understand the contradiction, her teacher explained further. "You're more like a ... banana! Yellow on the outside, white on the inside."
Young Clover had hated that comparison. She didn't think she was yellow. SpongeBob was yellow. And SpongeBob was about the ugliest thing she'd ever seen on the planet. Besides, the whole conversation had shattered her worldview, and six-year-old Clover didn't like being told that she was wrong. She had refused to eat bananas for months after, much to the confusion of her parents. It was only until she'd come home triumphant one day, having successfully finished reading her first book, "All Those Bananas," featuring Dora the Explorer and Boots's banana machine, that that phase of her life ended. Clover had immediately developed a liking for bananas again after receiving praise from both Mom and Dad for her reading skills, as children so often did. Since then, she's never looked back, and the whole banana incident had largely disappeared from her memory.
"HOOONK—"
Clover halted suddenly, her shoes skidding on the pavement, as she watched a small, midnight-blue Tesla speed through a yellow stoplight. The driver--a 17-something year old--blared the horn loudly, grinning and sticking out his hand in an exaggerated thumbs up.
Clover rolled her eyes and resumed her jog again. So much for a break from crazy Berkeley drivers, which Clover really thought she'd have at least. Camden drivers, except for this kid apparently, typically drove in the slow, conservative, defensive-driving style that one would ascribe to old ladies--starkly contrasting Berkeley's I-Don't-Care-If-I-Nearly-Run-You-Over mentality. It made sense if you thought more deeply about it, considering that Camden City folks typically encompassed the older range of the population. Camden single-family homes were well-known for housing highly-educated corporate workers and decently-successful CEOs between their mid-50s to late 80s, who sought Camden's relatively safe, peaceful, high middle-class surburbs. Clover figured that they saw it as a haven to settle down for in the long term, with all its quiet beauty and calm elegance. It didn't hurt that the school district, Camden Unified, was ranked number one academically in the state either. Except for the school-aged kids, who lived in decently large houses that made going from one home to the next a relative chore, roads were peaceful for the most part and lacking in sidewalks--an effort of the city's to protect the natural wildlife, which most residents staunchly supported. The only exceptions to this, of course, were the miniature, European-styled downtown shopping areas and the three elementary schools, one middle school, and one high school that took up various corners of the small city. All three elementary schools in Camden merged into Sequoia Middle School and Camden High, the latter two of which Clover attended for the later half of her K-12 education.
For all its high middle-class security, occasional wealthy celebrity citing, and nonchalant, clean atmosphere, Clover always had mixed feelings about the place and its people. Yes, folks were nice and progressive in general: The demographics were a healthy mix of first-gen Asian immigrants and Caucasians, along with some other cultural minorities that blended together to create a diverse racial and ethnic demographic that the city was proud of. The ratio of white people to Asians was relatively even, which made it different from some of the other neighboring cities in the south bay--where Asian-filled schools dominated the education scene.
Yet even though moving to Camden all those years ago was an "upgrade" from her old place in all objective perspectives, Clover would say with zero hesitation that her childhood was a wonderfully happy one. Clover didn't move to this part of the bay, the classified "competitive east bay and south bay" ecosystem, until middle school, where she'd not only met Jasper and Evelynne at Sequoia, but also realized just how far back she'd been academically. Instead, Clover had grown up in a small community near the Dumbarton Bridge in Fairmont a few miles southeast of San Francisco, largely removed from the chaos of college pre-planning, agenda-setting, and hyper-competitiveness she had come to know and accept in her late teen years. At Fairmont Elementary School, where she attended grades kindergarten through sixth grade (it was one of those districts where 6th grade was still considered elementary school), life was simple. Blissful, even, minus the small blips here and there that characterized the many chapters of five-year-old recesses, homework excuses, and intricate playground dramas.
Excerpt 3: The first time it happened to Evelynne, Clover thought she witnessed a heart attack. The three of them had been doing homework together at Evelynne's place after an early release from school, eager to dip from the halls of Camden High. To compensate for their lack of lunch, Clover had cooked up a quick meal of fried eggs and rice for the trio while Jasper and Evelynne goofed around like a band of first graders, woefully unhelpful in the kitchen. Then, the two of them had gulfed down the food like starving wolves, complained that they wanted more of Clover's cooking, and got reprimanded by a flattered Clover to "stop procrastinating and lock in." Only half an hour or so had passed.
The last conversation Clover had been privy to before the room turned quiet had been Jasper, nosy as always, pestering Evelynne about what she was doing on her computer. Tilting his head over to Evelynne's screen, Jasper had blanched at the "1009 unread emails" notification plastered on her open inbox.
"How the hell do you have so many unread emails?" he muttered.
"I'm a busy woman," she’d replied sarcastically. Then Jasper announced, quite obnoxiously, that he had to go "take a dump" and the bickering stopped. At first, Clover relished in the little bit of peace and quiet she was afforded without Evelynne and Jasper's constant jabs at each other. But after over 15 minutes of nonexistent conversation, Clover felt an instinctive dread tingle along the back of her spine.
"Eve?" Clover called out, turning from the dishes she was washing as she felt an eerie silence settle in the room. Jasper had gone to the bathroom (probably to go number two and watch instagram reels), and Evelynne--who usually muttered incoherently as she worked--had gone completely silent, save for a strained breathing that was nearly undetectable at first.
"Evelynne?" Clover echoed again. When she got no response, she took her gloves off instinctively, allowing the dish soap to slide down her wrists as she speed walked to the dining hall table where the three of them had been working. Clover inhaled sharply in alarm.
Eyes wide and blank, with silent tears rolling down her cheeks and both hands clutched to her heart, Evelynne gasped great gulps of oxygen one after another in strained, heaving motions that paralleled a fish struggling in the air. Her computer lay half-open at her side, her email inbox still full of a decisive chunk of unread emails that Jasper had been rattling off about just a few minutes earlier. The scene was so sudden and out-of-the-blue that it took a second for Clover to register what was happening. She recovered from her trance the minute Evelynne doubled over, instantly springing into action.
"JASPER!" Clover screamed, rushing to the phone to call 911. She could feel a well of panic rising in her chest as she fumbled over the lock screen password, her fingers slow and clumsy as she punched in the numbers.
"There's no need to shout. I know you adore me—" Jasper's voice rang teasingly from the hall as he walked into the kitchen, grinning. His smile instantly disappeared when he saw Clover's face. "Clover? Clover, what's wrong?" He was by her side in a minute, his eyes wide with concern as Clover, her one hand clutching a device dialed for 911, pointed desperately towards the counter where he and Evelynne had been working. He instantly sprinted towards Evelynne's side, propping the girl against his shoulder as he evaluated the situation.
"I...I don't know how it happened," Clover bawled into the phone, as a soothing voice from the receiver's end instructed Clover to calm down and articulate her words. "One minute, she was fine. And then her hands were clutching her chest, and it looked like she couldn't breathe, and I think she's having a heart attack, and—"
Clover's frantic sobs were cut off by Jasper's crisp, commanding voice across the hall a few moments later. "Clover. Get over here," he said gravely. She obeyed instinctively, her hand dropping the phone and the person on the other end as she walked towards Jasper in a trance, his calm demeanor instructing her body to do the same. "Is she okay, Jasper? Is she okay?" she blubbered desperately, hating herself for the useless mess she was at her friend's sudden condition. Jasper mouthed silent words to Clover's clenched figure. "Calm down Clover. Follow what I do." When she shook her head, intent on picking up the phone again, Jasper stared her down. "Trust me."
Clover nodded.
"Let it out," Jasper whispered reassuredly, squeezing Evelynne's shoulders as his friend's breathing turned into uncontrolled sobs, her chest rising up and down wildly as she struggled to calm down her shivering body. "I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe," she repeated over and over, her dark brown pupils dilated like a deer caught in the woods by a lion. "I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't breathe."
"You're safe. We're here. You're safe," Jasper said softly, his eyes watery as he rubbed his hand on Evelynne's shoulders. He made eye contact with Clover and motioned for her to sit down in front of the trembling girl. Clover did as she was told, sitting criss-cross apple sauce and taking her friend's palms in her own to mirror Jasper's movements. Evelynne didn't object, shivering violently as she continued sputtering, her eyes wild and vacant. At one point after the initial scare, Jasper tilted his head towards the dining table where Evelynne had been working, and Clover turned, glimpsing Evelynne's purple heart-flecked laptop, which was still open. Clover felt her mouth twitch slightly despite the circumstances, even as she was steeling her own nerves. The silly girl had changed her computer screen's settings to "Never Darken" and altered her custom cursor to take on a shape of a yellow rubber duck--her latest obsession. Clover turned to close the screen, but not before catching a glimpse of the email that Evelynne had been reading: "Celebration of Light Dance at the Pauley Community Center this Upcoming Saturday, 5-7pm PST, Hosted by the Camden City Youth Council." She turned her head and stared quizzically at Jasper, who shook his head as if to say "I don't know." Then she closed the laptop and pushed it to the side, adjusting the items on the table so that there was enough space to put a glass of water.
After a while, Evelynne's rigid body began relaxing, and Clover heard a bright "ding dong," at the door.
"I—I'll get it," Clover said.
~ End Excerpt ~