Exactly one week, four days, at this time, and a daylight savings ago, Jean disappeared from my life’s’ chapter. At that day and time, she didn’t come to school nor did she answer my texts and calls on her whereabouts during break time. She didn’t visit during the weekends nor did she come to see me at our usual hangout spot at the football bleachers. I thought about going to her ‘home’ and asking her ‘parents’ if something was wrong. I guess, deep inside, I didn’t want to know what happened.
It sounds kind of messed up to me since I’ve been friends with Jean since we were three or four. A good friend would worry where their companion is. A best friend would be right there with them when—how do you say?—“The going gets tough.” I wish I can be with her right now, but keeping my studies up is top priority, as for any student and child.
But, seeing Jean’s empty desk again for another day, it makes me wonder what kind of trouble Jean inflicted upon herself.
“Hey Kenji,” someone says and taps my shoulder. I look up from my thoughts and see a secondary student—no, an elementary pipsqueak—sitting in Jean’s seat. “Who is that kid?”
“How would I know?” The new student is short, really short, for a guy. Maybe he’s a little taller than Jean, but then again, Jean is as tall as a bean. The student looks nervous because he keeps looking around, crossing his legs, and hiding his face into a text book. Weird…
New students aren’t common, but they behave and look like any other student. What’s the big deal?
“So, what family are you from?” a girl asks. The new boy straightens his back, still hiding his face behind a book.
“Don’t say that,” another jumps in. “He probably got here by scholarship, like Jean.”
“Oh! You must be a genius then. I’ve heard it’s hard to get scholarship here.”
The poor boy nods and looks around. His eyes must be pleading for help or something. He hasn’t said a word to the girls nor did he look like he wants to any time soon.
“So, what’s your name?” The boy hides under his textbook as the two girls circle around, bombing him with questions. It’s none of my business to intervene—I don’t know the guy!—but in a sense, he reminds me of Jean and her phobia of girls. And like I did on the first day of school, I’ll do it now, here today.
“Don’t you think you’ve scared the kid enough?” I say, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “You’re treating him like a new puppy you got on Christmas.” I adjust my glasses and walk over to the new boy’s desk. “If you don’t feel comfortable or need questions answered, ask for help. It’s always offered.” Since I’m copying what I did on the first day with Jean, I stick my hand out for the new student to shake.
He takes it and gets a good grip. His mouth moves. “Thanks, Kenji.” I step back and our handshake broke. How? I never knew this kid, but how does he know my name? Father’s company is famous and he often gets interviews, but I made him swear under his breath that he won’t mention me in any of them. I walk to my desk, looking at my fellow classmates. No one in class—the entire school—knows me as Kenji Yu but as Kenji Nguyen.
Then again, my surname might have nothing to do with how the kid knew my name. Maybe someone mentioned it to him. Yes. That seems like a good answer.
“Smooth move, Class Representative,” someone says, patting my back. I close my eyes and open them, glancing right. I see the new kid’s eyes already glancing at me back. He knew my name, but I didn’t hear his voice. His mouth just moved and that was all. He didn’t have to introduce himself, but the professor briefly touched upon his name for a brief minute before starting the day’s lesson. Jean Soho. I whisper the two words under my breath as the professor jotted down calculations.
Jean Soho. The name had a nice ring to it. Soho. I’ve never heard of that surname before. I wonder if the guy is related to Sherbet Soho, the creator of fighting game Jean and I enjoy.
I guess the new kid occupied my mind a little more than it should have. During break, I went to the vending machine to buy a juice box. While Jean was still alive in my life, she and I found the best vending machine on campus. It was in—What did Jean call it?—a ghetto part of school, whatever that meant. The vending machine is by an old janitor’s closet and the machine itself is an older model than the others, but its contents are usually fresh and no one bothered to visit it. It became our second favorite hangout spot.
“I knew I would find you here.” I drop my packaged juice box. The voice is familiar—it’s soft and refreshing—it reminds me of Jean. No. It is Jean. I turn around, expecting to see her toothy smile and bright eyes. Instead, I see the new student. The new-kid Jean titled his head. “Kenji…?”
The voice is definitely Jean’s, but why is it coming out of a boy’s mouth? Unless…
I rubbed my glasses. “Jean, is that you?” The kid nods. I see a toothy grin and big, bright eyes and I know it’s Jean. Jean leans down and picks up my forgotten juice box. Her voice is light, hinted with bits of sorrow.
“I didn’t mean to be gone for so long.” Thanks for clearing that up for me, but that’s no on my mind right now, Jean.
I choke the juice box between my fingers. “Why are you cross-dressing?” For a second, Jean was all smiles. The next, Jean grabs me by my collar and yanks me down to her height. For a shorty, her strength strikes fear in the hearts and minds of many. I can see Jean balling her free hand into a fist.
It wouldn’t be a good reunion if we both got hurt—with a black eye or second thoughts. I try loosening her fingers. “Wait. Before you punch me, I’ll tell you this. I can deal with having a power-house as a friend. I can deal with a friend that likes wearing male uniforms to school. I can deal with a friend that’s scared of girls. But, at least explain to me why you’re wearing a wig, colored contacts, and why the heck did you change your name to Jean Soho?”
“I thought you were busy minding your own business to notice the name change,” Jean shot, her shoulders sagging. Her toughness melted into goo and Jean’s eyes change to tears. Big drops roll down her face. “You can tell I’m wearing contacts?”
I look away. Isn’t there like a curse that falls on you when you make a girl cry? “Yeah. Up close.” With her grip loose, I stick the juice straw into the box and let Jean finish every last drop before letting her answer anymore. She eventually got calm and while we walked back to class—using a long-cut instead of a shortcut—she filled me in.
“My phobia of girls has gotten really bad, so I couldn’t leave the house,” she sniffs, crushing the empty juice box under her fingers. “My grades slipped and my scholarship went down the drain, but I wanted to come back.”
“So you bought a wig and got yourself colored contacts to make it possible.” Jean nods. Wiping back her tears, she hugs my arm.
“But if I have to cross dress so that I can see you every day at school, I’ll do it.” She does her toothy grin, letting me know that everything is going to be okay. That was one of the weird things about Jean—her spontaneous changes between emotions. There are still some questions stuck in my throat, but I want to give Jean some time to adjust to the situation.
But, I knew this sudden phase would be temporary. “Jean, you can’t go on hiding forever. You can’t pretend to be a man. Girls like guys. You’re going to encounter females no matter what you do.”
Jean sighs and fixes her black wig. “I know, but I’ll manage. My phobia isn’t going to leave me. It’s part of me.”
Jean’s last words echo in my head. It’s nighttime now, and Jean promised me that she would be at school tomorrow. I lie on my bed, thinking. I have some pictures of Jean and me when we were kids on my night stand. There’s one picture where Jean’s wearing a little flowery dress and she’s with her mother, her real mother. I roll onto my side.
Jean’s phobia is a weird one. Maybe something traumatic happened as she moved from one foster family to another. It’s hard to remember, but there was a time when Jean could speak comfortably to any female. Fear can make people do funny things, but it makes them stronger. I’m not saying I’m going to force Jean to change. I want her to get over the fear, but I want her to know that she’ll grow stronger emotionally. Let’s face it: she acts like an elementary kid seventy-five percent of the time.
Before Jean arrives under her alias as Jean Soho, I ask some girls to strike a conversation with her. I made sure to pick the ones that shared some common interests with her.
“Remember,” I kept saying while they giggled. “The goal is to get Mr. Soho more comfortable with the student body.” The girls nod and spot Jean by the school gate, like she was a fresh piece of meat. They were on her like fleas, trying to strike a conversation. Jean barely took five steps before running away.
Okay, maybe a frontal approach isn’t the best option. I guess a subtle approach might make her feel comfortable. I don’t actually know if Jean’s afraid of fictional female characters, so I gave a guy in class a book and asked him to give it to Jean. Jean was confused, but she read the summary and turned to the first page. The next thing anyone knew, the poor delivery guy flew across the classroom with four teeth missing. Didn’t I mention that Jean can resort to violence under fear?
Remembering today’s failures as I lie in bed another night didn’t make me feel better. Maybe I was approaching from the wrong angle. If ideas work as light bulbs, then a light bulb should be floating above my head. Maybe a surprise approach can change her a bit.
Kenji’s right, Jean thought, waiting at the usual hangout spot on the bleachers. You can’t avoid girls no matter how hard you try. She pulled her wig off and hid it in her uniform’s jacket. Jean looked up to the clouds for a sign of change. Ever since she came back, girls—real or fictional characters—have bothered and tried to socialize with her. Inside, Jean would just freeze up and run away. Jean was convinced she was cursed since the day she returned.
Lying with her back against the bleacher, she pulled out her game-boy and started playing her game. It took some time before she noticed footsteps approaching the bleachers. It was a girl, a really tall one. She was like Kenji’s height and he was skyscraper tall!
With her simple high ponytail, glasses, and unamused look, she climbed up the bleachers and sat next to Jean. Jean’s eyes twitched. I can’t hurt a girl. She doesn’t know me. I can control myself. Her mind was doing all the talking while her hands slowly balled into fists. She wondered if she could get away with beating the snot out of the tall girl.
Wait, at least strike up a conversation before knocking her out. Jean gulped. “H-Hi.”
Tall girl’s eyes glanced over at Jean. “You’ve finally talked to a girl, a fake one at least.”
A boy?! Jean nearly rolled off the bleachers. “K-Kenji?! How? Why?” Kenji pulled off his hair extensions.
“I’ve been trying to break the ice between you and girls the wrong way. To get things done, you’ve got to do it yourself.” Jean cocked her head to the side. “In your time of insecurity, I should be right here with you, experiencing what you’re feeling.”
“And you’re willing to cross dress to help,” Jean said, slowly. Kenji nodded. She looked at the skirt he was wearing. Rolling his eyes, Kenji lifted up his skirt, exposing his gym shorts. Jean’s eyes twitched. “Look Kenji, I know you’re trying to help me, but—”
“But what?” Kenji shot back. He adjusted his glasses. “No matter what happens, we’ll be there for each other. Like you did for me, I’ll do the same for you.” He got down on his knees and stuck his pinkie out. “Didn’t you always say, ‘A good friend tries to help you, but a best friend is at the scene of the crime with you’?”
I hate it when he turns my words against me. But, Jean knew she couldn’t tackle her dilemma alone and here was Kenji, wearing a female uniform out in public. Jean bit back her negative thoughts and did her usual toothy grin. She stuck out her pinkie, and the two friends shook in promise. “You’re the last person in the world that would wear a skirt.”
Kenji’s face went pink as he placed his hair extensions back on. Fixing and redoing his high ponytail, he mumbled, “You’re the only person in the world that can say that without laughing.”
ns 172.70.179.80da2
and then Add to home screen.