Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,42

for safety. Accursed stairs. I hated stairs. Again.

Cirrus looked different. Brighter. Her usual steel-eyed savvy was gone.

Next to her in the foyer stood her father, a compact man in white linen and monk’s sandals and ultrawide Kobo Abe glasses, and her mother, also in linen and enrobed by a substantial necklace that looked like it was made from big red dried jujubes. Both looked at least ten years older than Mom and Dad.

“You must be Sunny,” said Cirrus’s father gravely and full of wonder, like a man greeting the captain of a clandestine sea voyage in the dead of night.

“Skulls,” said Cirrus’s mother, drawing lazy circles at my shirt. “Symbols of death and fear to some, but to others, a reminder of the eternal life cycle, and of rebirth.”

Cirrus shrugged with this sitcom face: Here’re my wacky parents!

Mom and Dad appeared, jingling keys and checking handbags and whatnot.

“Gray’s not coming up to say hi?” said Mom.

“He’s sleeping again,” said Dad, peeved. “Five bucks says he doesn’t come up till dinner.”

“Well, we should head out,” said Mom.

Dad turned to Cirrus’s father. “Can we take your Maybach? Some garbage human keyed my car.”

Cirrus’s father nodded. “Just beneath the smooth veneer of society lies so much rage.”

“Rage,” said Cirrus’s mother. “Everywhere.”

“We’re going to that amazing camera store down on Fire Opal Street,” said Mom with a happy wiggle.

“So Brandon can pick up his brand-new Leica,” said Dad, and whistled low. “That’s a twenty-thousand-dollar camera. Ta-wen-tee thousand!”

“I suppose it is a bit indulgent, birding with a medium format,” said Brandon Soh.

“But you work so hard,” said Jane Soh. “You deserve it.”

Jane and Brandon kissed at each other.

“You absolutely deserve it,” said Dad. “One hundred percent.”

I could not resist wincing at Dad, who seemed to be openly lusting after not just Jane and Brandon Soh’s level of success, but the ease with which they enjoyed that success. Mom and Dad had plenty of money, to be sure, but they also hustled every minute of every day. I couldn’t imagine either of them relaxing long enough to even imagine taking up birding (short for bird-watching, which was a form of wildlife observation).

“We were hoping you could keep Cirrus entertained while we were out,” said Cirrus’s dad. It was a bizarre thing to say, as if Cirrus were a toddler.

“You’re not doing anything right now, are you?” said Dad to me.

“Sure!” I replied nonsensically. I hung my arms at my sides, then realized how odd I probably looked, then leaned on the banister (something I never did), then folded my arms, before returning to my original pose of standing like an action figure still in its package.

Cirrus gave me a helpless look. “They flew in this morning, without telling me.” She glanced at her parents, who seemed oblivious to the jab.

As they headed out, Mom paused to look at me. “Is that a new shirt?”

“No,” I blurted with exaggerated nonchalance, before realizing that that answer would only lead to more questions. “No, but, you mean this shirt? Yes. I bought this.”

Mom gave me a curious look. Thankfully Dad led her away before my fragile poker face could be shattered by further questions.

“Let’s go check out this Maybach, dude,” said Dad, oblivious with glee.

“Back in a bit,” said Cirrus’s father.

“Thank you for taking such good care of Cirrus, Sunny,” said Cirrus’s mother.

I maintained my smile in the face of such odd people. What kind of parents left their daughter alone for two weeks to take meetings in Mexico? What kind of parents said things like Thank you for taking care of Cirrus to a boy her same age?

“You’re welcome?” I said.

As soon as the car outside slammed shut and zoomed away, all the muscles in Cirrus’s body seemed to unclench. She clasped her palms and spoke into them in bent prayer.

“They’re so weird they’re so weird theyresoweird,” said Cirrus.

I wanted to hug her. So I did. Because now I could!

While I was at it, I told her, “I think I understand you more now that I’ve met your parents.”

She leaned on me like an exhausted sprinter. “Let’s do something normal.”

“This is normal,” I said, not wanting to move a single muscle.

“I could say hi to your friends, for instance,” said Cirrus.

She was peering upward. At the top of the staircase I could see two half faces spying back at us like dryad imps stacked behind a tree: Jamal and Milo.

I separated from Cirrus with tremendous reluctance. “Oh, hey, guys, there you are.”

“Hi, Cirrus,” chorused Jamal and Milo.

“What’s doing?”