I need to get her out of here before my family derails my life just as it’s getting started.

“What are you doing?” my father asks in Korean.

I decide to ignore the question he’s really asking. Instead, I hold out the pouch for him to take.

“Mom said I had to bring you this.” I say it in English so Natasha doesn’t think we’re talking about her.

Charlie sidles up next me. “Want me to help translate for your friend?” he asks.

He overemphasizes friend. Because being a dick on fire is Charlie’s raison d’être.

My dad gives him a hard look. “I thought you don’t understand Korean,” he says to Charlie.

Charlie shrugs. “I get by.” Not even my dad’s disapproval can stop him from enjoying himself at my expense.

“Is that why you fail out of Harvard? You only get by?” This part he says in Korean because the last thing my dad would want to do is air our dirty laundry in front of a miguk saram. An American.

Charlie doesn’t give a crap and translates anyway, but he’s smiling a little less. “Don’t worry,” he says to Natasha. “He’s not talking about you. Not yet. He’s just calling me stupid.”

Dad’s face goes completely blank, so I know he’s really angry now. Charlie’s got him trapped. Anything he says Charlie will translate, and my dad’s sense of propriety can’t allow that to happen. Instead, he turns into Deferential Store Owner like I’ve seen him do a million times to a million customers.

“You want something before you leave?” he asks Natasha. He clasps his hands, half bends at the waist, and smiles his best customer-service smile.

“No, thank you, Mr.—” She stops because she doesn’t know my last name.

My dad doesn’t answer.

“Yes. Yes. You friend of Daniel’s. Take anything you want.” This is an accident in progress, but I don’t know how to stop it. He pats at his pockets until he finds his glasses and peers at the bottles on the shelf.

“Not this aisle,” he mutters. “Come with me.”

Maybe if we just go along this will all be over quickly. Natasha and I follow him helplessly while Charlie laughs.

My dad finds what he’s looking for one aisle over. “Here. Relaxer for your hair.” He pulls a big black and white tub from a shelf and hands it to Natasha.

“Relaxer,” he says again. “Make your hair not so big.”

How was I born into this family and how can I get out of it?

Charlie laughs long and loud.

I start to say that she doesn’t need anything, but Natasha interrupts. “Thank you, Mr.—”

“Bae,” I say, because she should know my last name.

“Mr. Bae. I don’t need any—”

“Hair too big,” he says again.

“I like it big,” she says.

“Better get a different boyfriend, then,” says Charlie. He waggles his eyebrows to make sure we all get his innuendo. I’m surprised he doesn’t follow it up with a hand gesture just to be absolutely clear. My surprise doesn’t last, because he holds his thumb and forefinger apart by an inch.

“Good joke, Charlie,” I say. “Yes, my penis is only an inch long.” I don’t bother to look at my father’s face.

Natasha turns to me and her mouth actually drops open. She’s definitely reconsidering her recent life choices. I practically fling the pouch at my father. Things cannot get any worse, so I reach for her hand despite the fact that my father is standing right there. Mercifully, she lets me take it.

“Thank you, come again,” booms Charlie when we’re almost out the door. He’s like a pig in shit. Or just the shit.

I flip him off and ignore the vast disapproval coming from my father, because there’ll be time for that later.

I’M LAUGHING EVEN THOUGH I know I shouldn’t. That was the most perfectly awful experience. Poor Daniel.

Observable Fact: Families are the worst.

We’re almost all the way back to the subway station before he finally stops tugging me along. He slaps a palm against the back of his neck and hangs his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly that I more lip-read it than hear it.

I’m trying to keep my laughter suppressed, because he looks like someone died, but I’m having a hard time. The image of his dad trying to shove the tub of relaxer at me rises in my mind and the laughter just bubbles out of me. Once I start, I can’t stop. I clutch my stomach as hysterics take me over. Daniel just stares at me. His frown is so deep it might become permanent.

“That was terrible,” I say, finally calm. “I don’t think that could’ve gone any worse. Racist dad. Racist and sexist older brother.”

Daniel rubs the spot on his neck and frowns some more.

“And the store! I mean, the ancient posters of those women, and your dad critiquing my hair, and your brother making a small penis joke.”

By the time I’m done listing all the things that were awful, I’m laughing again. It takes him a few more seconds, but finally he smiles too, and I’m glad for it.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” he says.

“Come on,” I say. “Tragedy is funny.”

“Are we in a tragedy?” he asks, smiling broadly now.

“Of course. Isn’t that what life is? We all die at the end.”

“I guess so,” he says. He steps closer, takes my hand, and places it on his chest.

I study my nails. I study my cuticles. Anything to avoid looking up into those brown eyes of his. His heart thrums beneath my fingers.