class of 2013 ✓

06 | identity crisis

"Remi!" Mrs. Wong greets, pausing her dishwashing to wipe the sweat on her nose with a part of her arm not completely covered by suds. "It's nice to have you back. I hope school's going well."

An instant rush of serotonin hits me after seeing her smile widely. She's always calling herself old, but truth be told, she's probably more youthful than I am. Definitely in better shape too. "Yeah, it's okay. Where's Mr. Wong?"

"He should be monitoring the front. If not, then the bathroom."

"Ah, I'll go check up on him later," I sigh, tying a black apron around my waist. "Where do you want me today?"

"Actually, in the back of the house. Someone ordered a party-sized platter of eggrolls. We need to prepare 300 before tomorrow. Nea has already started on them. Why don't you join her in the kitchen."

My stomach knots at the mention of her name. She hasn't talked to me since yesterday, which isn't a ton of time to tell if she's mad at me or not. Although she has also been ignoring my texts, so I think I can infer an answer from that. Nonetheless, I nod weakly and do as I'm told.

Sure enough, Nea is huddled over the kitchen island, flour-dusted all over the marble surface. The stuffing is a mix of meat and scallions, and it's currently sitting in a large mixing bowl.

Quickly, Nea dips her fingers into a bowl of water, wetting the corners of the eggroll wrapper and rolling the whole thing. When she's finished, she sets it in a large party tray that is already half full.

Watching her work is honestly—strangely enough— such a blessing. Anyone can tell she's completely in her element. Plus, her diligence is infectious—I tend to work a lot harder when we're together.

Without another word, I join her, rolling up my sleeves to my elbow. In complete silence, we continue to churn out as many finished eggrolls as possible. Bit by bit, the tray starts to fill to the top, and there's not enough space for any more.

"I'll get another tray," I murmur, heading to the shelves, where they're stacked against each other. Careful not to make everything topple over, I slowly pull out the one on the very top. Then, I place the eggrolls that haven't found a home in there.

Nea simply nods, an unreadable expression on her face. Was she pissed? Tired? Bored? I couldn't tell. She's not exactly what I'd call an open book.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, averting eye contact. "I'm such a fuck up I know, and I'm not good at these things, so I don't know what to say to make it better. But I—I just wanted you to know that this is me trying my best."

"I'm not mad," she mutters, "just disappointed."

Even worse. "If it makes you feel any better, we can have that movie marathon at my house after next week's assignment."

"That does sound nice. Okay," she says quietly, pulling me in for a small side hug, "do you want me to wait for you at school or?"

"It's your choice."

"Ok, yeah, I'll just meet you at your house," she decides, "speaking about the competition thing, how's it going? And give me a real answer this time, not just 'good.'"

"I mean, it's more of a chore than a passion. Nothing I can't handle. Kinda drags on forever and sucks up a lot of my time, to be honest," I shrug, molding the eggroll in my hand into a cylinder shape.

"I see, I see. So are you winning?"

Caught off guard, I clear my throat. Nea's been open about supporting me throughout my endeavors, though I can't tell she doesn't typically bring up my academic career unless I mention it first. It's no secret she generally regards school as a capitalist institution. After graduation, she has no plan to pursue higher education. Her duty to her younger siblings won't allow it.