It’s hard to think about what’s on the chipped vinyl counter and not salivate-shiny lacquered cases of Chanel eye shadow palettes, a La Prairie caviar sleep mask, Yves Saint Laurent Couture eyeliner. “Great minds think alike.” She flashes me another smile and dashes out the door toward Mom’s master bathroom, otherwise known as the Rodeo Drive of cosmetics. “Maybe we should just freshen up and try again?” I ever so helpfully suggest. Only a strong gut feeling.) “Forget the Emporium, then. Never trust a cat, they’ll eat your face if you die. She sits up, and her smile is catlike-secretive, smug. My bestie taps her fingers against her stomach, a clear sign of boredom. “If white people can learn Klingon, they can learn to pronounce your name.” But by the third grade, I’d heard those three syllables butchered enough to want to simplify my name. He circles and lays down, tucking his chin into his butt. It is no secret: I love him more than he loves me. “I wish you’d never heard my mother call me that.” I shift, and Tamagotchi scrambles from my arms. Remember when Glory got all flustered and ordered Reese’s penises ice cream? C’mon, Zoom Zoom,” she cajoles. I wonder if that cute guy still works behind the counter. In a town strung together with tie-dyes and confederate flags, one cannot afford to discriminate. Membership dues are strict and paid in some claim to Asian ancestry. Hansani and Glory are the other two parts. Think less organized crime, more Golden Girls. Together, we’re one half of an Asian Girl Gang-AGG, for short. How about an entire ocean landscape with starfish criminals and an I-don’t-play-by-the-rules dolphin detective instead? It’s been this way since second grade when we bonded over our skin color-a shade darker than the white kids in Mount Shasta-and a shared inability to follow simple instructions.

She’s the Timberlake to my Biel, the Edward to my Bella, the Pauly D to my Jersey Shore. Conversations usually go:īasically, she instigates and I double down. Confession: there is no voice of reason in our friendship. I need it to pass the class,” I say, surprising myself. Pretty sure I was put on this earth to love this canine. He also has a you’re-so-ugly-you’re-cute face and a gross fetish for his own feet. “It’s not his fault.” My terrier mix has a rare glandular condition for which there is no cure or medication. I don’t know enough about math to approximate the statistics of finishing on time, but I bet they’re low. I’ve had four weeks to work on the journal.

“Better we just give up and move on.” She flops onto my bed, arms across her eyes-the literal definition of a swoon. “You gave it a shot.”Ī shot consisted of one five-minute attempt at an essay on the theme of personal growth in Huckleberry Finn. You really tried,” Noora, aforementioned best friend, says.

It is the sacred duty of best friends to convince you to do the things you should not do.

Tokyo ever after review