I like third-wheeling. One of my favorite things about it is watching the way two people silently love one another. I see a side of Maia and Ainsley that they can’t see themselves. If their friendship is a crime, then I am the ever-present witness at the scene.
It’s the way Maia always saves a seat for Ainsley next to her in the auditorium during assemblies or how Ainsley looks for Maia in every room that makes me believe that love is real. I see the years of devotion in the way Ainsley walks Maia to the prayer room, even though she isn’t Muslim, and the way Maia patiently explains math problems to Ainsley.
I wonder what it’s like to be adored like that, unconditionally and reverently.
The love I know is a fair exchange. My life is a tapestry of these transactions: my parents’ sacrifices paying for my existence, my present unhappiness for my future wealth, and my perfect grades for one less crease on my mother’s brow.
Last year, it was my fawning that paid for Natalie’s friendship. I didn’t think it was flattery to tell her how pretty I thought she was. To me, her beauty was, or is, an objective fact. It’s no different than saying that the sky is blue or that the trees are green. But ever since our friendship soured, hindsight says otherwise.
In her eyes, I must have been a pathetic sycophant. Looking back, my constant flow of praise appeared disingenuous rather than the easygoing affection I intended it to be. But she needed it. When we weren’t strangers, I saw how desperate she was for that validation. I just wasn’t the person she wanted it from.
It is lonely being the third. There’s this bubble around Maia and Ainsley, a warmth from their shared history that I can’t penetrate. I wasn’t born into their world of private schools and tropical mansions.
But they think I’m no different than them. They assume I was educated in ivory towers and that my family lived in a penthouse, imagined hallmarks for New York’s tiny Asian elite. Little did they know that my life was a clunky collage of magnet schools and shoebox apartments.
I don’t correct them. Secretly and selfishly, I hope they will expand their bubble to include me.
In some ways, they already do that. Maia saves two seats in the cafeteria. Ainsley shares twice the gossip when I’m around. And I always bring my bread to rescue them from subpar cafeteria food. We share homework answers next to torn pieces of almond pastry.
People see us walking each other to our classes. The three of us have nearly identical schedules save for the electives we signed up for at the end of the day. We joke that we’re the MAY group, a name that comprised our first initials. None of us could play an instrument so we would make a terrible band, but Ainsley takes singing classes and Maya does ballet. I can demurely play a triangle, but I hardly think that concert would draw crowds.
Natalie notices us. She tries to hide it, but I recognize her sideway glances and subtle glimpses into her compact mirror. I ignore them and join her in this game of pretend. Together, we enter an alternate reality where our freshmen year friendship never happened and we stayed strangers. In this parallel world, I never learn that she’s a hopeless romantic or that her favorite color is teal. She never memorizes my favorite books or shares bread with me. We never fall apart.
Her nonchalance bothers me. That bored look on her face gets under my skin like an unwelcome splinter. Every time I try to pluck it out, the thought of how little I matter to her shoves it right back in.
Who am I compared to pretty, wealthy Natalie? I may have the bigger brain, but a single pout from her could topple nations.
I avoid making eye contact with her. Heck, I pretend her whole face doesn’t exist. I won’t ever admit it, but looking at her hurts. I don’t think she knows how painful it was to sit alone for months without having anyone to speak to or eat with.
As I unpack some custard buns I was able to snag from the family bakery this morning - much to Maia and Ainsley’s delight - I still feel her eyes on me. I wonder if it hurts her half as much as it hurts me. I wish that seeing me with other friends rubbed salt in the wound, or at the very least, made her uncomfortable.
The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.
I read that in a book for class. Somehow it escapes me during the lunch period in between those bites of rare sugary bread where I read it. I blame the post-exam amnesia. After a week of stress for midterms, I don’t want to stare at another page for a while.
“We should celebrate finishing our tests,” Maia suggests, as if her birthday hadn’t been a month ago.
“We should get a nice dinner,” Ainsley corrects her. “I’m too tired for a party.”
“Nothing too expensive,” I agree. “My mom didn’t give me an allowance this week,” I quickly add.
Maia gives me an incredulous look. “You’re one of the best students at the academy. I don’t understand why your parents treat you like this. If I had your grades, my father would give me all the designer bags I wanted!”
“Asian parents are strict,” Ainsley says sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’ll be reasonable about the restaurant choices. My mom shrank my allowance this week.”
Maia gasps. “No way! What did you do?”
“It was my stupid brother. He started it and we got into this argument. Mummy would have none of it so now we both don’t get money.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, the most incensed we had ever seen her.
Maia shakes her head. “It’s unfair. For you and Yan.”
“Unfair” was the tip of the iceberg. I think back to the shouting match with my family last night. I had just finished cleaning up after everyone. After I ate, it was my sole responsibility to sink into the routine of clearing my family’s dirty dishes, wiping their uneaten food off the table, scrubbing the pots, and carrying sagging garbage bags to the disposal chute of the apartment. Despite having two younger siblings, I did all of this alone partly because they were “useless” and “lazy” partly because I knew my parents were exhausted from running the family bakery.
I did these chores out of love and necessity. I planned to use the last of my energy to cram in more studying for my exams after and finish some homework, but there was something more important than my grades that evening.
“Your brother is failing his English class,” my mother said. “You’re good at school. Tutor him.”
“I can’t. I have my tests tomorrow.”
Normally, saying that would have been enough. But last night was a different story.
“He’s your brother. Take some time to help him. It won’t be the whole night.”
Under my mother’s watchful eye, I sat with Rui at the dining table I painstakingly cleaned. He didn’t want to do his homework so after ten uncomfortable minutes of his huffing and puffing, I said they needed to get him a tutor.
I was called a bunch of names, negative adjectives overlapping into an unpleasant word lump. She took her anger out on me, and I cried before it was decided that I had to give up a month’s worth of allowance so they could afford a tutor for Rui. Never mind that I still needed to study to keep my scholarship at the academy.
I blink away the unpleasant memory. I walk to the subway with Maia and Ainsley, wondering what it would be like to have their lives. If it were my choice, I wouldn’t have to deal with the constant sacrifice of being poor.
My friends prattle on about designer clothes, luxury bags, future vacations, and school gossip. I join in, half-pretending that I understand even a fraction of what it is to live like them. We talk about who has a crush on who, who cheated on the exams, and who was throwing parties over the weekend. A part of me wishes that the train ride was longer so I could continue to be like this. Normal. Comfortable. Safe. Well, as safe as anyone could be on the trains.
“Look.” Maia taps my shoulder. The three of us peer into the train car next to ours. I freeze, easily recognizing Natalie’s long, silky hair. Curling lashes poke out of her side profile. For a weird moment, I’m convinced that she’s stalking me. In that split second, I see the proof that the end of our friendship hurt her just as much as it hurt me.
But then Ainsley’s head swivels to the boy across from Natalie and that illusion shatters. Mikael nods in my direction, raising his hand in a brief wave toward us. We wave back and Natalie turns to look at us. For the first time in a year, we make eye contact. I hold Natalie’s gaze for three seconds, but it’s more than enough time for me to finally know what she thought of our friendship.
I turn away and resume talking to my friends, pretending that I didn’t see my former best friend look at me like I was the dirt beneath her feet.
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