A story of tea and jungle juice: my teenage life in America

After inviting me to her house for the first time, Victoria offered me a choice of tea, juice, or water. When I chose tea, she opened the kitchen drawer in response, revealing a space full of cartons in different colors and sizes. I chose peach as my next selection, fascinated by the number of options. I watched as dark orange swirls emerged from the sachet of my choice into the boiling water, eventually filling the whole cup. After she made peppermint for herself, we brought our cups to the living room. The top of the fireplace was lined with her school portraits over the years, the color of her glasses changing in each picture. We stayed there to work on the skit for our English class until her mom came home.

Until that first time at Victoria’s house, I only had tea that was earthy like barley or bitter like ginseng. I now knew that it could also have the same sweet flavors as candy. When I went to the grocery store with Mom that weekend, I put in the shopping cart cartons of tea I recognized from her kitchen drawer. At home, I admired the contrasting languages and colors of my newly stocked kitchen shelf, after I stacked my brand new peppermint, lemon and peach tea next to Mom’s choices from the Korean grocery store 40 minutes away.

I was an intermediate speaker of English. I knew the names of most people in my grade, but did not know what to say to learn more about them. I also said little about myself, except to say I go by June rather than Ji-yoo. As an icebreaker on the first day of class, I would share my family came from Korea for a better life. I did not know what else I would say about myself.

Thanks to the coincidence of being assigned partners that week, Victoria became my first American friend. I transformed into one of the main characters of a TV show I had been watching on Tuesday nights to learn the ways of the cool American teenager. I had someone to sit next to at lunch. On the bus rides to her house, we listened to songs on her iPod, connected by opposite ends of her white earphone. Getting ready for the semi-formal in her bedroom, I stared with wonder in the mirror as she wrapped my hair around her curling iron and let it spring free in the shape of a spiral. After she was finished, it was my turn to iron her dirty blond hair stick straight. Sometimes, we went to her basement to watch her favorite movies that I had not seen before because they were from my “Before America” years. This “as seen on TV” life continued until the summer, when she went to camp while I stayed up watching cartoons and playing video games with my brother.

The week before school started, my mom drove me to the house of her co-worker’s sister’s friend who was also an unlicensed hair stylist. In the basement that doubled as a makeshift hair salon, she worked to give a new magic straight perm that would tame my coarse, unruly hair for another year. As she sectioned my hair, I entertained myself with an old issue of Woman Sense, a long-running Korean anthology on celebrity scandals. After the final blow dry, I walked back outside and enjoyed the first burst of sunlight in nearly five hours. While waiting for Mom to pick me up, I called Victoria to see how many classes we had together. We only had two, but I was excited we had lunch in the same period again.

Before the first period on our first day back, I went to Victoria’s locker for a hug and saw another girl standing next to her. The other girl introduced herself as Alex, shaking my hand at the same time. She wore a gray sweatshirt with an image of crossed oars between “Mystic” and “Connecticut” printed in navy. I had not been there, but recalled other people at school wearing something with that name before.

At lunch, I learned Alex had met Victoria when they were both little. Later, she moved to New Jersey because of her father’s job. After moving back, she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Victoria again at the same camp where they met years ago. Victoria could not believe it either, of course. Hearing the conversation continue with excitement over something I had not been part of, I sensed this year would be different from last year’s. There would be no more coming over, staying over for dinner or doing each other’s hair for semi-formals.

After the first day, I said little other than greetings at the beginning and end of lunch. Meanwhile, Victoria and Alex talked about more things that I did not understand. There were talks of a boy from their biology class, tryouts for the basketball team and plans to share their lockers because they were on different floors. Filling my silence with another bite into my burger, I felt like I had been a placeholder for Alex. As I got my math homework out of my backpack as the next silence-filler, she suddenly talked to me for the first time that day.

“June, do you want to come?”

Embarrassed to admit I was not listening, I stared back, wide-eyed.

“Alex wants to have a party this Saturday to get to know everyone. There are going to be some familiar faces and… we’re going to try to sneak in some drinks too!” added Victoria.

As jealous as I was of Alex, I could not refuse the chance to go to my first party. For the rest of that week, I begged Mom to let me go, promising to never, ever drink no matter what, until she finally relented. I showed up in a red sweater and jeans, carefully selected from what I had worn to school at least once to avoid giving away how many outfits I had tried on in front of the mirror. Although I arrived just a few minutes after the party started, red plastic cups were already scattered alongside bags of tortilla chips across the kitchen counter and table.

Under the dim lighting, I didn’t recognize anyone I knew well enough to talk to. As I surveyed the rest of the house, I found Alex and Victoria sitting on the end of a couch in the living room, talking to a boy who I assumed was the one they had been talking about at lunch. Afraid to find out I wouldn’t be welcome, I stayed in the kitchen. I grabbed the red cup closest to me, not caring that someone else probably already drank from it. I tentatively took sips of the mystery drink inside, keeping my eyes on the cup to avoid eye contact with anyone who would notice I was standing by myself with no one to talk to. I contemplated leaving with no clear solution. It felt too soon to leave, but also too long to stand by myself. As my last move, I went upstairs for a quiet retreat.

There were already a few people here too, standing in twos and threes except a girl who was leaning against the wall with a drink in her hand. I was relieved to find someone else who was by herself like I was. I could talk to her and spare myself the humiliation of leaving my first party without having said a single word. As I contemplated what to say, she noticed me standing at the top of the staircase.

“Hey! I am Daniela.”

I felt at ease, noticing from the short sentence that she spoke with an accent like I did. I observed the rest of her, noticing her tight, dark curls and her tight, mauve t-shirt.

“I’m June.”

“Um, I came here because I am new and I don’t know anybody at school. But now, I don’t know what to do because… I don’t know anybody!”

That’s better than knowing everyone at school but not being friends with any of them. Keeping the thought to myself, I continued the conversation with an answer that would make me look more sociable.

“Well, now you know me! Where were you before?”

“I’m from Mexico.”

“Cool! I’m from Korea. I moved here three years ago.”

We then went on to talk about the countries we left behind. We shared what we missed and what we liked about our new lives. We learned that we lived just 15 minutes apart from each other.

“And by the way? This is awful,” said Daniela as she held up her plastic cup.

I agreed, the mystery drink was no good. Also, my promise to Mom was still secretly at the back of my mind.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Our journey to McDonald’s on foot was more arduous than expected. With our allowance that week close to depletion, it was the closest out of the few places we could afford. Most of the walk took place on roads with missing sidewalks, adding to the difficulty. We were out of breath well before the Golden Arch was within our sight, but also giddy from the excitement of our spontaneous quest and the anticipation that it would be the first of many more to come. Upon arrival, we ordered fries and chicken nuggets in the largest size that was within our budget and poured it on the tray to share.

With the reward of our quest finally before us, I felt the courage to tell her what I never told Victoria, starting with the real reason my family came to America. It wasn’t just to give me and my brother a better life, as I had written in my English papers and told at icebreakers on the first day of school, but also because my dad lost money from the financial crisis that happened two years before we moved. And speaking of my dad, it was just me, my brother, and mom at home, because he got tired of his new life in this country and went back to Korea by himself. He still called us once a week, because he missed us. Daniela’s family wasn’t very different from mine. Her dad worked night shifts at a liquor store downtown, just like my dad used to when he lived with us. Her mom worked as a cook at a Mexican restaurant I passed by every day on my way to school. She hoped to have her own business by the time Daniela went off to college. We both admitted we weren’t sure how much better our lives here were than what we had there. We also reassured each other one day, we will make it and our parents’ sacrifices will be worth it.

By the time we finished our last fry, I had decided that Daniela was worthy of knowing my real name. After hearing it for the first time, she repeated it back. She said Ji-yoo was a pretty name and that was what she would call me from now on. When our moms came to pick us up, we promised to come over to each other’s houses, maybe even have a sleepover if our parents let us. In bed that same night, I thought about Daniela. As I relived the joy I felt from finally meeting someone like me, I also wondered maybe this was what Victoria felt to see her childhood friend again. At that moment, it no longer hurt to think Victoria and I grew apart. She simply found someone else who understood her more, just as I did that day.

Next week, I invited Daniela to come to my house. For dinner, Mom placed bulgogi and braised chicken at the center of the table, while I put down vegetables of different colors and rice. Mom enjoyed the fascination in Daniela’s eyes as she saw one never-before-seen dish after another. After finding out the dinner was her first Korean meal, Mom promised to make her bibimbap next time and assured her she would have many more dishes to try after that. The week after, it was my turn to go to hers. As the visits continued, we reached the milestones we had been waiting for - our driver’s licenses, my dad’s return to the US, the grand opening of her mom’s restaurant and our college acceptance letters - and celebrated them together. Somewhere in between, I stopped thinking about what was American or how American I was. In becoming Daniela’s friend, I became just me.