Free Behind the Moon by Hsu-Ming Teo

there.’
    ‘Tien, don’t,’ Justin said, pulling her arm gently. ‘Gibbo couldn’t have done anything. It might’ve made things worse.’
    She burst into tears and Justin hugged her, patting her back and soothing her. She cried because, for a moment, when it all started, she was simply glad that it was Justin who had been targeted and not her. She was not certain that she would have spoken up if she hadn’t known Justin. If he were a complete stranger, she might just have sat there and looked out the window; she would have thanked god it wasn’t her and pretended it wasn’t happening. Just like the other passengers.
    ‘Come on. Let’s walk,’ Justin said.
    They wandered along North Terrace until they reached the Torrens River. They had to split up there because Tien wanted to try out the pedal boats, which only seated two people. Gibbo clambered into a yellow boat and held out his hand for Tien. She avoided his eyes and climbed into Justin’s boat instead.
    Gibbo sat in his boat and watched as they pulled away from him, their two black-haired heads bending towards each other. A south-to-north magnetic attraction of Asians. He could claim to be Chinese and toss off Cantonese phrases and Singaporean exclamations, but he knew he would never be picked on like Justin or Tien because, no matter how Asian he felt inside, he looked white.
    It wasn’t a turning point in their friendship. Not exactly. Nor a defining moment, either. Life simply did not have sufficient clarity. Perhaps it was just the onset of awkwardness among them and the feeling that, for whatever reason, he was being left behind.

A Fistful of Happiness in the Front Seat of a Car
    We chanced to meet—and ever since
    I have in secret yearned and pined for you.
    My slender frame has wasted—who’d have thought that I could linger on to see this day?
    For months I dreamt my goddess in the clouds;
    lovelorn, I hugged my post, prepared to drown.

    Nguyen Du, The Tale of Kieu

    Linh was jealous of Annabelle Cheong in a way she hadn’t been of Gillian Gibson, even though Tien continued to give Gillian Mother’s Day cards. She knew that Tien gave lots of women Mother’s Day cards: herself, Gillian, AiVan, Phi-Phuong, and Annabelle. Her daughter was sweet that way. Gillian might have tutored Tien and thrown her birthday parties as a child, but Gillian was white; she was too different to be a threat. Annabelle, however, was Asian. Linh compared herself to Annabelle, and she felt inferior.
    Annabelle was not as educated as Linh, but she was still middle-class. She and Tek had migrated as much-needed professionals; they had not arrived on sufferance as refugees. She lived in an amazingly ugly, spacious, airconditioned concrete mansion in Strathfield and employed a cleaner and a gardener. Linh did her own cleaning and gardening. Once a week, she went and cleaned other people’s homes for extra cash. She was not bitter about this, but she felt wounded that Tien should esteem the Cheongs so highly and prefer their company to her own.
    ‘After all, she cannot help you with your homework the way Mrs Gibson does,’ Linh told Tien. ‘The woman’s English is awful.’
    ‘She’s so cool. I love the way she talks lah ,’ Tien said. ‘So does Gibbo.’
    ‘Ong Ngoai will be disappointed,’ Linh said. ‘He was always particular about our language. You come from educated people. Our family was well respected in Saigon.’
    But Tien did not want to know about the past. ‘Ancient history,’ she said impatiently, waving it away with a dismissive gesture. ‘Anyway, the Cheongs are not running a school. I’m not going over there to be educated. I just like hanging out there. Mr Cheong has the most amazing gadgets. Huge TV. Video camera. Computer and video games. Even a karaoke machine.’
    ‘Why would anyone want a karaoke machine?’ her mother wondered. Then she added doggedly, ‘You should be studying.’
    After that, Tien did not see much of her mother for