Free Harsh Pink with Bonus Content by Melody Carlson

her home.
    “Do you want me to help you into the house?” I offer.
    “No,” she says in a raspy voice. “I’m okay.”
    “Take care,” I say as she gets out. “And drink some juice or something before you go to bed. I’ve heard that too much alcohol can really dehydrate a person. Maybe have some Gatorade or something, okay?”
    She gives me a weak smile. “Thanks, Reagan. You’re a real friend.”
    I nod and wave, thinking, No, I’m not a real friend. I’m more like a real phony. Then I drive away and try not to think about it.
    ***
     
    Although I’m Chinese by birth, I am truly 100 percent American. It’s all I’ve ever known and all I can relate to. Even so, I think I may have some Chinese — rather, Buddhist — traits. Not in a religious sort of way, since I think of myself as generally nonreligious, but more in a philosophical sort of way. My only explanation for this is DNA — meaning I think my Chinese DNA is compatible with Buddhism. All this to say that since I was a little girl, my way to make up for my mistakes has always been to work very hard. It’s part of Buddhism to believe you can replace bad with good. For instance, when I was about seven I broke an antique rocking chair by doing a gymnastic trick. I swept the kitchen, vacuumed the carpet, washed dishes, folded laundry, all sorts of domestic things. Whatever it takes to balance the scales. For the most part this has worked for me. But sometimes it makes me really, really tired.
    Like today. Even though I went to bed quite late last night and this is Saturday, I got up early this morning to do chores. I know this is partly because I feel guilty for going to a drinking party, something Mom would not approve of, but also because I feel guilty that I’ll be leaving Jocelyn out in the cold by going to the mall with Kendra today. Of course, Jocelyn is clueless, and I’m sure she’s still sleeping off her night of boozing. I warned her to take it easy last night. I told her she’d had too much. But, no, she wanted to “partay!” And look where that got her.
    Anyway, as I fix Nana some breakfast, clean up her messes, do a few loads of laundry, change Nana’s sheets, and fix her a lunch for later, I somehow convince myself that all this work makes things right. By the time Kendra pulls into my driveway around noon, I’m convinced my slate is clean.
    “Have fun,” calls Nana as I sprint for the door. I hurry because I don’t want to take any chances of Kendra or the others getting close enough to my house to gaze inside and see anything. Not that it looks bad. It doesn’t. But Nana is so unpredictable. She could say or do anything. It’s just not worth the risk.
    Kendra has the top down on her pale blue BMW convertible. She and Sally are in the front seat and Meredith is tucked into the back.
    “Hop in,” says Kendra, and I assume she means literally since no one is opening a door. So I start to climb over.
    “Hang on,” says Sally in a somewhat snooty tone. “I was about to open the door, Reagan!”
    “Oh.” I attempt a small laugh at my own expense and wait as she slowly opens the front door, then pops the front seat forward just enough so that I can barely squeeze in. Kendra wasn’t kidding about the size of her car. Five girls would be like sardines in here.
    “Good thing none of my friends are fat,” says Kendra as she backs out. “Hang on, girls!” Then she squeals her tires down the street and I hope Nana’s not watching from the front window, because I know she’d worry that I’ll be killed.
    I wish I could relax and enjoy this. I mean, it’s a beautiful fall day, and riding in a convertible with friends could be such fun. But I know these girls aren’t really my friends. At least not yet. I hope to win them over, to make them my friends. Being on their side would make my life so much easier. But I know I have to be on my guard. I have to watch every step, every word. And I especially have to watch for any