“Chocolate with cookie dough.”
Like I said.
I rule at this.
Mina tilts her cup toward me, and of course she’s one of those fundamentally confused people who mixes gummies with chocolate.
“So, Cassie said you go to Georgetown Day?” I feel tongue-tied.
“Yup. I’ll be a senior.”
“Us too. And you do photography?”
“You know everything!” she says.
Which makes me blush. I don’t know. I feel like a creeper. I always seem to know more about people than they know about me.
I feel an awkward silence blooming. I have to head it off at the pass. “Our friend Olivia does photography,” I say quickly.
“Oh, cool!” Mina says. “I mean, I’m really new at it. Will—you met him—the redhead. He’s actually super talented, but he’s teaching me the basics. He has this software where you can tweak the lighting and color on the images after you upload them. And he’s going to teach me how to do sun flares.” Mina pauses. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re—”
“I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous?” I ask.
She shrugs, smiling. “I don’t know. This feels so formal, right? Like, isn’t this weird? To put actual effort into becoming friends?”
“I guess so,” I say.
“My friends and I were never like, ‘Hey, let’s be friends.’ It’s more like, ‘Yeah, okay. You’re there and you’re cool.’”
“That’s literally what I said to Cassie in the womb,” I say.
She laughs, scratching an invisible spot on her arm. Which makes the sleeve of her shirt ride up, revealing the edge of a tattoo. I can’t quite make out what it’s a picture of. But seriously. This girl has a tattoo. And she’s in high school. I feel slightly inadequate.
Cassie slides in across from me.
“You take forever,” Mina says.
“Yes, but. Decisions.”
That’s Cassie. Every time we come here, she takes her flavor profile deadly seriously, but she always gets the exact same thing. Vanilla yogurt. And some type of gummy. MEMO TO CASSIE: all gummies taste the same. They honestly do.
“Okay, I have to finish telling you about my theory,” Cassie says. She shovels a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. “So, Molly, you missed this, but we were talking about ancestors.”
“Um, what?” I ask.
“Like, ancestors. Like, all your relatives who died before you were born.”
“Why were you talking about this?”
Cassie pauses, her spoon midair. “Oh. I don’t remember.”
“Well, first we were talking about sperm donation,” Mina says, “and whether or not your sperm donor’s relatives count as your relatives.”
“Right,” Cassie says. “But, okay, here’s my theory. You’ve got your ancestors, and they’re just hanging out in heaven or hell—FYI, this is not like a rabbi-endorsed, official tenet of Judaism.”
“I gathered that.” I smile a little.
“Right. So, here’s what I think. They’re sitting around, drinking ambrosia and everything.”
“This is definitely not rabbi-endorsed.”
She ignores me. “And then one of their descendants has a baby. And it’s you! And as soon as you’re born, for your whole life, your ancestors get to watch everything. And they’re rooting for you and discussing among themselves, but they’re not allowed to intervene. They just watch. It’s like a reality show.”
“A really, really boring reality show,” I say.
“Yeah, but it’s not boring to them, you know? Because you’re their descendant.” Cassie clasps her hands together. “So they’re invested.”
Mina purses her lips around her spoon and nods.
“And then when you eventually get old and die,” Cassie continues, “you show up in heaven, where you’re basically a fucking celebrity. And your ancestors are like, yeah, I was shipping you with that other girl, but it’s cool. And sorry you got old and died, though. And you’re like, yeah, that sucked, but you know.” Cassie shrugs. “And so then you actually become one of the ancestors, and the next time a baby is born, you get to watch everything. And the cycle continues.”
“That’s horrifying,” says Mina.
Cassie tilts her head. “How so?”
“Um, having a bunch of dead people watching you all the time? Watching you pee and have sex and masturbate. And, like, discussing it with each other?”
“Eww. No.” Cassie shakes her head quickly. “They’re not creepers. They’re not watching that stuff. And anyway, they have like a million descendants to keep up with, so it’s not like they can watch anyone that closely. It’s more like flipping through the channels.”
“But, see, that’s not what you said,” Mina argues, poking the air with her spoon. And I like this. I like watching Cassie get challenged. I think Cassie likes it, too.
“Well, I’m still tweaking the theory,” Cassie says, smiling.
“Good. Make sure no dead people are watching me pee,” Mina says. Then she glances at me and groans, covering her face. “God. Molly, you must think I only talk about peeing and labia.”
“That is true,” I say.
She sticks her tongue out at me.
And in that moment, I realize I might actually be becoming friends with this girl. That’s two legit new friends today, and it’s not even four thirty. Mina of the Labia and Middle Earth Reid. A pretty good day’s work. I feel myself smiling.
Cassie nods. “Okay, so let’s say certain things are censored. They’re not allowed to watch you in the bathroom or having sex or anything like that.”
“But you can’t just decide that,” Mina says. “This isn’t a reality show pitch. It’s a metaphysical theory.”
“But it’s my metaphysical theory.” Cassie sniffs.
I roll the idea around in my head for a moment. It’s funny—I think I actually like it. I find it strangely comforting. I guess it’s nice to imagine a roomful of people caring about what happens to you. Rooting for your happiness. They’d be pissed off when someone was a jerk to you. They’d want your crush to like you back. They’d want all twenty-six of them to like you back.
You would matter. That’s the thing. I get into this weird place sometimes where I worry about that. I’ve never told anyone this—not my moms, not even Cassie—but that’s the thing I’m most afraid of. Not mattering. Existing in a world that doesn’t care who I am.
It’s this whole other level of aloneness.
And maybe it’s a twin thing. I have never truly been alone in the world. I think that’s why I fear it.
“They’re watching us right now,” Cassie says. She tilts her face to the ceiling. “Hey, ancestors. You guys should try fro yo. It’s the best.” She gives them a thumbs-up.
Mina buries her face in her arms and just laughs.
OF COURSE, MINA IS THE only thing Cassie wants to talk about for the rest of the week—anytime we’re alone together, anytime our moms aren’t around. She slides onto the couch beside me on Friday, just as I’m settling in to watch Teen Mom.
“Did you know Mina’s Korean?” she asks. “Korean American, actually.”
“Yup, you mentioned that.”
“So, like, her parents were born here, but she has relatives in South Korea, and she’s taking a trip there in August. I think she’s going to do a photography project.”
I mean, I’m not one of those people who can’t handle commentary during TV shows—but it should be commentary about the TV show. For example: I am completely cool with Nadine ranting about the rat-faced, why-are-they-so-virile, why-do-you-even-watch-this baby dads.
Cassie leans back, legs in a pretzel. “And she really likes penguins.”
Penguins. No respect for the baby dads.
“I’m glad she likes penguins.”