[Read] Hot Desk Extract: Rebecca Zhong - Underneath Kyle's Shirt

As part of The Wheeler Centre's Hot Desk Fellowship program, Rebecca Zhong worked on Underneath Kyle's Shirt – a personal ode to unhinged teenage girls and what she hopes will become her debut YA novel. While narratives centred on immigrant experiences often focus on adversity, Underneath Kyle's Shirt is nothing more than a fluffy YA romance, and that's precisely the point. For this project, Rebecca interrogates how she can subvert the immigrant story and use joy as an act of resistance. The narrative exists in a world where casual racism, sexism and social inequities exist – all of which are themes that this project touches – but just like any other teenager, these things aren't front of mind for these characters... capturing the interest of the hottest boy in school is.

 

^{Image by George Dagerotip}

While it seems somewhat convenient that I broke up with Eric the day after I met Kyle, it is nothing more than a coincidence. Besides, how could I have possibly predicted that Eric would take me to buy a new pair of shoes on a random Wednesday after school? 

When I tell Chloe the news over Facetime, she looks at me with an all-knowing smirk. Despite never having said anything, it was clear she wasn’t Eric's biggest fan. Shortly after we started dating, I asked Chloe point blank if she thought Eric was attractive. ‘He’s almost cute,’ she replied in a high-pitched squeal. It was clear she was fighting the urge to say something much meaner. 

While I don’t expect everyone to understand, there were plenty of things I liked about Eric. I liked how he had a constant register in his head of all my favourite snacks. I liked how he would talk me through my assignments and eventually finish them himself, as it was ‘just a bit easier’. I liked how he always ordered a side salad to help ease my IBS symptoms. I even liked how Eric ate the plate of wilting mesclun when I opted to finish the bowl of hot chips instead.

Looking back, though, I may be partially responsible for making Eric buy me shoes. I did choose to wear my Docs that morning, even though I knew they gave my flat hobbit feet blisters. I had considered selling them on Depop only a week earlier since they had been collecting dust in my wardrobe for months. But I just so happened to have a change of heart. 

Anyway, I need to stop making excuses. This is so like me, to take accountability for other people’s actions. A few days ago, I saw a YouTube video titled ‘How I stopped being a people pleaser’ on my recommended page. I scrolled right past it at the time, but maybe I should give it a watch. 

I texted Eric to meet me by the B block fountains between classes. I barely made it to photography before I noticed a water-filled blister forming on my heel. When I saw Eric approaching from a distance, I grabbed my Kosas lip oil from my skirt pocket and applied a thick layer. I got into character immediately, puffing my cheeks and pouting my lips. This never failed to bring a worried but affectionate expression to his face. 

‘Babe, is everything okay? I came as quickly as I could.’

I discovered this manoeuvre's charming effect on boys years ago during Sunday Chinese lessons when I desperately needed someone to finish my homework. Chloe coined it the 'distressed chipmunk’. I didn’t respond to Eric’s concerns right away. Instead, I stared down at my feet and turned them inwards, collapsing my shoulders as I did. I looked small enough to fit into Eric’s pockets.

‘I keep getting blisters on my heels. These Docs are taking ages to break in,’ I replied, whimpering. I peered up at Eric.

From his vantage point, my eyes took up over half my face. I knew this because Chloe and I took turns standing on chairs years ago to check out each other’s best angles. It was essential to understand how our future boyfriends would see us.

‘Yeah, they take a while to break in.’ Eric kissed my forehead and handed me a Band-Aid. ‘But wait, when did you get these? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear Docs.’ I paused for a second, unsure of the correct course of action. 

‘What do you mean?’ I began to whine. ‘I’ve been wearing these for weeks. You never notice anything about me!’

Eric gently rubbed my back, attempting to mellow my fake fit. As he did, I noticed some boys looking at us from across the courtyard, their eyebrows raised. What an odd pairing, I imagined them saying. I couldn’t help but smile. 

By the time school finished, I had developed a soft limp. It took me twice as long as usual to hobble over to Eric’s Prius in the school car park. When I eventually got there, I shut the car door, opened his glove box, and started rummaging through it. 

‘Did you get the –’ I started to say before finding the strawberry-flavoured pocky. I snapped three sticks in half and put them in my mouth all at once. The icing dissolved on my tongue, and I felt instantly revived. Eric looked over at me, amused. 

‘Yup, I even grabbed those lychee-flavoured jellies you like.’

‘Thank god,’ I replied as I picked up two. 

‘I just tried one. They’re all right, kinda plasticky? Mum was saying those Asian snacks have a whole bunch of chemicals.’

Eric’s mum is the kind of woman who would never admit she is racist. She just rubs her belly after ordering Chinese food and says something like oh, I’m just not used to these kinds of heavy foods your people eat. Never mind that she had just eaten a family serving of syrupy sweet and sour pork and lo mein noodles. I often thought about pulling out a bottle of Paul Newman’s salad dressing from the fridge and squirting it all over her cashmere sweater.

I imagined her flustered, struggling to keep her composure in front of her boys. ‘Oh goodness, I don’t think Napisan will get this one out,’ she’d wail, rushing to take the sweater off. 

Of course, I have never touched the Paul Newman’s dressing. Eric’s mum has always liked me. She even referred to me as ‘Eric’s lovely Chinese girlfriend’ to all the mums at Pilates.

I tilted my head back and squeezed the jellies out of their plastic moulds straight into my mouth.

‘More for me, I guess,’ I replied, mouth half full.