Read Online Fresh Off the Boat by Melissa de La Cruz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa de La Cruz
Ads: Link
“I have to help my mom at the cafeteria.” School let out at three, and just that morning my parents broke the news that from now on I was expected to help cover the six o’clock dinner rush. We had started to close a little later on weeknights to take advantage of the mall food court closing at five.
“ Tant pis . Next time.” She kissed me on both cheeks, something I was still getting used to, and drove off down the hill, waving. “A bientôt, chérie!”
“Au revoir!” I chéried back, blowing multiple kisses to the wind.
“Those two are such freaks,” I heard Georgia say behind my back. I refused to turn around, because I didn’t want her to know I had heard, and I didn’t want to hear Whitney agree with her. I was too embarrassed because I believed they were right.
WWW.WELOVECLAUDECALIGARI.COM
Heads up people! Sighted at Rock and Bowl on Wednesday night, C.C. himself with a big group. Was that Stacey Bennett with another hickey? Did Tuna and Trish hook up over malted milk shakes? Who cares? Is this site called welovetuna.com? Nooo. We hear C.C. scored a big 240! Not just a great lacrosse forward but the guy to beat on the lanes, too! Our sources tell us he has a new girlfriend, as yet undisclosed. Maybe it’s one of the Gros girls in his geometry class? Has Monty gone coed? Hell, no! But a few lucky gals are being shipped over for math class. Talk about higher education! So keep your eyes peeled, chiquitas! And check out the latest pics from the Montclair vs. Warrington game! Hubba-hubba, hottie!
7
The Reality of Another Weekend at Home
O N THE RIGHT - HAND TV screen, a blond, overweight woman in a tight-fitting bustier was arguing with her interior designer, a hyperkinetic gay man who was insisting she allow him to sew silk-screened portraits of her on her couch pillows; on the center screen, former celebrities were bickering over who had eaten the last of the yogurt in the fridge; and on the left screen, a real-estate mogul with a really bad comb-over was chewing out a group of sullen aspiring MBAs.
Our living room was home to three television monitors and VCRs—the better to tape reality shows with. As part of Dad’s import-export business, he exported VCR tapes of the latest American reality shows to Filipino video stores. Filipinos can’t get enough of the reality craze, and since local stations were so behind they were broadcasting only the second season of Survivor there was a thriving black market for newer, smuggledAmerican reality-television shows. I know, because I used to be a rabid consumer of the same. The video store at the megamall would always call the minute the latest episode of The Bachelor or American Idol arrived from the airport.
I never thought that I would be on the other end of the supply chain. My cousin Norbert owned one of the biggest video store chains in Manila, and Dad knew a friend who knew a friend who was a pilot on Philippine Airlines. Captain Punsalang could easily smuggle the tapes into the country, and a thriving cottage industry was born in our living room. I was the best taper in the family, meaning I could watch three different shows at once and expertly pause the VCRs when the commercials came on to create a seamless product. In fact, I was too good. We got a request from Norbert saying that his customers actually wanted us to keep the commercials in. It turned out people were just as fascinated by the latest advertising campaigns as by the shows themselves. Filipinos had just discovered rotisserie barbecues.
One thing about Filipinos—we love trends. When the ballroom-dancing craze swept the nation, everyone from eighty-year-old grandmothers to second-graders learned how to foxtrot, cha-cha, and tango. My friend Con-con’s mother left her dad for her twenty-two-year-old ballroom dancing teacher. When pashminas were in vogue, we swathed ourselves in thosewoolly wraps in every color—regardless of the outside temperature. You would walk around the
“ Tant pis . Next time.” She kissed me on both cheeks, something I was still getting used to, and drove off down the hill, waving. “A bientôt, chérie!”
“Au revoir!” I chéried back, blowing multiple kisses to the wind.
“Those two are such freaks,” I heard Georgia say behind my back. I refused to turn around, because I didn’t want her to know I had heard, and I didn’t want to hear Whitney agree with her. I was too embarrassed because I believed they were right.
WWW.WELOVECLAUDECALIGARI.COM
Heads up people! Sighted at Rock and Bowl on Wednesday night, C.C. himself with a big group. Was that Stacey Bennett with another hickey? Did Tuna and Trish hook up over malted milk shakes? Who cares? Is this site called welovetuna.com? Nooo. We hear C.C. scored a big 240! Not just a great lacrosse forward but the guy to beat on the lanes, too! Our sources tell us he has a new girlfriend, as yet undisclosed. Maybe it’s one of the Gros girls in his geometry class? Has Monty gone coed? Hell, no! But a few lucky gals are being shipped over for math class. Talk about higher education! So keep your eyes peeled, chiquitas! And check out the latest pics from the Montclair vs. Warrington game! Hubba-hubba, hottie!
7
The Reality of Another Weekend at Home
O N THE RIGHT - HAND TV screen, a blond, overweight woman in a tight-fitting bustier was arguing with her interior designer, a hyperkinetic gay man who was insisting she allow him to sew silk-screened portraits of her on her couch pillows; on the center screen, former celebrities were bickering over who had eaten the last of the yogurt in the fridge; and on the left screen, a real-estate mogul with a really bad comb-over was chewing out a group of sullen aspiring MBAs.
Our living room was home to three television monitors and VCRs—the better to tape reality shows with. As part of Dad’s import-export business, he exported VCR tapes of the latest American reality shows to Filipino video stores. Filipinos can’t get enough of the reality craze, and since local stations were so behind they were broadcasting only the second season of Survivor there was a thriving black market for newer, smuggledAmerican reality-television shows. I know, because I used to be a rabid consumer of the same. The video store at the megamall would always call the minute the latest episode of The Bachelor or American Idol arrived from the airport.
I never thought that I would be on the other end of the supply chain. My cousin Norbert owned one of the biggest video store chains in Manila, and Dad knew a friend who knew a friend who was a pilot on Philippine Airlines. Captain Punsalang could easily smuggle the tapes into the country, and a thriving cottage industry was born in our living room. I was the best taper in the family, meaning I could watch three different shows at once and expertly pause the VCRs when the commercials came on to create a seamless product. In fact, I was too good. We got a request from Norbert saying that his customers actually wanted us to keep the commercials in. It turned out people were just as fascinated by the latest advertising campaigns as by the shows themselves. Filipinos had just discovered rotisserie barbecues.
One thing about Filipinos—we love trends. When the ballroom-dancing craze swept the nation, everyone from eighty-year-old grandmothers to second-graders learned how to foxtrot, cha-cha, and tango. My friend Con-con’s mother left her dad for her twenty-two-year-old ballroom dancing teacher. When pashminas were in vogue, we swathed ourselves in thosewoolly wraps in every color—regardless of the outside temperature. You would walk around the
Similar Books
