“Stop it. You’re creeping me out.” Mira snatched her hands away and stood up. “Can I ask you something, Ma? Do you feel persecuted?”

Mrs. Park stared back blankly.

“When we were studying the legacy of slavery, a boy in my class asked a really interesting question. He said, ‘Why aren’t there great Asian American chroniclers of suffering?’ He meant that the Jews have their Holocaust museums, and African Americans have Frederick Douglass and Hurricane Katrina, but Asians don’t really have anyone. Like, George Takei’s kind of upbeat. And I got to thinking maybe you could be our spokesperson, Ma. Because you’re so gifted at grievance.”

Mrs. Park covered her mouth with her hand. “You say garbage, Mira!” She buried her face in her hands, and began sobbing.

Mira was startled by the power of her words. She was only funning.

Rosemary crept into the house just then, Driving for Idiots tucked under her shirt.

“Ma? What’s wrong?” Rosemary glowered at her sister. “What did you do? What did you say to her?”

“Nothing.” Mira backed away from the couch. “I asked her a rhetorical question and she misunderstood me. You know how it is.”

Rosemary followed Mira into her room, plunging her nails into Mira’s arm.

“Ow! Quit that! You’re hurting me!”

“What did you say to her?”

“I asked if she felt persecuted. I know it sounds totally cruel out of context but . . .”

Rosemary closed the door behind Mira.

“Listen to me,” she hissed. “We’re in a really, really delicate situation here. I’m not sure you realize how serious this is. That woman, a.k.a. our mother, wants to take us to Korea, where we will both suffer grievously and, like, never meet our fullest potential. Now, can you get that into your thick skull?”

“I have that inside my head every second of every day!” Mira wriggled to get out of her sister’s iron grip. Rosemary released her, and Mira fell against the bed. “I’m going to get bruises from this, I swear. People at school will think I have an uncle who rapes me. And I’ll say I do.”

“Can you be serious for one minute? I know you’re going stir crazy here but we have to keep Ma calm or she might actually go through with this.”

“I’ll probably just kill myself.” Mira grinned, her braces gleaming. “Seriously.”

“Don’t talk like that. The last thing we need is another irrational freak-out in this house. Right now, from what I can tell, it looks like she’s having no luck getting someone to, I don’t know, take us in.”

“Why am I not surprised? That woman has no people skills whatsoever. Couldn’t we put ourselves up for adoption? Couldn’t some rich gay couple in New York adopt us? Couldn’t we say we’re poor girl babies from China?”