Rule No. 1: Don’t be too emotional : Chapter 43

Being a male is a matter of birth.

Being a man is a matter of choice

Edwin Louis Cole

I jumped so hard I fell off the bed onto the rug. P’Jane kept knocking, his voice growing stern.

“Jane, open up! Quick!” Oh no. Don’t tell me he came because I called his name three times in my head. I scrambled to hide the evidence, tossed the tissues, shoved on some pants, and lunged for the door.

“What’s wrong? Why are you up so late?” I asked, trying to look normal, though my heart was still thumping from… well, from what I was doing five minutes ago.

“Turn that music down first,” P’Jane said irritably. I realized my music was still blaring. I killed the track and ran back.

“It’s done. What happened?”

“Jamie is very sick. I heard him vomiting. Didn’t you hear anything?” I shook my head, feeling a wave of guilt. I’d been playing the music too loud to hear a child in pain.

“The medicine isn’t working,” P’Jane said.

“We have to take him to the hospital right now.” I grabbed my phone to bolt out, but P’Jane blocked the doorway with his arm. He looked me up and down.

“Change your clothes first, Jane. That pajama top is too thin to wear outside.”

“Oh! Right. I’ll change now.” In my haste, I whipped my shirt off right there. I threw on a thick blue t-shirt and swapped my pajama bottoms for grey joggers.

“Okay, let’s go! P’Jane?” I was confused by his face. A second ago he was rushing me; now he looked like he’d been hit by a freezing spell. When we got to Jamie’s room, I forgot everything else. The boy was covered in hives from head to toe, even on his scalp. He was curled in agony, whimpering for his mother. P’Jane looked shaken, too. P’Jane scooped Jamie up and sprinted down the stairs. Within five minutes, we were in a white BMW, P’Jane driving like a maniac toward the nearest hospital. I held Jamie on my lap the whole way, whispering that he’d be okay. At the ER, the doctor questioned us. P’Jane rattled off every single thing we ate for dinner without missing a dish: honey-roasted pork, shrimp cakes, and stir-fried noodles with shrimp.

“He’s likely having an allergic reaction to the shrimp,” the doctor concluded.

“Sometimes it’s not the shrimp itself, but the chemicals used in the farm feed. Fresh sea shrimp might be fine, but farmed freshwater shrimp can trigger this.” While P’Jane called the cook, a nurse came out.

“The patient won’t let us draw blood. Can a relative help?” I stepped inside the curtain. Jamie was sobbing, terrified of the needle.

“Jamie, shhh. The nurse wants to help you,” I said softly in Thai and English.

“You’re a strong boy. This is a piece of cake.”

“But I’m scared!”

“Don’t be scared. Lil’ Jane is here. And look who else… ” I pulled out the white rabbit doll.

“Miss Piano is with you tonight. She traveled all this way to give you support.” Jamie clutched the doll and let the nurse draw blood. The doctor said if we had been any later, he would have ended up in the ICU. Once the IV antihistamines kicked in, Jamie’s breathing steadied and the hives began to fade. Later, Jamie clutched the doll and asked, “She’s so cute! Can I keep her?”

“No,” P’Jane interrupted.

“It doesn’t belong to you. Jane just let you borrow it.”

“Her name is Miss Piano!” Jamie snapped at his brother.

“C’mon, it’s just a doll. Why does it need a name?”

“She’s a girl! Don’t call her ‘it’!” P’Jane ruffled Jamie’s hair aggressively.

“You must be feeling better if you’re talking back. You scared the whole house, you little brat.” He took the doll and handed it back to me.

“Enough. You’re nine years old, pumpkin head. Boys don’t play with dolls.” I felt a surge of disagreement. That is so backward, I thought. Anyone can play with dolls or wear pink. It felt like P’Jane was trying to mold a “Mini Jane Patrick”-tough, stoic, and emotionless.

“Why do you keep calling him pumpkin head? It doesn’t sound nice,” I said.

“And why are you so sensitive?” P’Jane asked Jamie.

“Are you a real Palakorn? Because Palakorns aren’t emotional.”

“I am a real Palakorn!” Jamie screamed, his face red with anger. I stepped in.

“I disagree. Boys can play with dolls and cry if they’re sad. Jamie, you can play with Miss Piano whenever you come to my room.” Jamie giggled.

“I love that idea.” P’Jane rolled his eyes and walked out to smoke. A few days later, JP went to pick Jamie up from school. When Jamie appeared, his face was bruised-a black eye and a red mark on his cheek.

“What the fuck? Who did this to you?” JP growled.

” Harry said you’re a fucking fag,” Jamie whispered

. JP froze.

“What?”

“He saw you and Lil’ Jane on the boat. He saw the way you looked at each other. He said I’m the brother of a fag, so I deserved to be punched.” JP hadn’t been this angry in years. He dragged Jamie to-find the bully. They found a large boy named Harry pulling a little girl’s hair.” Hey, Harry Potter,” JP shouted.

“Why don’t you fight someone your own size?” JP grabbed the bully by the collar and dragged him toward the riverbank. He lifted the boy up over the water as if he weighed nothing.

“Good spot to throw someone in, don’t you think? No one can see us.” Harry started crying, eventually wetting his pants in terror.

“Disgusting,” JP muttered, dropping him on the ground. He leaned in close.

“Don’t tell your parents. Don’t tell anyone. And stop bullying my brother. Or else… ” He lifted the back of his shirt, revealing the black handle of a handgun tucked into his waistband.

“I will kill you for sure.” On the drive home, JP told Jamie, “Next time someone punches you, punch back. Then come home and tell me how hard you hit them. Don’t be scared. Jane Patrick has your back.”

“JP, you’re the coolest!” They stopped at a secluded plot of land JP owned. He took four watermelons from the trunk and set them up on stakes. Then, he handed a small handgun to the nine-year-old.

“Hold it like this. Careful, it’s loaded.” Jamie’s hands shook.

“I can’t! I’m only nine!”

“Age doesn’t matter,” JP said coldly.

“But cowardice does. You let that fat kid beat you. You want to grow up a loser?”

“I’m not a loser!”

“Then fire the gun. Or I’ll take you home and buy you a doll. What was it? Little Miss Piano?” BANG! Jamie fired. He missed, but he fired.

“Do it again. Aim through the shot. Keep aiming even after the smoke clears,” JP whispered in his ear. BANG! The watermelon exploded. Jamie cheered, his eyes bright.” I did it! JP, did you see?”

“Yeah. You’re my brother, after all.” JP ruffled his hair.

“Let’s keep this a secret between us. Don’t tell anyone. Especially not your babysitter.” Jamie bumped fists with his older brother and replied in a bright voice, “Sure.”