1
Flower-Heart
I, Iris Wang, was born to be unlucky.
This is because I was born in the Year of the Tiger, and everyone in our Chinese family knows that girls born in Tiger Year are bad luck.
A flower-hearted Tiger girl, such as yours truly, means that I’m destined to pick loser boys and never listen to my parents. A flower-heart is someone who shows up hungover to her SATs and half-asses her college admission essays. She’s also addicted to Starbucks lattes, expensive makeup, and super-fun parties.
But a Tiger son born into the family is supposed to make a lot of money and bring honor to his family name. Total sexist bullshit, am I right? Maybe that superstition existed in China in the time of Confucius, but not in twenty-first-century America, where Siri and iPhones practically run our lives.
Can I tell you an embarrassing and hideous secret?
When I was born, I was covered with thick, abundant hair all over my entire body, like I was an actual tiger cub. According to my parents, I even had coarse hairs growing on my chin, forehead, and cheeks.
My mom likes to joke that I looked exactly like a hair ball spat out by a designer cat.
My dad says that two weeks before I was born, he dreamed that my mom had given birth to a tiger cub, but he’s deeply superstitious. He’s the kind of guy who checks with a feng shui master before buying a painting for the house or making a new friend. My dad was born in the Year of the Goat, so he believes that anyone who isn’t a farm animal, like his Tiger daughter—i.e., me—brings him bad luck. Before he could propose to my mom, who is a Zodiac Dog, he consulted the Chinese almanac. Then he hired a Chinese monk to work out the math and interview his future bride.
When my mom told him she was going to give birth to a Tiger, he was extremely worried. “A Dog and Goat for parents are no match for a Tiger!” he exclaimed.
When he found out that his tiger cub was going to be a girl, I think he actually cried from anxiety.
Anyway, I was lucky that a lot of my facial hair fell off by kindergarten. But it doesn’t explain the gross, extremely long mustachelike hairs that sometimes appear when I’m super stressed. These hairs sprout above my upper lip and even grow out of my ears. I swear, those hairs are like, my whiskers. Thank god for the invention of hair wax and affordable laser treatment.
Without deluxe Nair Wax Ready-Strips, I don’t think I could ever be seen in public during times of great personal duress.
That, and I have to blame my bad luck on my sometimes too-loving, overprotective parents. As soon as I was born, they took me to a famous fortune-teller who was visiting from China to ask her how to fix my life trajectory.
It all went wrong from the very beginning.
You see, the fortune-teller, Madame Xing, found a funny-shaped mole under my right eye and said it looked like a teardrop. Like I was born to be permanently crying.
“This flower-heart is no good,” she announced to my parents after a quick examination. My mom and dad were probably horrified and praying that they could send me back to the hospital and switch me for a Tiger boy.
It also didn’t help that I was one of those babies who was always crying and puking everywhere. My mom said that I just barfed on Madame Xing’s mink fur and she got flustered and started cussing nonstop. My dad swears that this was bad luck, as it offended a powerful fortune-teller, who must have put a double curse on me.
After our first and only fortune-telling session, Madame Xing cryptically said, “Keep both eyes on your Tiger daughter. If you take one eye off, she will bring shame on your family with her weak flower-heart.”
Whatever she said was true. Since I was born, I guess I was destined to be a flower-heart. I have a weakness for terrible choices and terrible boys.
This brings me to my current situation.
2
Earth to Iris
Why am I panicking? Why is my throat constricting like I have a supersize packet of spicy ramen noodles stuck inside it?
It’s okay, don’t panic, Iris. Don’t panic. Everything will be totally fine. It usually is.
Gasping, I take a swig of my extra-sugary latte and happen to glance down at my half-gnawed fingernails. I wince. The edges look super raggedy, like I’ve been clawing at the insides of my own personal coffin. I desperately need a manicure, even though I got one three days ago, and I also probably need another Venti-size Starbucks refill very soon.
But my iPhone dings again like an annoying reminder, and I sneak a peek at the screen.
It’s still there.
The alert hasn’t changed; it’s still the same automated message that has been dinging me for the past few weeks, updating me on my spending habits. I was hoping it would just magically stop. It’s an ongoing automated text message from the credit card company. Last year, my parents gave me an American Express card so I could easily pay the fees for online college admissions applications. Since the beginning of junior year, I’ve been using my credit card all the time. It’s so easy to buy anything and everything when all you have to do is tap or swipe. It’s like playing a real-life game of Sims, except that you get to physically touch and wear all the new clothes in your wardrobe.
Ding!
AMERICAN EXPRESS
Hello, this is a friendly alert to help you manage your spending. As you requested, your credit card statement is currently $6,512.96. Please call 1-800-746-3211 immediately if you suspect credit card fraud. Have a great day!
I let out a tiny, panicked whimper. But how can I have spent $6,512.96? It makes absolutely no sense. I think back to my spending for the month, and that Venti-size cup of black coffee, mixed with panic, surges up my throat. When was the last time I used my credit card?
This whole thing is a mistake. A scam for unsuspecting old people and desperate high school seniors.
I have been a victim of criminal fraud. How do I report this to the police?
How do I even tell my parents that I was scammed?
Then I finally remember, the guilt crashing through me like ill-timed nausea. My surprise plane tickets to Paris for Peter. Those were expensive, $850 each. Peter couldn’t go on the tenth-grade Europe trip a few years ago, and he always talked about how much he wanted to go to Paris with me after graduation. And I was going to surprise him tonight. But how could two economy tickets cost $6,512.96?
Did the online booking site steal my credit card number?
Then I also remember.
I bought flowers this morning, a pretty bouquet of soft purple irises for Peter. I was planning to give him my namesake flowers and present the plane tickets as his birthday/early graduation gift. It was going to be an incredibly romantic surprise.
Oh yes, and then there was the sparkly Vera Wang prom dress from Nordstrom that I needed to buy. I had to have those matching silver heels from Saks; desperately needed that glitter gel manicure from the new spa down the street, and basketfuls of makeup from Sephora.
I mean, what was I supposed to do? Not buy a single product? The lady who gave me my free makeup trial for prom had been incredibly nice.
Actually, come to think of it, I never wear eye shadow, so why did I buy six nude-colored eye shadows and three pairs of mink eyelashes? Who needs fake lashes that I can’t even glue on without poking myself in the eyeball? I can return the makeup, but where did I put the receipt?
And then there were all those super-late-night dinners with Peter at the Cheesecake Factory. I had paid for them, since he said he was super broke.