Pool. The Jacuzzi twins. Japanese Zen garden. Meditation hut. Tennis court. The beach in the distance.
She leaned farther forward to zero in on the dish of gourmet dog kibble she’d left on the pool deck. Still full. Obviously, the dirt-colored puppy was just gone for good. She’d posted its photo on various pet websites, too, and there had been no hits. Blurg.
Her newly lightened mood grew a little heavier again.
Downstairs, the front door opened and shut. Was it the cleaning lady? If so, she was a day early; she usually came on Tuesdays.
Binx stepped into the hallway. “Helloooo?” she called out loudly. “Kathy?”
“Hi, Binxy, it’s me!”
Her mother? What was she doing home?
Binx went downstairs, her mood deteriorating by the second. Yoko Yamada stood in the foyer dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, riffling through a handful of mail.
“Why aren’t you teaching?”
Yoko chuckled. “Hello to you, too. I teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Okay, bye!”
“Bye? Where are you going?”
“Back upstairs. I’m in the middle of a, um, homework thing.”
“Binxy.”
“What?”
“How are you doing? You must be feeling so awful about that girl from your school. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope. I’m coping just fine, thanks,” Binx lied.
“Are you sure?”
“Yup.”
Yoko reached out and tucked a strand of pink hair behind Binx’s ear. Then she stepped back and gave Binx’s pink miniskirt and Jigglypuff T-shirt a once-over. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind a piece of friendly advice?”
“Actually, I do.”
“You’re sixteen.” Yoko plunged on. “So I don’t want to dictate what you should wear—”
“Then don’t.”
“—or how you should spend your free time—”
“Again, don’t.”
“—but honestly, and I’m saying this because I’m your mom and I love you. I don’t understand why you feel the need to succumb to these superficial Asian American stereotypes. Dressing like that”—she waved at Binx’s outfit—“and your obsession with anime and video games. You’re better than that.”
“Wow, this is so none of your business.”
“I’m trying to help you. You have a brilliant mind. Your grades are excellent. You could be an academic if you wanted.”
“I would rather become a circus clown than do what you do, no offense to circus clowns.”
Yoko drew her lips into a tight, thin line. Binx could practically hear her counting to ten in her head, although not in binary because she wasn’t cool like that.
“Perhaps it’s your father’s influence.”
“Please leave him out of this.”
“You’ve always been obsessed with him, with his work… although I’m not sure how churning out a bunch of mindless, violent video games can be called ‘work.’”
“O-kay. This conversation is so over. Bye now.”
“Binxy—”
“I’ll be busy for the next couple of hours, so don’t bother me, please.”
Before Yoko could reply, Binx ran up the stairs, two at a time, and into her room.
“Obex,” she said. The doorknob turned and made a clicking noise.
Finally. Freedom.
If Binx had been interested in having a real conversation with Yoko (which she never would, ever), she would have told her that one, she legit liked the K-pop fashion, the anime, and the video games. She wasn’t pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And, two, she used her image as armor, as a disguise. As long as people thought of her as a “shallow Asian girl” with “shallow Asian-girl tastes,” they wouldn’t suspect what lay beneath the surface—i.e., a powerful cyber-witch.
So whenever someone at school said something idiotic to her (“Is Binx a popular name in Korea?” “Do they like Pokémon in China?”), she just shrugged and smiled and made a kawaii hand heart gesture. She didn’t throw shade at them or kick them in the shins because they thought all Asian countries were the same, or because they assumed that she wasn’t “really American,” and that her cultural touchstones were from “over there” instead. She turned their ignorance and bigotry into currency, into a secret weapon. You have no idea, she would think as she passed them by.
(Also, FYI—For Yoko’s Information—Binx liked Witchworld for Witchworld, and not because Stephen Kato—her dad and CEO of Skyy Media and Yoko’s husband before their bitter, bitter divorce—was its creator.)
Binx listened for a moment at the door. Her mother had not followed her upstairs. Good.
A quick glance through the pink beaded curtains… still no mutt. Fine, whatever. Binx sat down at her desk and put on her noise-canceling headphones. She would spend a little time on her project for ShadowKnight now. She also needed to get back to her other projects, like finding out if there were other witches in Sorrow Point. She wanted to do some digging on the Jessups and New Order, too.
She’d already come up with a few ideas for adjustments to ShadowKnight’s genealogy app. As she implemented them now, the program spat out a list of names. Patricia Meeks, Dominick Trovato, Eleanor Guzman, Norman Smythe, and Adelita Suarez. Binx sat up a little straighter. Nice! Did that mean the app was working? But after a moment, the names shimmered and disappeared. Did that mean the app wasn’t working? She opened her note-taking app on her phone and quickly typed in the names before she forgot them.
A faint knocking sound permeated the silence. Binx groaned and whipped off her headphones. Her mother was at her door. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!” she yelled.
“Binx, it’s me.”
Ridley?
“Just a sec!”
She reverse-obexed the door. Ridley walked in, rainbow-waving.
“Your mom let me in. She told me you were up here.”
Binx sized up her friend. She looked tired, and her eyes were bloodshot.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“How’s your flu?”
Ridley shrugged. “Better. You said you wanted to talk to me in person, so here I am. I figured I couldn’t just lie around in bed forever.”
“Actually, you could, but then you’d miss out on so much. Like our excellent trips to the mall.”
“Good point. Hey, is that a new lipstick?”
“Shut up.”
“No, it’s pretty.”
“Um, thanks. So are you okay? I was worried.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’m not really okay, but I’m managing. Sort of. Kind of.” Ridley sniffled. “I really liked Penelope.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Binx
