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Mama turns away and meets my eye in the mirror instead, as though it’s too much to look at me straight on. “When I leave Jakarta all those years ago, it was not a happy leaving.”

I kind of suspected that before, but hearing her say it is still a bit of a surprise. “Why? What happened?”

She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t mean to make you go through all this. I just wanted you to stop moping, you know? You lock yourself up in your room, not want to come out and explore the city…I thought maybe if I reply to this boy, then you might want to come out. And now we are all in Bali. I’m sorry, Shar. Mama is sorry.”

The only times that my mother has ever apologized were times when she had been absolutely cornered and was proven one hundred percent wrong. And then she’d snap, “I’m sorry,okay? You happy now? I’msorry.” Before stomping off and cleaning the house very aggressively.

I’ve never heard her apologize like this. Like she means it, like her heart is heavy with guilt. And I hate it. This is not my fiery mom. This mom is soft and vulnerable and I don’t know how to deal with how exposed this makes me feel. How dangerously close it makes me to bursting into tears and clinging to her like a toddler. So I do the only thing I know how to.

I piss her off.

“Yeah, well. Maybe if you hadn’t ruined my life by kidnapping me all the way to this shithole, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Sharlot—”

“My life was good before you decided to destroy it,” I say, getting even angrier because now I’m seriously hating myself and I hate that I’m like this toward her, but that feeling only makes me want to lash out even more. “And you know what? I can’t wait to go back to California and get the hell out of the house, because I can’t wait to leave you.”

I might as well have hit her. She straightens up, her mouth thinning into that familiar tight line, anger and hurt etched painfully into her features. Without another word, she walks away. I can’t bear to look at my own reflection, so I look down at the vanity table, where I see that I’m white-knuckling one of Kiki’s makeup brushes. Deep inhale. And exhale.

God, I was beastly to her. I didn’t mean to be. I don’t know why I felt a need to lash out like that, to hurt her. Why am I likethis?

I can’t stand being inside the villa, its air thick with tension and sharp edges. I can practically feel Kiki listening in from the other room, and I don’t want to have to talk about how horrible I am to her. Grabbing my phone and my purse, I duck out of the bedroom and barely glance at Kiki before rushing out.

Twenty minutes before the first interview is due to begin, I walk over to Sharlot’s villa. I’m about to ring the doorbell when the door swings open and Sharlot rushes out so fast that she crashes into my arms.

“Whoa, you okay?” I grip her arms tight out of instinct and she jerks away like my touch burned her.

“George!” She blinks at me, and I realize that her eyes are shining with tears.

I feel a protective urge come over me. “What’s going on?”

She walks briskly away from the villa and I have to hurry to catch up with her. “Wait up.” When I fall into step beside her, I say, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

She lets out a long, frustrated breath. We turn a corner and find a bench under a plumeria tree. Sharlot sits down and buries her face in her hands, and I sit down next to her, wondering what the hell to say. After a while, she says, “It’s nothing. Just my mom.”

“Ah.” Okay, now I really don’t know what to say, so I just look down at my hands.

Sharlot lets out a little gasp and says, “Shit, I’m so sorry, George. I forgot that your mom is—um. Yeah. Damn it, I’m such an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. She passed away a long time ago, so.” I don’t know why I said that. It’s so stupid. It doesn’t matter how long ago my mom passed away, I still miss her every day. “Um, anyway, my dad’s kind of a lot, so I get it.” Then it’s my turn to grimace. Her dad’s out of the picture, idiot. Argh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Shalor laughs, the tension going out of her shoulders. “Oh my god, how are the two of us so bad at this?”

“I swear I’m not normally this terrible at talking to other people,” I say. “Okay, can we please have a do-over?”

“Deal.” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “So. I just got into a huge fight with my mom, and honestly? I was such a huge dick toward her. But I’ve just been so mad at her. Like, she whisked me away from Cali to spend my entire summer here without any warning.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah! And all my friends probably think it’s the saddest thing, spending the summer in a Third World country.” She pauses. “Sorry, that was so offensive. Argh. I’m sorry, I’m just—my head’s a mess.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m used to foreigners thinking we live in huts or something.”

Sharlot gives a guilty grimace and is quiet for a while. “It’s…been really different from what I expected. Indonesia is a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Hell, parts of it are more well-developed than LA. Not that I’ll ever admit that to my mom. I still can’t believe she dragged me all the way here.”

“Why not? She obviously loves Indonesia. I saw the way her face lit up when she was served gado-gado on the flight here.” Sharlot’s eyes widen, and for a moment, I forget what I was about to say. At the risk of sounding like an idiot, Sharlot is really pretty. Her eyes are very symmetrical, her nose turns up at a pleasing angle, and her mouth is very proportionate to the rest of her face. Okay, so maybe I’m not the best at describing facial features. I make myself continue. “Your mom kind of squeaked and was like, ‘Oh my god, gado-gado!’ I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over a bowl of what’s essentially salad.”

A little laugh escapes Sharlot’s mouth. “Yeah, I guess she does get excited over Indonesian food. Or anything Indonesian, for that matter.” She frowns. “Ugh, you’re right. She’s obviously having the time of her life here. I should probably pull my head out of my ass and be nice to her or whatever.”