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It’s not long before there’s an even larger mob gathered around us.

One of the aunties takes my hand and pats it. “Wah, cantik, ya?”So pretty.I smile just as she says, “Mancung sekali.” One of the remaining effects of Western colonization in Asia is that we still hold everyone up to a Westernized beauty standard. Indonesians are so obsessed with Western features that they even have a whole word that means “sharp or pointy nose, or nose that isn’t flat”—mancung. It’s meant as a compliment, but I feel like burying myself in a hole as more and more aunties surround us and make unfettered comments about my looks as though I’m not even here. One of them touches my hair, another one pinches my cheek and tells me howputih bersih—“white and pure”—my skin is. Which is…cringe-worthy.

“Ow, ow, okay, enough of this,” I say, batting away the aunties.

Their eyes widen like I’ve just slapped them in the face. I have a feeling I’ve just committed an actual crime. At once, their demeanor turns cold, their gazes switching from interest to condescension. It’s clear what they’re thinking: How dare she talk back to her elders? My insides shrivel up.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly say. “I—uh—”

George waves at someone in the crowd and says, “Sorry, aunties, we should go say hi to Eighth Aunt.”

The tension breaks and the murder of aunties say, “Of course, yes. Of course!”

I breathe out with relief and let George lead me away from the aunts, who aren’t even bothering to keep their voices down as they chatter about how awful my behavior is. God, I do not feel ready to face Eighth Aunt right now.

As though he’s heard my thoughts, George leans in and says, “I was just lying about saying hi to Eighth Aunt. I only said that to get us out of there.”

My head jerks up and I stare at him.

“Sorry, I know my aunts can be a bit much.”

That gets a smile out of me. I didn’t know if he’d noticed how uncomfortable I’d been with his aunts, and the realization that he’s made up a story to save me from them is kind of touching. But before I can thank him, a burly guy who looks only a handful of years older than us appears and smacks George’s shoulder.

“Georgie!” he shouts. “Hey, everyone, it’s George and his girlfriend!”

George winces. His palm becomes more slick, especially as more people approach us. At least these ones are young—some in their twenties, a few who look about our age. “My cousins,” he whispers to me.

“That’s me!” the first guy says.

“I thought you didn’t have any male cousins?” I ask George.

“That’s right!” the first guy says. “We’re technically George’scousins-in-law, but we’re as good as family, aren’t we, Georgie?” He turns to me and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, kid, I’m Dicky.”

I have never met anyone who goes by Dicky, but if ever there was a Dicky, this guy is it. I shake his hand. “I’m Sharlot.”

“Hey, Sharlot, I’m Rosiella,” a beautiful woman in her early twenties says, “and this is my sister Nicoletta.”

I try hard to remember all of their names, but after Nicoletta, they all kind of blur into one large, overwhelming group. Apparently, all these sophisticated, elegant people are somehow George’s first cousins. Well, with the exception of the men, who are his cousins-in-law.

“All right, Georgie finally got himself a girlfriend!” Dicky shouts. I think he thinks he’s at a frat party or something.

“Ignore my husband,” Rosiella says with a roll of her eyes. She hands me a bright purple drink with a jasmine flower floating at the top. I take a small sip and cough. Okay, this drink is strong. Rosiella and Nicoletta are watching me closely. When I sputter after my first sip, they both laugh. “Oh, you are so innocent. I thought you ABCs would know how to party.”

My cheeks burst into flame. Honestly, I never thought I’d come to Asia and be the nerdy kid here. What the hell is going on? I feel so out of place. I just want to go back to my villa and hide under the duvet and never come out.

“Have you had diarrhea yet?” Nicoletta says. She and Rosiella giggle.

“Excuse me?” I must have heard them wrong. It must be the drink affecting my hearing.

“Every tourist who comes to Indo for the first time will get food poisoning for sure,” Nicoletta says.

“I’m not a tourist,” I say, hating how defensive my voice sounds.

“Actually, Sharlot’s mom is Indo,” George says.

Rosiella rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but you grew up in the States, right?”

I nod.