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RANDALL

Julie Wu is already in her seat in civics class. She’s the antithesis of a typical ten-minutes-late Angeleno and it’s freaking annoying, just like her family.

I slip into my seat, shooting a death glare at her. Julie’s too busy to notice because she’s holding her phone out to preen. Even when we were little, her dolls had perfectly combed hair. Mine all had haircuts courtesy of my safety scissors.

My cousin Mercy smiles at me. I pull out my civics notebook and flip to a fresh page.

“Yes?” I ask.

“I heard you and Julie Wu played Scrabble at London Park’s party,” says Mercy, peering at me through her red frame glasses.

“It doesn’t mean we’re friends,” I say.

“Did Julie win?”

“Never,” I grunt. Mercy laughs.

“Some things never change,” says Mercy.

I scratch my cheek with my middle finger. It only makes Mercy laugh harder.

Ms. Lawrence clears her throat. The entire class falls quiet. She points to the board, where she’s written Community Service: What Does It Mean to You?

I groan internally. The infamous civics community service group project. Why do all teachers insist on group projects? I always end up carrying the bulk of the workload while everyone else texts their friends and half-listens to my suggestions. It’s awful.

Julie, of course, is the first to raise her hand.

“Yes, Julie?”

“Community service is about giving back to an underrepresented group and helping them achieve their dreams,” says Julie.

I exchange a glance with Mercy.

“I like that definition, Julie,” says Ms. Lawrence with a smile. “This year’s community service project theme is Growth. Your mission will be to help an organization or an individual to grow. You could help them fundraise. Or teach English language learners to develop their speaking skills. The possibilities are endless.”

A murmur goes through the room. I write in my notebook, “Growth???” Then, I tear the sheet out and scribble, “Julie is so full of crap. She would stomp all over my family if she had half the chance.”

I pass the note to Mercy, who is writing in her notebook and doesn’t notice as my sheet of paper misses her desk and floats annoyingly and slowly to the ground. Ms. Lawrence’s eyes narrow in on the paper.

Crap on a stick.

“Randall, I assume you are aware of my rules on notes that are passed during my class?”

I nod. I pick up the piece of paper. I send Mercy death rays with my eyes.

Mercy mouths, “Sorry!”

I clear my throat and read what I wrote aloud. As soon as she hears her name, Julie starts to turn bright red. A few snickers break out from the class.

“What are you even talking about?” cries out Julie. “ Your family is the one who got us suspended from the Saturday market.”

She points a finger at me, rising from her seat. I hop up and stomp over to Julie. Ms. Lawrence steps between us.

“Randall, return to your seat now,” says Ms. Lawrence sternly.

I lock eyes with my teacher. I feel so humiliated and angry. Julie Wu is so full of crap that she might as well double as a Coachella Porta Potty. Julie sits but keeps glaring at me.

“It looks like I have my first group,” says Ms. Lawrence.

“What? No. I can’t work with Randall,” protests Julie.

“Considering that this project is a big part of your grade for the semester, I can’t imagine why you’d refuse to be part of it,” says Ms. Lawrence.

Julie folds her arms over chest. I don’t even bother arguing.

“London, you’ll join Julie and Randall’s group,” says Ms. Lawrence.

He nods and part of me dies right then. London Park is the worst group project partner. He always hogs all the attention and brags about his connections while doing zero work.

I don’t hear the rest of what Ms. Lawrence says. I’m stuck on how I must now work with my known enemy and one of the most spoiled dudes in all of Los Angeles.

At some point toward the end of class, we break into our groups. I watch as London and Julie chat, and he leans in closer until she laughs at something he says. I’m immediately annoyed.

Reluctantly I scoot my chair over to Julie so I can join them. I lean back in my seat and cross my arms to make it abundantly clear how I feel about this particular arrangement.

London clears his throat. “As my sound bath guru would say, I sense bad juju in the room.”

“What tipped you off? Maybe it was the note I wrote about Julie. Or how she told everyone she never wants to work with me,” I say.

“Don’t take your pissy attitude out on London,” says Julie.

I want to say something mean, but instead I stick my tongue out, hating how childish I must look.

“Really mature, Randall,” says Julie.

For the rest of class, we all sit there not talking, each just doing our own thing, until finally, the bell rings.

I bolt out of class as fast as I can and impatiently wait for Mercy in the hallway. When she arrives a few minutes later, she’s immediately apologetic.

“I’m so so so sorry, Randall. You never pass me notes in Lawrence’s class.”

“What can I say? My hatred of Julie Wu makes me do insane things.”

“Hatred seems like a strong word,” says Mercy, unconvinced.

“Do I need to remind you what her family did to ours?”

Mercy throws her hands in the air. “God no. It’s ingrained in my brain from every family gathering. I just don’t see the point of hating someone who used to be one of our best friends.”

“I love you, Merce, but you know why the grudge exists. It goes to our graves,” I say.

“I seriously hope not,” says Mercy as we walk through the hall.

“Look, I know you want world peace, but the Wu/Hur grudge match will never end in peace.”

“You sound just like Halmeoni,” says Mercy, with a frown.

I puff out my chest. “I take that as a compliment.”

As we talk, I glance over at Julie, who is chatting with Tyler, her obnoxious brother. They notice me looking, and Tyler scrunches his nose like he smells something foul.

“Nope,” says Mercy. She tugs my arm. “Let’s get to lunch. I’m starving. This stupid grudge war will have to continue another day.”

I grunt but let Mercy pull me ahead.