Second Sister Read online

  They went down the stairs and crossed the empty quad. N flipped through the notebook of condolence messages, remarking as he read, “What a bastard that teacher was. Terrible.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nga-Yee was at a loss. Miss Yuen had clearly answered their questions with care and attention, then went above and beyond by giving them Siu-Man’s homework and letting them speak to her classmates.

  “I’m talking about that creature who doesn’t deserve to be called a teacher. Maybe let’s go with ‘admin stooge.’” N sounded venomous.

  “How has she offended you?” Having formed a good impression of Miss Yuen, Nga-Yee couldn’t help feeling a bit defensive at N’s invective.

  “You’re so easily fooled. Someone says nice things, and you assume they’re kind,” N sneered. “Miss Yuen appears friendly, but all she thinks about is herself. Anytime a sensitive issue came up, she dissociated herself as quickly as she could and insisted the school was following some bullshit protocol. That’s just word salad, straight out of some Education Bureau directive. She must have memorized those documents and recited the same story to other parents. Just like this notebook. Maybe two or three people actually wrote something sincere. The rest put down fake sentimental crap. If the students’ hearts aren’t in it, why force them to pretend? But Miss Yuen didn’t care, she just went through her ‘standard protocols’ like a robot. You didn’t hear what she said to me when I asked if we could meet Siu-Man’s classmates alone. The first thing she said was, ‘That’s against the rules.’ She didn’t care why I was asking, or if it would hurt the kids. It’s not them or their feelings she cares about, it’s whether their parents will complain.”

  “But—but Miss Yuen came to the funeral! Why would she do that if she doesn’t care about her students?”

  “What did she say to you at the funeral?”

  “I don’t really remember. Probably just expressed sympathy—”

  “Did she apologize?” N asked, looking directly into her eyes.

  “I don’t … I don’t think so. But she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Her students are individuals, but as a teacher, shouldn’t she have noticed unusual behavior? Shouldn’t she feel guilty about her negligence? Even if she couldn’t have prevented your sister’s suicide, she should still say sorry. I don’t mean kowtow to you or make a full confession, but anyone with even a bit of empathy should feel some guilt at this happening under their charge. To her, everything that went wrong was someone else’s fault. She would never speak from the heart. She sees herself as a cog in the machine, and her job is to get rid of trouble before it reaches her bosses. We’re inundated with people like that who don’t want to rock the boat. They’re the reason this country is rotting from the inside.”

  N sounded like an anarchist, but Nga-Yee found it hard to disagree.

  “At any rate, we know she isn’t kidkit727,” said N, suddenly changing his tone.

  “Why?”

  “She’d never risk getting herself—and the school—into so much trouble. If she really had some grudge against your sister, she wouldn’t resort to smears on the internet. As far as she’s concerned, these students are like raw material in a factory, to be poured into molds and emerge as identical mannequins, any individuality burned away. From there, they’ll get delivered into the machine we call society and become unremarkable cogs just like her.”

  Nga-Yee didn’t know what to think. N’s viewpoint seemed extreme, but she’d never considered the situation from this angle. Ever since she was a child, she’d absorbed the idea that you have to study and work hard to be a useful member of society. That had been her goal, but after the sudden deaths of her mother and sister, she was starting to wonder what the point of being useful was.

  “Why did you ask for Siu-Man’s homework?” she asked, trying to shake this mood.

  N ignored her, flicking through the condolence book. “Do you know, even if these are completely made up and not one word is true, the writers have still revealed something of their personalities. Of course you need to know what you’re looking for; otherwise you could search for a hundred years and not pick out the right details.”

  Nga-Yee had no idea if he was making fun of her. She stayed silent, not playing his game.

  “It’s about time. We should wait by the classroom. You can say hello, but I’ll ask the questions.” N shut the condolence book, marking his place with Siu-Man’s assignments.

  He led the way to the school’s east wing, striding up staircases and along corridors without a moment’s hesitation. Nga-Yee was surprised by how familiar he seemed with this place. She almost asked if he’d been here before, then realized he’d probably looked up the blueprints online.

  Kwok-Tai and Lily were in Siu-Man’s class, 3B, on the fourth floor. Students poured out as soon as the lunch bell rang, many of them staring curiously at Nga-Yee and N. When the pair they’d been waiting for stepped out, they noticed Nga-Yee right away, and were already bowing in greeting, looking a little shocked, before she could call their names.

  “Chiu Kwok-Tai and Lily Shu, right? I’m—”

  “You’re Siu-Man’s big sister,” Kwok-Tai interrupted.

  “Yes, and this is my friend Mr. Ong.”

  “We came by to pick up Siu-Man’s textbooks,” said N, “and thought we might as well talk to her friends while we were here. When we asked Miss Yuen who Siu-Man was closest to, she mentioned you two right away. And you were at the funeral, weren’t you? Thank you for that.” Kwok-Tai and Lily nodded blankly at his speech, but Nga-Yee thought she’d seen something change in their eyes when N mentioned Siu-Man’s name.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Lily. Although she wore a brash expression, her voice was almost a whisper.

  “Are you going for lunch? Why not eat with us?” N was wearing his friendly face again. “Siu-Man left us so suddenly, we’d love to hear a bit more about her life at school.”

  Lily looked hesitantly at Kwok-Tai, who nodded. “All right, but it’s just the school cafeteria.”

  “That’s perfect. I’m sure Nga-Yee would like to see where Siu-Man had her lunches.”

  Nga-Yee didn’t know if he was being sincere, but she felt a wave of emotion nonetheless. Sitting where her sister once sat, eating the same food—it might fill a little of the gap in her heart.

  The cafeteria was on the ground floor of the west wing, near the main entrance. It would normally have been more crowded, but this close to the end of the semester many students had chosen to have a leisurely meal off campus.

  There weren’t many options—despite the name, it was more like a snack bar than a cafeteria. Even the plates and cutlery were disposable. Nga-Yee wasn’t hungry, so she got a sandwich, while N ordered a full pork chop meal. The kids both opted for soup noodles. They chose a corner seat by the window, through which they could see, past the basketball court and trees, the twenty-odd stories of the Cityview hotel on Waterloo Road. As Kwok-Tai and Lily slurped at their noodles, Nga-Yee couldn’t help staring at the table in front of them, where they’d placed their phones. These had to be turned off during class, so naturally everyone took advantage of the lunch break to catch up on what they’d missed. Nga-Yee’s sandwich might as well have been made of wax; seeing Lily’s iPhone had killed what appetite she had. All she could think of now was whether this plain-looking girl in front of her was the culprit.

  “Did you two get on well with Siu-Man?” N asked breezily, slicing into his pork chop.

  “Um, I guess so—” said Kwok-Tai. Distracted as she was, even Nga-Yee could sense the awkwardness of his answer.

  “You brought her home once when she wasn’t feeling well, didn’t you?” she interrupted.

  She’d only intended to bridge the gap between them a little, to help N with his questioning. Instead, the second the words left her mouth, both Lily’s and Kwok-Tai’s faces changed, like wild animals who’d sensed a predator approaching. At the same moment, N viciously kicked her on th
e shin under cover of the table, though when she turned to look at him, his expression hadn’t altered one bit.

  “Siu-Man liked One Direction, didn’t she?” said N, still casual, as if he hadn’t noticed how uncomfortable the kids were getting. Nga-Yee had no idea what One Direction was, but the words had a magical effect on Lily—she immediately grew more relaxed.

  “Yes, we all did, I mean do … I discovered them first; then I introduced them to Siu-Man and she became a fan too.”

  “That song of theirs, ‘What Makes You Beautiful,’ was really popular. Even an old man like me has heard of it.” That clued Nga-Yee in: One Direction must be some sort of band.

  “Yes, and ‘One Thing’!” Lily’s eyes were shining. She clearly didn’t meet many adults who shared her taste.

  “Some people say their label bought their chart success, but I think that’s going too far. The band came in third in X-Factor, after all—they must have some talent.” N was starting to sound like a music critic. “Honestly, it’s a bit naive to think that money alone could buy the whole world’s attention.”

  Lily kept nodding. Apparently she agreed with everything he said.

  “Which one’s your favorite?” N asked.

  “Liam,” Lily replied shyly.

  “Plenty of people like Liam.” N took another bite of his pork chop. “I’ve got a British friend whose daughter is mad for Zayn. When he left the band, she cried for two days straight.”

  Lily suddenly looked downcast.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Zayn leaving the band—that was sad.”

  “No, no.” Lily shook her head as her eyes reddened. “It’s because Siu-Man … We once promised each other that if One Direction ever came to Hong Kong, we’d go and see them. But by the time their concert happened, we weren’t speaking to each other … and Siu-Man, she—”

  Kwok-Tai handed her a Kleenex, and she dried her tears.

  “I’m sure Siu-Man didn’t blame you for that,” said N.

  “I was the one to blame! Everything that happened was my fault.”

  Lily was sobbing agitatedly. Were they about to hear a confession? A group of girls at the next table stole glances at them, pretending not to notice what was going on.

  “I was the one who killed—”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” Kwok-Tai interrupted. “Ms. Au, what Lily means to say is that Siu-Man had no one to turn to because they’d drifted apart. She regrets that every single day.”

  Nga-Yee didn’t know how to respond. Was Kwok-Tai telling the truth? Was that the only reason for Lily’s tears? Or had their feud gone further than she was letting on, and her regret was actually for causing Siu-Man’s death?

  “Are you in a band, Kwok-Tai?” N asked abruptly. Nga-Yee stared at him, confused by the change of subject. Why wasn’t he trying to find out more about Lily and Siu-Man’s friendship?

  “Oh—um—yes,” stuttered Kwok-Tai, apparently also taken aback.

  “I noticed the calluses on your left hand,” said N, pointing. “Guitar?”

  “Guitar and bass. I’ve only been playing for a couple of years, though. I’m not very good yet.”

  “I used to play the guitar. Not for many years, though. I’ve forgotten all my chords now,” said N.

  Nga-Yee remembered the electric guitar in his apartment and wondered if this might actually be true.

  “What did you play? Folk? Rock and roll?” Kwok-Tai asked.

  “No. J-rock. When I was your age, the scene was all about the Tokyo bands: X Japan, Seikima-II, Boøwy.”

  “My band is into J-rock too! We do covers of flumpool and ONE OK ROCK.”

  “I’ve seen those names online, but that’s about it. I guess I’m old.”

  For the next ten minutes N and Kwok-Tai discussed rock music and bands. Lily made the occasional remark, while Nga-Yee had to listen in silence. She had no idea what they were talking about, but presumably N had his reasons for leading the conversation down this track.

  “Your generation is much luckier than ours,” said N, swallowing the last of the pork and wiping his mouth. “Back in the day, an effects pedal alone could cost a few hundred dollars, or even a couple of thousand if you went for a good one. Now all you need is a computer, or even a smartphone, and an adapter. With the right software, you can make it sound like anything you want.”

  “You mean an adapter like the iRig? The guy who teaches me guitar mentioned it a while back, but we’re all newbies in my band. No one knows anything about software or anything.” Kwok-Tai shook his head. “Anyway, don’t you need a MacBook for that to work? Those are too expensive. If I had that kind of money, I’d rather spend it on a Squier or Telecaster.”

  “A Squier? Knockoffs might be cheaper, but they’ll need repairs every few years. Telecasters are still manufactured at the original Fender plant—they’re much better quality.”

  “Fenders cost far too much! Even if I had the cash, if my parents ever found out I’d spent that much, they’d lose it.” Kwok-Tai smiled grimly.

  N grinned sympathetically. He looked like he was about to say something, but then stopped himself, looking a bit crestfallen.

  “Oh dear,” he said slowly, looking thoughtful. “If Siu-Man were still with us, I’d wouldn’t have come to this school and talked with you about guitars. Perhaps our meeting today was arranged by Siu-Man, wherever she is now.”

  Kwok-Tai and Lily started looking gloomy too.

  “What did Siu-Man normally have for lunch?” N asked.

  “Egg and tomato sandwich, just like Ms. Au’s eating now,” said Kwok-Tai.

  Nga-Yee couldn’t conceal her shock. She couldn’t believe she’d just happened to pick the same lunch as her sister. She’d chosen this because she wasn’t hungry, and because it was the cheapest item on the menu. Was N right? Had Siu-Man arranged all this from beyond the grave?

  “That’s not a very large sandwich. Was it enough for her?” N said.

  “I guess so. We sometimes went for tea after class,” said Kwok-Tai.

  “Siu-Man had a good appetite at home too. You’re growing kids, nothing wrong with eating a little more. Of course, make sure you have a balanced diet, don’t be picky like me.”

  N’s tone was light as he scraped around the pea pods on his plate, trying to hide them under the pork chop bone. The teenagers burst out laughing as Nga-Yee realized how clever he’d been. By starting with innocuous topics such as music, he’d lured the kids into thinking they shared a common language. Only then had he brought up Siu-Man. Even better, he spoke about her like someone talking to a new acquaintance about a mutual friend who’d moved overseas—there was nothing tragic in his voice. It was much easier for Kwok-Tai and Lily to be drawn into conversation, regardless of whether Lily was the one responsible for Siu-Man’s death.

  Nga-Yee kept her face blank. N was like a boxer, hopping in circles around Kwok-Tai as he idly chatted about the various things young people were interested in. Now and then he’d dart closer and land a couple of incisive blows by casually mentioning Siu-Man’s name. Nga-Yee could tell that the teens were still reluctant to talk about her sister, but they’d let down their defenses a little. Now N was babbling on about Facebook’s recent real-names-only policy, and the news about a famous internet singer getting arrested for stealing. Just as Nga-Yee least expected it, he let loose with an uppercut.

  “The internet really has quite a reach. Whenever anything happens, everyone’s heard about it within a few hours.” N frowned. “Just like that post accusing Siu-Man on Popcorn. That went viral in almost no time.”

  Kwok-Tai and Lily glanced at each other, then turned back to N and nodded slightly.

  “Our teachers wouldn’t let us talk about it, so things have been quite calm at school—on the surface,” said Kwok-Tai.

  “But your classmates must have talked about it among themselves,” said N.

  “Well … everything in that post was a lie. Siu-Man would never—”

  “W
e know,” said N, nodding in agreement. “But those were serious accusations. Do you know if Siu-Man had offended anyone at school so badly that they’d want to smear her name like that?”

  “It must have been the Countess,” Lily said suddenly.

  “Countess?” N repeated.

  “There’s a girl in our year called Miranda Lai who’s a complete queen bee. She has a whole tribe of courtiers fluttering around her all the time,” Kwok-Tai explained. “They’re basically our ruling class, so they set the tone, especially among the other girls. If the Countess and her followers decide they need to deal with someone, no one else dares to defend that person, otherwise you might find yourself becoming the next target.”

  “So there’s bullying in your class,” said N.

  “Not really …” Kwok-Tai shook his head. “I’ve never seen them hurting anyone physically, and they don’t throw away your textbooks or anything like that. Mostly they just isolate their victims and say nasty things now and then. That’s not really bullying, is it? I’m sure there are far worse people in our year.”

  “But last year, the Countess suggested Disneyland for our class outing,” Lily said. “All the girls except Siu-Man voted with her, and in the end Disneyland lost by just one vote, so we went to Ma On Shan Country Park instead.” Lily looked unhappy. “The Countess loves stirring up trouble. I bet she was still pissed off with Siu-Man, so at the first opportunity, she came up with some nonsense—”

  “You can’t say that without evidence,” Kwok-Tai interrupted. “Those girls didn’t usually give Siu-Man a hard time. Besides, the Countess saw Siu-Man off—I don’t think she can be that bad.”

  “Wait. Saw her off?” Nga-Yee was startled. “You mean she was at Siu-Man’s funeral?”

  Kwok-Tai and Lily looked puzzled. “Wasn’t she?” Kwok-Tai said. “As we left the funeral parlor that day, we saw her standing outside by herself.”

  “Did you say anything to her?” N asked.

  Kwok-Tai shook his head. “We’re not close. Besides, Lily’s never liked her. Normally they just pretend not to see each other.”