Cecy Grace

Crow and Prince Charming

They called her Crow because of the fine, jet-black feathery hair that brushed her jawline, the

surreptitious way she moved, her keen, watchful eyes flicking to and fro, memorising words and

faces like they were retrieved trinkets. But first and foremost, they called her Crow because they

couldn’t pronounce her real name.

She grew used to it.

Her gaze was always absent. Like her namesake, her attention would take flight during lessons

in sweltering classrooms on Mondays, leaving her classmates to speculate: “Maybe she’s slow.

Maybe she’s deaf. Or mute.” True enough, Crow spoke so little that her homeroom teacher, Ms

Tate, once called her grandmother to ask if Crow had selective mutism. (Her grandmother was

annoyed that they’d all called her Crow, a total bastardisation of her Chinese name, rather than

by her English name, Levana.) All of this was mere speculation, nothing but speculation.

Crow didn’t profess to be anything but a dreamer.

She hated the gritty greyscale of the real world, the way the blazing roads melted the soles of

her shoes. She was too busy dreaming about how blue sunlight filtered through leaves, the

smell of Earl Grey tea in the quaint cafe on the corner of Hilda Street with its vintage record

player that closed an hour before school ended. She skipped geography class—the one subject

she was proficient in—to go there.

When she was alone, she danced in rainstorms and breathed in the moon and stars, digging

her fingers into soft, wet earth and dipping her toes into cool, sparkling streams. She woke

before the sunrise and soaked in the blinding sunsets. She buried herself in classics, marvelled

at the independence of Jo March, the hardiness of Jane Eyre, and spent the rest of her days

searching for volumes that would fill the void left by the classics which had changed her life

forever. She lived in a secret garden whose only keys were secrecy and silence.

She was too busy revelling in the world of her creation to notice when Prince Charming came on

a white horse.

‘Prince Charming’, in question, was a vivacious, beautiful girl, who, having transferred into their

school two weeks ago, found herself a big fish in a small pond. Meanwhile, like a bird thrown

into the small pond, Crow fought for survival at the bottom of the class.

After a mere two weeks, Prince Charming had become something of a legend. Due to her

beauty, her chopped-short wavy hair, her athletic limbs, and her intelligence, she earned the

moniker Prince Charming. Her nickname was murmured in school corridors, gossiped over

school lunches, and whispered in ears like secrets.

So Crow was more than shocked when she walked past the detention classroom and saw

Charming inside.

Sitting at a desk, Prince Charming yawned as she scribbled lines, propping her chin in her palm.

She looked up, her molten-bronze eyes staring directly into Crow’s soul. Her gaze held secrets,

whispering like willows, beckoning her to come closer. And Crow did. She didn’t even notice

when the heavily pregnant and annoyed Mrs Walker got up and waddled over, hand on the

doorframe. “Crow Shu? What are you doing here?”

Startled, Crow tore her eyes away, flushing. Charming blinked and lowered her gaze back to her

lines, mildly amused. Crow apologized and retreated. Mrs Walker trudged back to her seat,

hand on aching back.

The rip and rustle of paper, folded by Charming’s dextrous fingers.A gust of wind. A paper plane

tumbled to the ground at her feet.

Crow bent to pick it up, unfolded it, and read in the familiar Chinese script:

我的名字是林蝉鸣。你好，许恪柔。(My name is Lin Chanming. It’s nice to meet you, Xu

Kerou.)

***

Leaves shuffled in the breeze, dappling Crow with dripping sunlight. It wasn’t a mystery how

Charming—Lin Chanming, as she now knew—would know her name. Lin Chanming had quickly

befriended the louder, prettier girls in class and would easily have gotten a glimpse of the class

president’s class register.

She frowned and sat back in the courtyard’s grass, a breeze stroking her hair with gentle

fingers. In the distance, she could make out a figure walking in her direction. Crow’s eyes

wandered off, tracing patterns in the blue-glass sky, and landed on the figure, which made a

beeline towards her. She watched apprehensively as Lin Chanming approached her, each hand

holding a popsicle, one neon green and one bright blue.

“你喜欢什么口味 (What flavour do you like)?” she asked. Crow’s heart twisted – it had been so

long since she’d spoken Mandarin to someone her age. “Lime, please,” she replied in English.

Chanming handed her the green popsicle and plopped herself down on the grass beside Crow,

crossing her legs. Like a cat, Chanming licked the blue syrup dripping down her wrist, wiping the

damp spots on her dark blue pencil skirt. Crow wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her

skirt over her knees.

There was a pregnant pause, only interspersed by the chirping of cicadas and the cooing of

pigeons. After a while, Crow asked quietly, “How did you know my name wasn’t Crow?”

Chanming looked at her inquisitively, and her lips stretched into a wide, toothy grin. Her face

was lit with blue daylight. “Easy,” she said in Mandarin. “There wouldn’t be someone with as

ridiculous a name as Crow Shu.” She laughed, a hearty full sound like cherries bursting sweet

on the tongue. Crow remained mute. Chanming sobered up and added thoughtfully, “And

anyway, I got a glimpse of the class register. It said Levana Xu, and besides No-eul and me,

there weren’t many Asians in class.”

Noelle Lee’s name is No-eul? “That still doesn’t explain how you knew my name was Kerou,”

pointed out Crow. Chanming rolled her eyes jokingly. “Okay, okay. Lucky guess, alright? Crow,

Kerou. It’s practically the same name.”

That’s what they all said. Crow shrank into herself a little more, hugging her knees. Chanming’s

voice continued, rolling over her like a wave. “But it’s stupid, isn’t it? That they call you Crow and

they call me Charming, like I’m some white knight. I don’t exist to save people. I’m just me. I

help those who are worthy of my help, not just any passerby. Honestly, I wouldn’t have come to

talk to you if it weren’t for No-eul. You’re always so… sombre. It’s like you’re full of secrets.”

Crow’s trademark solemn expression didn’t change. Chanming’s sharp gaze softened, and she

poked her in the ribs, prying free from Crow a squeal. “Come on, lighten up!” Chanming tackled

Crow with both hands in a merciless and sudden tickle attack. The sound of laughter filled the

summer air.

At last, Chanming and Crow flopped down beside each other and lay on the grass, in stitches

from laughing. Their limbs were stretched spread-eagle in the grass like summer’s snow angels,

the grass a soft carpet, warm under their skin.

Crow blew her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t like it,” she finally, once they’d caught their breath.

“Crow. I wish they wouldn’t call me that.”

Chanming turned her head to look at the other girl. Kerou’s eyes were like liquid copper in the

sun, fringed by long, fine cinnamon-coloured lashes which fluttered as she closed them, as if

she were lost in another world.

“When they call me that, it feels like I’m someone I’m not,” Crow confessed. “It isn’t me. My

mom used to call me her little bird. So when they call me Crow… It feels like they’re corrupting

what little memory I have left of my mother. They’re twisting what belonged only to my mother

and me into a name that isn’t mine.” Crow chuckled humourlessly. “But does it even matter

anymore? I mean, what’s in a name?”

Chanming studied her, catching the reference. “That which we call a rose by any other name

would smell as sweet. But screw that. Names are important. Names define who you are. Your

Chinese name is your identity, a part that they want to belittle, that they want to take and twist

into a bland, palatable modification. But you’re you. That’s what matters. That’s what a name

means. A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but boy is it ever sweeter than when it’s

recognised for what it is.”

On the cusp of epiphany, Crow slowly sat up. “How do you reclaim your name, then? Tell me.”

Her voice was low and hopeful.

“You make them hear you,” Chanming said candidly from behind Kerou. “Become someone

they can’t reckon with. Become confident. How do you do that? You pretend you’re confident.

Pretend you’re brave.” Kerou muttered something incomprehensible under her breath and, with

an encouraging look from Chanming, turned it into three words that made Chanming smile.

“Pretend you’re charming,” whispered Kerou.

Chanming smiled. “Until you are. Once you become exactly who they want you to be, you can

take back everything they’d stolen. Your identity. The real you. Not Crow Shu. Xu Kerou.”

Cicadas hummed, shrill, and leaves rustled low, the sole sounds of summer in the resounding

silence of the courtyard.

“What if I don’t know where to find the real me?” whispered Kerou, cast in shadow. “What if I’ve

completely become Crow Shu and there’s nothing left of Xu Kerou?”

Chanming smiled. The sun illuminated her silhouette, a figure of hope, bright and burning. “Then

fight until you feel like Xu Kerou again.”

Crow knew she should have been comforted. But humiliation and hubris crept up on her like a

rattlesnake ready to pounce. “Whatever, you talk big,” was all an upset Crow managed to get

out before she stood, brushing grass off her skirt, and stalked away, leaving Charming frowning

in her wake. Their popsicles lay dropped and forgotten, melting into sticky neon puddles on the

grass.

Crow made an effort to ignore Charming for an entire day after. She wanted to make a point that

things weren’t so easily resolved. That it wasn’t so easy to ‘fight back’. So at night, Crow lay

awake and alone with an uneasy heart, staring at the ceiling and tracing constellations from its

cracks. Crow was Andromeda, Charming on her tail like Cassiopeia.

She tried to ignore Charming. But at every break, every lesson, she felt those molten bronze

eyes on the back of her head. When she turned around to glare at Charming and tell her to

knock it off, Charming’s eyes were always on someone else, laughing at a joke or whispering

secrets. And Kerou would feel a stab of jealousy in her heart.

A week later, Charming wasn’t in her seat like usual. Her disappearance worried Crow more

than she cared to admit. Though she was frustrated at Charming’s overly optimistic, idealistic

views, she was sure she would never talk behind others’ backs like the loud girls she hung out

with did.

“Big news, y’all. You know how Chanming got detention a week ago?” Tatiana whispered

conspiratorially. “Turns out, it was because she was nitpicking how Mrs Walker called her name.

Literally everybody calls her Charming, but when Mrs Walker did, she went all pretentious, ‘My

English name’s Amelia but I prefer if you call me Lin Chan-ming.’ Come on, we all know Mrs

Walker was doing her a favour by calling her Charming! It isn’t half as clumsy and dreadful as

that stupid Chinese name of hers.”

Kerou’s clenched fists trembled. She stood up abruptly and fled, brushing away the tears

streaming down her cheeks, as she locked herself in a bathroom cubicle and wept.

The next day, Chanming was back in school. Crow was nervous, but she’d made up her mind.

At lunch, she made a beeline for Chanming, shouldering her way through her group of friends. “

你今天跟我吃饭 (Eat with me today),” Crow mumbled in Chinese, more of a command than a

question, and grabbed her arm, lunch tray in her other hand. To the chagrin of Tatiana and the

other girls, Chanming only seemed surprised and didn’t object, stumbling along; they scoffed.

“Whatever. We’ll not fight the vulture for the corpse.”

Chanming’s expression had turned amused as Kerou bundled her into the seat opposite her

and set a lunch tray before her. “你今天怎么啦？(What’s up with you today?)” she asked, not

believing Kerou would willingly speak Mandarin to her.

Kerou looked down at her food, brow furrowed, but didn’t touch it. She began speaking in low,

rapid Mandarin: “I overheard Tatiana and all of them yesterday. They… they were talking badly

about you. Don’t hang out with them anymore. You’re no better off with me, but you’re better off

with me than with them.”

Chanming raised her eyebrows. “I knew about that long ago!” she exclaimed in Mandarin.

Seeing Kerou’s bewildered expression, Chanming broke into peals of laughter. “I like talking

Mandarin with you. Anyway, I knew since long ago that they talked badly about me. No-eul told

me on the third day.”

“Oh.” Kerou’s face was aflame. “Well, you seem really bloody okay with it.”

“What, are you going to ask me to return to them?” laughed Chanming. “In case you haven’t

noticed, I’d rather hang out with you, thank you very much.” She took a self-satisfied sip of her

strawberry milk.

“Yo Kerou and Chanming! I see there’s a gathering here, why didn’t you guys call me over?”

Lee No-eul slid into the seat next to her with a wide grin. Kerou was startled, but as Chanming

began to chat happily with No-eul, tucking into her food, her face slowly melted into a warm

smile.

Kerou.

She could very much get used to this.

Finally discovering a warmer side to Kerou that they’d never before be

en privy to, No-eul and

Chanming began to hang out with her. No-eul let Chanming and Kerou teach her friend

group—Cathy, Irina and Elizabeth, who pronounced No-eul’s name correctly, rather than the

more common ‘Noelle’—how to pronounce their Chinese names, Lin Chanming as ‘lin charn-

ming’ and Xu Kerou as ‘sh-kuh-roe’. Never in her life had Kerou had ever felt more seen.

Fight till you feel like Xu Kerou again. It was difficult at first. Tatiana and her group made a point

of intentionally calling her Crow Shu, and so did the teachers, obliviously. But Kerou wasn’t

going to back down. She’d resolved not to after hearing Tatiana’s disparaging comments about

Chanming. Mrs Walker would pinch her brow and mutter how unlucky she’d been to get not one

or two but three Chinese students with names impossible to pronounce. Their classmates

gradually grew impatient and would roll their eyes with every correction, but No-eul’s friends

Cathy, Irina and Elizabeth helped by calling her by her proper name. Finally realising they

weren’t getting anywhere, the students began to finally accept their defeat and make

halfhearted attempts at pronouncing their names right.

In the meantime, Chanming had decided she wouldn’t stand by and watch Kerou tank all her

subjects. Though Kerou did geography and Chanming did history, their other subjects were all

the same and Chanming took to tutoring Kerou in the library after school. You’d think with how

happy-go-lucky Chanming was, she’d be a fickle teacher, but no; she was focused and driven

and Kerou had to admire her for that. Kerou dreaded every single session, but soon grew to

appreciate Chanming’s efforts as her marks slowly rose little by little. In return, Kerou promised

she’d take Chanming to her special place, her hiding spot, somewhere only they’d know—the

quaint cafe on the corner of Hilda Street, with the vintage record player and the scent of earl

grey tea. It held special significance to Kerou, who was friends with Mr Nakayama, the elderly

owner of the cafe who’d been friends with Kerou’s mother in her youth.

So one afternoon, in the middle of the history lecture, Chanming snuck out to meet Kerou at the

back gate as promised. Kerou was already there, having switched her pencil skirt for shorts, and

stood there like butter wouldn’t melt in her beaming mouth. Chanming muttered in Mandarin,

“This better be worth my A in History.”

“You’ve always gotten an A for History, you’ll be fine,” countered Kerou in Mandarin as she

threw their bags over the gate. Chanming took off her shoes and threw them over the wall too,

before placing her socked feet onto Kerou’s outstretched hands for Kerou to bolster her up.

Kerou waited for Chanming to make it over the gate without impaling herself, before jumping

over the gate herself, landing on the ground in a tangle of long limbs as Chanming dusted off

her uniform skirt. “Where are we going?” Chanming asked.

“It’s a secret,” grinned Kerou with a finger on her lips.

Or it would have been, if it weren’t for the drizzle of rain that gradually grew and made Kerou

curse the skies above as Chanming watched, amused, trying to ignore Kerou’s flushed skin, her

rosy lips slightly parted and breathing lightly, and those eyes with the beauty mark at the corner

of the right one. Those copper-coin eyes… that looked at Chanming questioningly.

“Oh, my umbrella,” said Chanming quickly. “I must have dropped it when we were back at the

gate.”

“Let’s go back to school to retrieve it then,” muttered Kerou finally, giving up hope. “It’s just a

drizzle now, if we get your umbrella in time, we’ll avoid getting wet and maybe we’ll still make it

to the cafe.” They ran back, shoes squelching, and Kerou helped Chanming over the wall before

swinging over herself, and then regretted to the skies above that she had.

Tatiana Thornfield and Mrs Walker stood in the shelter, umbrella swinging from Tatiana’s

fingers. Tatiana smirked as Mrs Walker deadpanned, “Detention. Now.”

“Tatiana’s such a snitch,” fumed Chanming in Mandarin as they trudged to the detention

classroom, Mrs Walker taking the lift up and Tatiana having disappeared to who knows where. “I

bet she was planning to ditch school too. There are so many holes in her story! Why the hell

else would she be at the school gate during school hours if she wasn’t planning to skip class

herself?”

“She said she lost her earring,” Kerou pointed out mildly in Mandarin.

“And you believe that? I don’t blame Mrs Walker for believing it. She’s probably got pregnancy

brain, but you’ve got no excuse. Damn it, why did I ever use to hang out with her? Looks really

are deceiving.”

“Stop complaining. Can we get to the real problem here?” complained Kerou. “My grades are

atrocious. This is going to affect my conduct grade so badly…”

“Well, it was your genius idea to skip school and get both of us in trouble!” hissed Chanming.

“Well, how was I to know Tatiana bloody Thornfield was going to be waiting for us like a traffic

warden?” Kerou groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry…”

A pause, then a little chuckle. “It’s okay. I’ve figured it out,” announced Chanming, puffing out

her chest like a peacock. “Tatiana was probably following us because she likes me.”

“Pfft. 少跟我来这一套！(Give me a break!) You’re full of nonsense, Miss Lin Chanming,” snorted

Kerou, folding her arms. Still, the anxiety gnawing at her stomach slowly faded, courtesy of

Chanming’s ability to make light of serious moments.

They filed into the classroom. The air was speckled with glowing dust particles that wafted

about, as directionless as them both. Mrs Walker sat glowering and rubbing her swollen ankles.

She handed them punishment sheets, and they miserably began to write their lines.

Halfway through the first ‘I will not leave school without permission’, a rustle of paper, a

whoosh—a paper plane landed on Kerou’s table. Hidden in its inner folds were the Chinese

words: If we’re getting detention for it, you better bring me to that stupid cafe and make all this

worth it.

Kerou raised her gaze. Chanming was industriously working on her lines and didn’t so much as

look up.

Words from the Author:

“The protagonist, Xu Kerou, is Chinese and has internalised the nickname she is given, until her classmate Lin Chanming helps her get her fight back. This piece centres around names and identity, and how Asian names are commonly misspelled and mispronounced, or simply glossed over with a, English name, in the case of the protagonist's Korean classmate.

”