A girl and her brother are trying to figure out who they are. At first, this means attempting to mesh their Asian identity with the White American pop culture of the mid 2000s. She has a butterfly tattoo on her lower back. He has Calvin Klein boxers and the tips of his hair bleached. Then, they go to college. She drops out near the end, and he barely makes it through. She becomes a sex model; he joins an Asian frat and gets into party drugs. Eventually, the sister stops alternating between her number of styles—“bikini babe,” “emo kid”—and focuses on “hip hop b-girl” full time. Her brother gets into hip hop too, starts making music. He starts telling people he’s from “the hood,” “but is careful to never get too specific.” She tells people that “growing up, all her best friends were black.” They tame these personas when they go back to visit their family. Their voices drop the hip hop drawl, and they “mumble a few Cantonese phrases.” But when they are away from their roots, they pick back up their performance. She gets plastic surgery. He records an EP. They get chosen as a duo for an MTV reality show and become minorly famous. They have Black friends, until a Black man gets killed by a cop, and the cop is Asian. There is a protest in the girl’s and her brother’s hometown when the cop is indicted, the protestors holding up “posters in both English and Chinese: ‘We Love LAPD,’ ‘Protect Cops,” and “Free Officer Tsai.” The siblings are less popular among their Black friends after that. The brother loses control of his drug problem. The sister’s sex tape with her NFL ex-boyfriend leaks. Time passes. The sister becomes an influencer. The brother develops an app that networks beautiful Black women with famous Black men: hip hop stars and NFL players. The sister gets affected by cancel culture—people are wondering why her skin has gotten browner over time, why she talks like that, if she’s half Black. She joins her brother in developing his app. They have a launch party. Everything is going great—there are beautiful Black girls there, there are famous Black men. The sister and her brother take drugs to celebrate. The drugs are strong, the sister feels out of body. Then, an NFL player starts yelling. He’s realized that the beautiful Black woman he’s been having sex with is a teenager and a virgin. The brother and sister didn’t card the girls, didn’t check to see how old they were. Someone calls the teenager's mother, and when she comes, she berates the sister and brother, words the sister only catches in snatches because she’s still high: “what kind of shit are you running—I will have you arrested—did you target—just a child—tell me, did you—exploitation—black bodies—” The sister is covering her ears, she is screaming, she is high. The brother tries to convince the Black mother not to press charges. She looks at him with pity because of how hard he is trying to be something that he can’t be. The sister is overwhelmed by the commotion that follows, “she wants everyone to shut up,” and when they don’t, she runs toward the balcony, falls down into the pool. Something about the crash kills her, and the brother, at her funeral, has changed. He has shaved off his cornrows, doesn’t wear any designer clothes. Later, when he sees her photo on the altar at his parents’ house, he bows three times, places his forehead to the floor, and says her name.