by Kelly Yang
Instead, I nibble on my tiny raspberry muffin all squished inside the plastic wrap. One of the swim guys walks over as I’m standing in front of the trash can, throwing the plastic wrap away. He accidentally bumps into me with his wet towel as he empties his tray.
“Sorry!” he apologizes. “Did I get you wet?”
I peer down at my shirt and wipe the spot the towel touched.
“It’s okay,” I say.
He moves his towel out of the way. “It’s clean, I promise,” he says. “Just has a little chlorine on it.”
I breathe in deep, almost envious, remembering the days when I was bathed in the scent.
My phone dings. It’s Teddy again.
Hey babe, yesterday was so hot. I’m still thinking about the way you looked when your fingers traveled down your stomach.
I blush hard and tap Close.
Two weeks go by, and there’s still no word from Mrs. Mandalay about my test results. I’m getting worried.
“Why won’t she just tell me?” I say to Jess on the phone. “Even if I bombed, just say it! Don’t keep me waiting and waiting. I can handle it.”
Jess mutters, “Be right back.” I hear a guy in the background. There’s music playing. Is she at the gym?
“Hey, Claire, I have to go,” she says. “I’m at my trainer’s.”
“Oh . . . ,” I say. It’s funny how she never calls him her boyfriend. He’s still just her trainer. “Okay, call me!” I linger for a second before adding, “Be safe.”
I hang up the phone and glance at the time. It’s 9:00 a.m. in China, too late to Skype Teddy. He’s already in school. I think about texting my mom. Instead, I walk over to Dani’s room, hesitating for a second at her door before knocking.
“Busy ako,” she calls out to her mom in Tagalog.
“No . . . it’s me,” I say.
Dani opens the door. She takes off her headphones. I glance at her headphones, old worn-out Sonys, and wonder, Can she hear me and Teddy in the morning? Maybe I should buy her a better pair.
“What’s up?” she asks, letting me into her room.
I lean against the wall and tell her about my English placement test.
“I don’t know what to do,” I tell her. “It’s been two weeks!”
“You should definitely email Mrs. Mandalay. She probably just forgot. She’s been so busy with fund-raisers lately,” Dani tells me.
I cock my head. “Is that where you were going the other day?” I saw her walking out of the house in a sleek black dress. I was surprised. I didn’t know she had such a nice body hiding underneath those sweats and hoodies.
Her body language says it’s no big deal, but her face nods with pride.
“I had to go make a speech,” Dani says.
I want to say, Your speeches are amazing, but I don’t. She’d be too weirded out if she knew I listen to her from my room sometimes. As I would be too if she listened to me.
“So I should just email her?” I ask.
Dani nods.
I linger, hesitating. “But in China, if we nudge a teacher, let alone a headmistress, it’s considered rude,” I say.
“Well, here, nudging is considered adulting,” she informs me. She pulls out her phone. “Speaking of which, my mom wants to know how to add your mom to WeChat.”
“Sure, I can show you,” I say, pulling out my phone. I use my own account handle on WeChat to add Dani to show her how to do it.
My phone dings as I’m adding Dani. This time it’s a message from my dad.
What’s this your mother tells me about an English placement test? Are you sure that’s such a good idea? You’ve only just gotten there! You don’t want to offend the school. CALL ME.
“Sorry, Dani. It’s my dad,” I say, excusing myself to go call him. I shake my head as I walk back to my room. It’s amazing the double standard. My dad does whatever he wants, but when it comes to what I want to do, suddenly it’s all about Gee, how’s this going to look?
I’ll tell him how it’s going to look—like I’m taking charge of my life. And it’s about time.
Twenty-Two
Dani
I browse around on WeChat, scrolling through Claire’s wall or “Moments” as they’re called on WeChat.
I stop on a pic of Claire sitting on the floor of our laundry room with a bunch of Chinese words written underneath. There’s a translate option in WeChat, and I tap it, expecting the caption to read something like, My first time doing laundry! or My roommate, Dani, helped me figure it out!
Instead, the translation that stares back at me is: Slumming it in America. Can you guys believe this is my life now?
The words hit me hard. I thought she was starting to like living with us. I thought that day when I helped her with her laundry, we actually kind of bonded.
I scroll through her other posts. I find two others of our house, besides the laundry room one, both equally whiny and snarky. There’s one of her closet with the caption The depressing moment when you get up and realize this is your closet. She also snapped a pic of our sink and wrote, Drinking water from the tap because that’s what people do here.
At dinner, I ignore Claire. We’re having spaghetti, and as she hungrily digs into her food, I fight the urge to ask, If you hate it here so much, why are you stuffing your face with my mom’s meatballs?
I take deep breaths in debate training the next day, trying to focus on the techniques Mr. Connelly went over with me in our private session. My voice builds and builds, in a palpable crescendo, as I deliver my speech in front of Heather and my other teammates.
“I believe in the power of one person to change the world, no matter who they are or where they come from. I believe in social justice, in education as a vehicle for social mobility. In standing up for the truth. Truth is what’s going to prevail over money, over greed, over nepotism and legacy and cheating.” I look to Heather as I say it. “Truth, ladies and gentleman, is ultimately how we’re going to heal our society.”
Mr. Connelly stands up and claps, not only him but all the custodian workers and technicians in the auditorium, they’re standing and they’re clapping. A smile stretches across my face, breathing it all in: the lights, the sounds, the adrenaline, the pride pulsating in my veins.
Heather McLean’s face turns the same color as the podium—a deep burnish brown with the threat of exploding lava underneath.
“That was incredible!” Mr. Connelly claps. He looks around at my teammates and asks, “Wasn’t she incredible?”
A few mutter their assent. Most look at their feet. The doors in the back of the auditorium bang open, and Zach walks in. He must have heard the speech outside because he’s clapping too. Mr. Connelly glances at Zach.
“Hey!” I say, walking offstage and over to him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to watch you practice,” Zach says, taking a seat. He looks to Mr. Connelly. “Is that okay?”
Mr. Connelly doesn’t say anything but doesn’t kick Zach out either. As Heather walks up to the podium, Zach nudges me with his elbow.
“Want me to boo her?” he whispers in my ear.
“No!” I whisper back. Mr. Connelly glances over at the two of us giggling.
“I’m booing her!” he insists.
He laughs and nudges me with his elbow as Heather clears her throat. No sooner does Heather start speaking then Mr. Connelly frowns at her to stop. “No, no, no. That was abysmal,” he says. “It almost sounds like you’re reading from the back of a cereal box.”
Zach muffles a laugh.
“You have to put your feeling into it, like what Dani did,” Mr. Connelly says, nodding at me.
Heather looks like she’s about ready to strangle me as Mr. Connelly explains to her how to improve her delivery. Zach turns to me after training’s over and gives me a high five.
“That was amazing!” he says.
I wait until all my teammates have left before answering, “Really?” I kind of wish Mr. Connelly hadn’t go
ne on and on about me. “You didn’t think it was too much?”
“The coach is giving you extra attention. That’s a good thing!” Zach says.
He puts his arm around me and smiles and waves at Mr. Connelly as we walk out.
Twenty-Three
Claire
Teddy dings bright and early at 6:00 a.m. I groan into my sheets, still sleepy. I’m tempted for a second to ignore the call and sleep in. I was up late talking to my dad, which is sort of a mood killer. But then I think about Teddy waiting eagerly on the other end, and I reach for my phone. I tap Accept Voice Call instead of Video.
“Morning,” I say to him.
“Hey!” he answers. “Can you see me? How come I can’t see you? Switch over to video!”
I glance down at my phone. I know what he wants, but I just want to talk. I miss talking to him.
“I’m not really feeling all that hot,” I say. “I’m kind of nervous about my English placement exam.”
I was hoping he’d ask me about it and make me feel better, but he’s more interested in something else.
“I’m sure you’re still hot. C’mon, switch to video and take off your shirt.”
I groan. “I gotta go. I have an early day at school,” I say. After we hang up, I look around my room. My eyes land on the towel hanging on my chair. I think about the calm and clarity I used to get after a long swim, and I grab the towel and head out.
It’s my first time at the school pool, and I find it behind the gym. Thankfully, it’s always open so the swim team can train, even when school’s not in session, and there’s an extra lane open for non–swim team students. As I change in the locker room, I can hear the team practicing, the sound of the water sloshing as bodies thrust through it. My toes curl, itching for that warm-jelly feel of the water. It’s been so long.
I plunge in, eyes wide open as the water grabs me and holds me. Like everything else in LA, the water is warm, much warmer than in Shanghai. I hold my breath, feeling the stillness in my lungs. I’ve always liked the first moment underwater. It reminds you that you still have control, even if it feels like your life is spinning out of control. All you have do is kick, and you’ll be back on top.
I swim to the other side. Back and forth and back and forth, I do laps alongside the swim team, until my legs ache and my arms burn, and even then I don’t stop. God, I’ve missed it. I swim for forty-five minutes straight with no breaks. By the time I’m done, the pool’s mostly empty. The swim team has finished their practice. I hold on to the edge of the pool, trying to catch my breath.
The boy from the cafeteria the other day spots me and walks over to the edge of the pool. He has a blue swim cap on.
“Hey.” He smiles. He puts a towel around his wet trunks and kneels down. Water pools around his feet. He has gentle blue eyes, the color of the water. And broad shoulders. Swimming shoulders. The kind of shoulders my mom and my grandma were so worried I’d have. They look good on him. “You’ve got great form.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I kick away from the edge and start swimming another lap. As I swim, I hear his voice calling out, “Don’t hold your hand out for too long. Slice your hand into the water and go through the water. It’s more efficient.” I try it and get to the other side in less time. When I look back, he’s gone.
By the time I’m done swimming, the other kids start arriving at school. I head to the parking lot, hoping to find Jess. Instead, I spy that girl Emma Lau, the one who gave Jess lip in the cafeteria.
Her mom calls to her in Mandarin as Emma gets out of the car, “Don’t forget you have SAT tutoring after school!”
Emma turns and flips out at her mom. “I told you a million times, don’t speak Chinese to me at school!” she yells.
I jerk back. Whoa.
“No pride,” a voice says from behind me. I turn, and Jay is standing next to me, watching Emma, shaking his head.
“Hey,” I say to him in Chinese. “It’s you.”
He smiles. “It’s you too,” he answers. He locks his Lamborghini, parked in the first row and swings his backpack over his shoulder. The sun glistens in his eyes.
“Thanks for the waters,” I say.
“What?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about, and I blush. I’m so embarrassed to have made a big deal out of it in my head when he doesn’t even remember. He probably buys waters for every girl.
I shake my head. “Never mind,” I say. A few parachutes walk by. The girls take in me and Jay. I wish Jess and the girls were here to see this, but they haven’t arrived yet.
My phone rings. It’s probably Teddy. I silence it with my finger.
One of Jay’s friends calls out to him, and he turns to leave.
“See you around,” he says to me.
I feel the slip of disappointment as Jay walks away, even as my vibrating phone reminds me I already have a boyfriend.
Twenty-Four
Dani
“Who was that in the back yesterday?” Mr. Connelly asks at our private coaching session the next day. He puts his feet up on his desk as I prepare the cue cards for my speech.
“That was just Zach,” I tell him. I clear my voice to start making my speech, but Mr. Connelly isn’t finished.
“Zach Cunningham?” Mr. Connelly asks. He seems amused by this as he shakes his head. “Didn’t figure him to be your type.”
I look down at the cue cards.
“He’s kind of a lightweight, don’t you think?”
I don’t like where he’s going with this, so I clear my voice and start my speech.
“Ladies and gentlemen . . . ,” I begin.
Mr. Connelly cuts in again. “So how long have you guys been dating?” he asks.
I put down my cue cards. “We’re not dating.” Not yet anyway.
“C’mon, I saw his hand on your shoulder. That looked like dating,” he says. Why’s he so interested in this?
Mr. Connelly crosses his arms. “I just want to make sure your head’s in the right place, that’s all,” he says. “That is, if you still care about going to Snider. . . .”
“Of course I care about Snider,” I erupt. I steady my hands on the table.
“Then why are you wasting your time playing footsy with Junior?” he mutters under his breath.
I stare at him. I can’t believe he just said that, almost like he’s jealous. It’s so patronizing. At the same time, all I can think about is the way he’s looking at me, the sag of his shoulders as he shakes his head, like he’d picked the wrong racehorse. I pick up my backpack and slide out of my seat, the emotions unraveling inside me.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I say.
I push open the classroom door and walk out into the hall. The chaos of seven hundred famished kids greets me, all headed to lunch. I scan the sea of heads, looking for Ming.
My phone dings in my bag.
I’m sorry, Mr. Connelly writes.
I don’t respond.
Dani, are you there? I know you read that.
Dot dot dot.
I’m really sorry. I lost my mind back there, he writes. Will you forgive me?
I stare at the words.
Dani, please. Say something, he writes.
I feel a pang in my chest.
I just want to see you succeed. I care about you. I don’t want you to throw your future away for some guy.
I swallow the knot in my throat as I text back, I’m not throwing my future away for any guy.
Three more dots.
Good, he writes.
Twenty-Five
Claire
I stare at Jay in English class, a smile playing at my lips. He sits three rows in front of me, slouching in his seat. Even the way he slouches is sexy. Stop it. I remind myself I’ll be switching out of Mr. Harvey’s class soon. Although maybe staying wouldn’t be so terrible. Stop.
Ms. Jones, our substitute, is teaching us about “the hero’s journey.” It’s this
concept in creative writing, and I can’t help but compare it to my own journey to America. How I rejected the call at first, but then I crossed over into the unfamiliar. And now I’m meeting people and going through all these little trials and tribulations before finally proving myself.
“And eventually, in the hero’s journey, your protagonist will face the ultimate challenge, which will test what he or she is really made of,” Ms. Jones explains, “in order to take back control of their life.”
I repeat the line in my head and smile. I wish we could have Ms. Jones every day.
After class, I unlock my phone. There’s an email from Mrs. Mandalay.
Dear Claire,
I’m pleased to report that your test results are sufficiently high to gain admission into English III. We are pleased to offer you a spot in Mrs. Wallace’s class (period 3, room 412). You may start on Monday.
Stacey Webber
For and on behalf of
Headmistress Joanna Mandalay
I stare at the email, feeling a rush of pride. I show the email to Jess, who throws her arms around me.
“Congratulations!” Jess says. “We have to celebrate!”
Jay glances over at us. My phone dings again. I click on WeChat, hoping it’s maybe my parents, but instead it’s Teddy.
Babe, when are you coming online? I know you’re in class but can’t you sneak out for a bit? Teddy types. I’m getting huuuuuugely boooooorrrreeeedddd waiting for you.
I blink at the words. They look so foreign in the middle of the day.
I just got my English results back. I passed! I text back.
He responds with a simple “yay.” That’s it.
I Skype Teddy later that night. There’s a breeze coming in from the window, and I reach to close it.
“I think we should slow down,” I tell him. “I just feel like all we do is physical stuff, and I want to talk to you about what’s going on at school.” I’m still so annoyed that all he wrote was “yay” earlier.
“What do you mean all we do is ‘physical stuff’? We’re not even physically together!” Teddy protests.