by Kelly Yang
“Leave. I’m warning you. Or I will call security.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I snarl at his arrogance, his self-pity. That’s what really gets me, the self-pity. I can’t believe he thinks he’s the victim. Nice white man creates brown super debater only to have her turn on him and unleash her powers against him. I open my mouth and scream, “SECURITY!”
Two organizers come charging in. They recognize Mr. Connelly and put their hands on his arm. “Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” they say firmly.
As Mr. Connelly walks out of the room, he turns to me and hurls the words, “You ungrateful bitch.”
My mom’s waiting for me at home when I get back to LA. She’s sipping salabat, which is this Filipino ginger tea she only ever makes if she’s about to have a serious conversation with me. I guess we’re finally having our talk.
“Come,” she says, patting the spot next to her and handing me a mug of salabat. I put my bags down and take a seat. I blow on the tea, closing my eyes, breathing in the warm ginger.
“So you watched the speech?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Yes, I watched it.” She puts her mug down and turns to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her voice cracks on the question. She wipes a tear from her eyes.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
“When did it start?” she asks.
I tell her it started when he was coaching me privately and then when we went up to Seattle, that’s when he put his hand on my leg. I tell her I tried to go to Mrs. Mandalay, but she got all mad at me for posting it on xomegan.com, and that’s when she took away my headmistress commendation.
My mom shakes her head. “I don’t care about the headmistress commendation. This whole time . . . you’ve been lying to me?” she asks. She reaches for her mug, doesn’t drink, just holds the cup to steady her trembling hands. She asks me questions. Did he ever send you pictures of himself? Does he have any pictures of you?
As I’m answering the questions, I start tearing up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying,” I say. I try to wipe the tears from my eyes, but my mom reaches and pulls my hand down so I can’t rub.
“It’s okay to let it out,” my mom says. “You don’t always have to be so strong.”
“But I do!” I say. “I need to be strong for the two of us.”
Tears rolls down my mom’s sunken cheek. I grit my teeth. My biggest fear, far greater than losing a competition, is hurting her.
“You are the strongest girl I know,” she says. I shake my head. My mom puts down her mug and holds my hand in hers. “Being strong doesn’t mean never hurting.”
I stare down at her hand on top of mine, brown and wrinkled from washing too many dishes in too many strangers’ homes. “I’m hurting, Mom,” I whisper. It’s the first time since I was a little girl I’ve ever admitted to my mom that I am feeling anything other than 100 percent. And it’s terrifying. I gaze cautiously up at my mom, worried she might break.
But my mom does not break. Instead, she takes me into her arms. “I know, my anak,” she says, taking my glasses off and stroking my hair. “But you will get through this. You wanna know why? Because you are so brave and you are so smart and you are”—she pauses for a second, searching for the word—“what is is that you kids call it these days, bad butt?”
I laugh through my tears. “Badass,” I tell her.
“You are badass.” She smiles.
As I hug my mom, my phone dings. I look down at the email from the headmistress’s office.
To: Danielle De La Cruz
From: Office of the Headmistress
Subject: URGENT
Dear Ms. De La Cruz,
You are hereby notified that your academic scholarship has been suspended with IMMEDIATE EFFECT. Please see Headmistress Mandalay at her office upon your return to discuss your suspension and the conditions you must meet in order to return to school.
Stacey Webber
For and on behalf of
Headmistress Joanna Mandalay
Eighty-One
Claire
Jess pulls up to the In-N-Out drive-through window and orders for us. We get burgers and fries to go and eat them in the car while the girls try to cheer me up about the hearing.
“You were so brave,” Nancy says.
“And inspiring,” Florence adds. “You made me think about some things I need to do and say in my own life.”
“So now that it’s over, what are you going to do?” Jess asks. “Are you going to move to another school?”
I look down and don’t say anything. Is it really over though? I know I’d gone to the ad board and failed. But watching Dani’s speech these last few days, it’s made me rethink what I want. Is it simply not having to see Jay again at school or is it more than that?
Jess drives by the local police station and I point to it.
“Can we turn in here for a sec?” I ask Jess.
Jess gives me a wild look but turns like I ask. She parks next to a police SUV and switches off the car. We sit in the hot afternoon sun staring at the entrance to the police station. I don’t make a move to get out.
“It’s okay if you want to go in,” Florence says gently, putting down her burger. “We’ll support you.”
“Is that what you want?” Jess asks.
I shake my head. I know there’s nothing in there that’s going to magically undo what happened or make it all better. And yet, I just want to sit for a minute and visualize going in. To know that I have the power to walk in there and take back control. Even if it’s not today. Even if it’s not tomorrow.
After all the shakes and fries and burgers have been demolished, I turn to Jess and tell her to drop me off at home.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I nod as she restarts the car.
Zach comes over later. I’m texting with Dani—she’s coming by tomorrow so we can finally talk. I hear a knock on my door. I get up and open the front door to find my mom standing there with two suitcases.
“Mom! What are you doing here?”
My mom glances at me and Zach, who grabs one of her suitcases.
“Hi, Mrs. Wang! Here, let me help you with that,” Zach says.
My mom holds her suitcase out of the way and won’t let go. I take her suitcase and gently mutter to Zach, “Maybe you better go.”
Zach nods and waves goodbye as he runs down the stairs to his Honda Civic. My mom studies him, taking off her sunglasses as she peers at his ride, remarking to me in Mandarin, “Didn’t think you’d get a new boyfriend . . . so soon.”
I shake my head at her. “If you’re here to lecture me—”
“No, I’m not here to lecture you,” she says, kicking off her shoes. She takes a seat on the couch, reaches into her purse, sprays Evian mineral water mist over her face, and rubs her eyes. With a deep breath, she tells me, “I’m thinking about leaving Dad.”
“What?” I drop the suitcase, absorbing the full impact of the news.
“It’s been a long time coming,” she says.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
My mom crosses her legs and sighs. “Well, if you must know, I found texts on his phone. I think he’s having another affair.”
“But why now?” I ask. After all these years, when she’s consistently turned a blind eye, what’s changed?
My mom exhales. “I guess hearing you insist on going to the ad board thing, I realized, maybe I don’t need to be so afraid. I don’t just have to take it, I have other options.”
I study her, like it’s a freeze frame in a movie. I want to believe her words, but they sound so foreign coming out of her mouth.
“But you were so against me going to the ad board,” I say.
“I know because I knew it would be painful, and I didn’t want you to be hurt,” she says, looking down at her hands. “But then when you actually did it, and I know you d
idn’t win but still . . .” She shakes her head, blinking back the tears. She gives herself a minute to collect herself. “I asked myself if my daughter, a seventeen-year-old, is not afraid to do something so scary, what am I, a thirty-seven-year-old, so afraid of?”
I put a hand to my mouth. “Oh, Mom,” I say.
“Your nai nai thinks I’m crazy,” she adds.
“Well, I think she’s crazy,” I tell my mom.
My mom bursts out laughing.
She reaches out a hand and pulls me close to her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier,” she apologizes as she hugs me. “But I’m here for you now. Whatever you want to do.”
As she says the words, it sets off a flood of tears I’ve been desperately holding in. My mom holds me in her arms as I cry, and I feel my heart fill with the kind of love I thought I’d never be able to get.
Eighty-Two
Dani
The door to Mrs. Mandalay’s office swings open. I look up, and Mrs. Mandalay’s secretary informs me I can go in. She shakes her head as I walk inside, like I’ve just been busted for selling pot instead of winning a national debating tournament.
Mrs. Mandalay is standing at her desk, holding a copy of the Los Angeles Times, which she slams down on her table. The headline reads, “Local Girl Wins Snider Cup, Accuses Teacher of Sexual Misconduct.”
“You have some nerve,” Mrs. Mandalay says, taking off her reading glasses and flinging them on her desk.
“Every word I said was true,” I tell her.
Mrs. Mandalay points for me to sit down and pulls up her calendar. “Clear your schedule on Tuesday,” she says. “You’re going on air and taking it all back.”
“I’m not gonna do that!”
Mrs. Mandalay points at me with her newspaper-ink fingertip. “Dani, this is serious. I just got off the phone with the police. They want to interview you,” she says. “This is no longer just fun and games.”
I stare at her. When was it ever fun and games?
“You need to walk back what you said.”
I feel the room start to spin.
Mrs. Mandalay offers to lift my suspension if I go on air. “Just tell everyone the truth. That you wanted to win the tournament so bad, you got a little carried away . . .”
I shake my head. “But I didn’t get carried away!”
Mrs. Mandalay puts a hand to her face. “I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. This isn’t just about you. Think of all the kids who need this school. Why do you think I’m always fund-raising? So I can find and help the next Dani.”
“So help me,” I say.
Mrs. Mandalay shakes her head. “Not like this.”
I feel the burning in my chest as I stare at her oak bookshelf. So many great books on education and justice, apparently none of them mean a thing. “No, but you will help Jay.” My eyes cut into Mrs. Mandalay’s. “I know his dad owns Phoenix Capital. He’s the one who took my email off the site.”
Mrs. Mandalay doesn’t answer. Tiny beads of sweat form on her forehead. She keeps her gaze steady on her hands, folded tightly on her desk.
“What’d he donate to get his son off the hook? A new wing to the library? Another football field?” Claire and I have been texting. I lean in and go for the kill. “This school has a culture of allowing sexual misconduct.”
“A culture?” Mrs. Mandalay erupts. She jumps up from her desk, looking like she’s about ready to hurl a paper weight at me. “You think it’s any different at Yale? Or any of the Ivy League schools?”
I freeze at the mention of Yale.
“Life’s ugly sometimes,” she yells. “You wanna build something great? You have to be willing to sacrifice!”
She jabs her finger into her fancy wooden desk, and I stare at her conviction. That’s what astounds me—she actually thinks she’s doing the right thing. As I get up to leave, I say, “Yeah. You sacrificed us.”
Later, I’m standing in front of Claire’s apartment. She answers the door in rubber dishwashing gloves. I stare down at the gloves—now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see.
“My mom’s here, she’s sleeping,” Claire says in a lowered voice, pointing toward the bedrooms. I follow her inside. Claire goes to the sink and takes off her dishwashing gloves, throwing chunks of a cut-up lemon down her sink.
“You’re running a lemon down your garbage disposal?” I ask, impressed.
She smiles at me. “I might have learned a thing or two from watching you.”
She joins me on the couch and puts her arms out. “Oh, Dani,” she says, hugging me. “I’m so sorry about what you went through. I wish I had known—”
“Me too,” I say to her, hugging her back. There’s so much I want to say to her, starting with I’m sorry too. “I wish I could take back all the mean things I said right before you moved out. You were going through hell, and I was too hung up on Zach to even see it. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
“Actually, you can,” Claire says. “You’re the only one.” She tells me she finally went back and read my email.
“Now you know why the ad board was rigged.”
“And what about you? What did Mrs. Mandalay say?”
I shake my head. “Nothing meaningful,” I tell her. “But I do have an appointment at the police station tomorrow.”
She sits up. “The police station, really?”
I nod. “They saw my speech and they want to know what happened.”
“Are you scared?” she asks.
I want to say, Psh, I’m a debater. I live for moments of justice like this. But that would be ignoring and hiding the other half of who I am, a girl without a parachute. A student of color. A daughter of a single mom. Someone who needs her scholarship. And has no safety net whatsoever.
“A little,” I admit.
“It’s going to be okay,” Claire reassures me. “You’re going to do great, just like you did at Snider.”
I reach out a hand. “Why don’t you come with me?” I ask. “We can do it together.”
Claire looks away. I recognize the hesitation on her face, even though she’s different from me. She has a parachute. But what I’ve realized this year is even if you’re born with one, things can happen that can cut holes in yours.
“You think I should try? Is there enough evidence?” she asks.
I want to tell her of course she should try. This is America. Here, we believe in liberty and justice for all. At the same time, I want to be real with her. If she goes to trial, Jay will lawyer up and probably outspend her ten to one. And yet. I think back to the feeling in my veins at Snider when I got up there and spoke my truth, knowing my voice was my armor—it didn’t even matter what they decided.
“I think we should both try,” I say to Claire. “Even if we don’t win.”
Claire gives me a half smile. Slowly, she puts her hand over mine. As we lock hands, her phone rings. I look over and see Zach’s face flashing on her screen. Claire’s reluctant to take it.
“You can take it,” I tell her.
Claire shakes her head and silences the call. “No. I just want to talk to you right now. You’re important to me.” She looks in my eyes. “Always have been,” she adds shyly. As we lean over and give each other another hug, Claire apologizes once more. “I’m sorry for hurting you. If I had known Zach meant so much to you, I would have never started something with him without talking to you first.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m happy for you guys.”
My mom says that apologies are like coconuts, best served ripe. But dried and hardened, they can be pretty sweet too.
Walking home from Claire’s house, Ming forwards me a video. It’s of Ming playing her solo at her concert and over the beautiful music is Florence’s voice talking about how much Ming means to her.
“She sent this video to her parents last night,” Ming says on the phone. “After Claire’s trial, Florence told me the real reason she didn’t want to introduce me to her parents th
at night. It wasn’t because she’s ashamed of me. It’s because she was afraid I’d look at her differently if I found out her parents aren’t married.” Her voice cracks. “Oh Dani . . . isn’t this video the sweetest?”
I smile and blink back a happy tear. “It really is,” I say. I swipe to look at the video again. Wow. The things we don’t know about each other. And the real reasons we do what we do.
My phone dings with an awaiting message. I think it’s Claire, texting about when we’re going to the police tomorrow.
“Hey, Ming, can I call you right back? I’m so happy for you!”
I hang up with Ming and look at the message, but it’s not from Claire. Instead, it’s a Messenger request from someone named Bree. I open it to read.
Hi Dani, I saw your speech and really need to talk to you. Mr. Connelly was my debate coach from 2014–2016.
I don’t reply. It’s probably one of his old students, looking to scream at me for tarnishing the image of their beloved coach. I don’t need that right now. I need to be in the right state of mind if I’m going to go to the police tomorrow.
That night, as I’m lying in bed, my mom comes into my room.
“Do you want me to go with you to the police tomorrow?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, Mom, it’s okay.” I know how the police make her anxious, being a first-generation immigrant and all. Frankly, having her there will make it harder for me to say what I have to say, because I’ll be worried about her listening to my testimony and getting emotional instead of focusing on the facts.
“Are you sure? I can get the time off from Rosa,” she says. “I know I haven’t been coming to your things at school, and I’m sorry. I’ll make more time from now on.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mom, but I got this one,” I tell her. “I would love for you to come to my next tournament though.”
At the thought of my next tournament, my face falls. Will there be a next tournament for me?
My mom pats my back and says good night. As I’m reaching to turn off the light, my phone dings. It’s that girl Bree again.
Please. I really need to talk to you. Can we connect?
I sit up and stare at the “please” with a period. I tap Accept. The next thing I know, my phone rings and Bree’s voice comes on the line.