A low, embarrassing sound escapes the base of my throat.

Henry responds by leaning deeper into the kiss, and the world goes hazy. All I can think about is his lips, so devastatingly soft on mine, and his hands, now firm around the back of my neck, tangling deep in the roots of my hair...

There’s a slight chance that he’s better at this than I am.

Just this once, I’ll let him have it.

20

I barely remember the car ride from Airington to my apartment. I’d let Henry’s chauffeur drive us, partly because I wanted to be around Henry as long as time would allow, and partly because I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to take the subway without getting lost. My mind felt numb, hot, like it’d been set aflame. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t even breathe properly.

Worse still, I couldn’t stop glancing at Henry’s lips, even as he walked me to my front door and waved goodbye. This, I suppose, is one of those unexpected side effects of kissing that no one ever warned me about: after you kiss someone once, the possibilities of kissing them again are endless.

But now, sitting back down inside my cluttered living room, the idea of making out with Henry Li is the last thing on my mind.

Both Xiaoyi and Mama went out while I was still at school—Xiaoyi, to get a foot massage, and Mama, to handle something at the hospital—leaving only Baba and me in the flat.

“I just got call from your school,” Baba tells me as he enters the room.

I watch him carefully from the couch, assessing his expression, his tone. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Henry that Baba and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms these days; he only addresses me when necessary, and always with a heavy air of disappointment. But the near-permanent furrow between his brows appears to have smoothed out a little, and he’s approaching me directly. Good signs.

“A call?” I say, feigning surprise.

“Yes.” He moves to sit on the opposite end of the couch, the springs creaking under his weight. “They told me about app... What’s the name... China Ghoul?”

My pulse speeds up.

“Beijing Ghost, you mean?”

He nods slowly, and continues in Mandarin, “Why didn’t you tell me or the teachers earlier you were part of the study group?”

“I guess...” I fumble for the right words, for an answer as close to the truth as possible without giving everything away. “I was scared it’d seem suspicious. I mean, I did make a lot of money off the app—just through tutoring. Over one hundred thousand RMB. I was worried you or the school would make me give it back.”

Baba’s eyes widen a fraction with shock. “One hundred thousand RMB?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s a lot, I know. Hence why I was worried...”

“And you earned that much only by helping your classmates study? Nothing else?”

I have to laugh, though nothing about the question is really funny. Just ironic. “Well, you and Mama spend almost all your income on my school fees,” I point out. “Is it so surprising that other kids would want to invest in their education, too?”