Chapters (93)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kelly Yang
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“That’s my uncle,” Ming tells us, taking the picture and wrapping it carefully in Bubble Wrap. “He’s the one who taught me how to play the violin.”
“Is he coming to the spring concert?” I ask.
Ming’s face falls. “No.”
“How about your parents?” I ask. There must be a way to fly them out from China—it’s Ming’s big solo! Again Ming shakes her head.
With a sigh, Ming puts the rest of her stuff in a box and carries it out to the living room, leaving me and Florence alone. Florence turns to me.
“Hey, so . . . don’t tell Claire about me and Ming. They don’t know that I’m um . . .” Florence blushes.
“Of course not.”
“Not that I think they’ll have a problem with it,” she clarifies. “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t think they will,” I say. I can’t speak to that girl Jess, but I do live with Claire, and she’s pretty vocal at dinner about diversity and acceptance, especially after that horrible email Mrs. Wallace sent. “And if they do, you’ll know they’re not your real friends.”
“Yeah . . . ,” Florence says, looking away.
Ming comes in to get the last box in the room.
“You guys ready?” she asks.
“Ready.” Florence smiles.
Later that weekend, Zach does his physics homework at my house while I research case studies for Snider. Mr. Connelly hasn’t said a word about Snider still, even though the deadline is looming.
I go to the fridge. My mom’s out late cleaning again. She left us with some food to heat up. It’s just going to be me. Claire’s probably going out with her friends to celebrate. I look over at Zach. I think about telling him about Mr. Connelly, but I don’t want to be reminded of it. I don’t want to utter the words, as if by uttering them out loud I make what happened in Seattle more real. For the same reason I haven’t told my mom either. I just want to be able to pretend it didn’t happen.
Instead, I bring over the leftover palitaw my mom made to the living room. Zach looks at the sesame-and-coconut-covered sponges and pops one in his mouth. He closes his eyes as he chews. The afternoon light shines on his nose, revealing a faint dusting of freckles. I can’t believe he’s sitting in our living room.
He puts his physics textbook down and points to our TV. “You guys have Netflix?” he asks.
I nod. One of our few luxuries.
Zach reaches for the remote. “Mind if I watch?” he asks, turning the TV on. “I just need a break.” Titanic is playing. Zach points to Jack and Rose on the screen and grins. “I love this movie.”