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
Ming shakes her head as she lugs the cleaning supplies out of the car. “Not my people. We crazy poor Asians,” she says, pointing a thumb to her chest.
I get out of the car and smooth out my maid’s outfit. Together we walk over to the house. Eduardo waits until we’ve found the key under the mat before backing out the car.
“Call me when you’re nearly done,” he hollers as we open the front door.
Once we’re inside, Ming and I drop our cleaning supplies on the floor. I take off my surgical mask. We look up at the forty-foot ceilings in the living room.
“Holy shit, it’s like a museum,” I say.
A single crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, made even more dramatic by the gigantic mirrors along the walls and the white marble floors.
“Or a concert hall,” Ming adds.
She lifts her hands up and pretends to play the violin, humming the melody. I smile and go into the kitchen to get us some sodas. There are a couple of dirty dishes piled in a corner and some pizza boxes on the floor. That’s it. This will be a cinch to clean.
Light floods in through the French doors. I stand for a while, taking a moment to look out at the pool as I sip my soda, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this.
Ming’s testing the cleaning sprays against the mirrored coffee table when I get back to the living room. I notice she’s wearing a new thin leather hair band. I wonder if she made it herself. It looks good on her. I hand her a soda and kneel down beside her. I’m about to tell her what happened at training when she turns and drops her own news.
“So yesterday my host dad was walking around the kitchen in his underwear, again. And he reaches in there and he readjusts.” Ming puts down her soda and gets up and demonstrates, reaching for her crotch.
“Ew,” I say.
“And then he takes the same hand and hands me my plate.”
The look on Ming’s face is so priceless, I start laughing, even though it’s not funny. Ming’s host dad is a middle-aged out-of-work truck driver named Kevin Malone who has a drinking problem, two little kids he can barely support, and no business watching over teenage girls. But he somehow discovered that hosting foreign students was an easy way to make money, and, as luck would have it, Ming got assigned to him, mostly because he was cheap. The school only gives her $600 a month for her housing stipend.
“Can you get another host family?” I ask her. “Or tell him to put some clothes on?”