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
“I can’t wait to read yours, Claire,” Ms. Jones says.
I smile. “I worked really hard on it.”
“Good,” she says. “You can only get out of life what you put into it.”
After school, Jay’s mom comes to pick up Jay in a white Escalade.
“Mom, this is Claire Wang,” Jay introduces me to his mom.
His mom holds out a hand. She’s in head-to-toe Chanel—she’s what my mom would call a Chanel whore. I note the rock on her hand, at least five carats, too big for my taste, but my mother would be impressed.
“So wonderful to meet you, Claire,” Mrs. Li says. “We’re going into the city tonight. Won’t you join us? Do you like sushi?”
“Sure,” I say, glancing over at Jay, who flashes me a smile. I’m still not sure what this is. A date?
“Great,” Mrs. Li says. “It’s settled, then.”
At half past five, Jay and his mom come to pick me up. As I climb into the back of the Escalade, Mrs. Li gives the driver directions to Matsuhisa in Beverly Hills.
“You’ve been to Nobu, right?” Mrs. Li asks me.
“Nobu, yes, of course,” I say. My mom has taken me to the one in Hong Kong on our many shopping trips to the city.
“Well this is actually his original restaurant,” she says. “In my opinion, it’s better than Nobu. Nobu’s gotten so touristy.”
I nod in agreement, and Jay smiles at me, amused. He’s wearing a button-down blue shirt and slacks, and he looks so damn fine.
Mrs. Li takes a compact out of her purse and powders her nose. “Actually, there used to be a really great little sushi place at the Santa Monica airport. What was it called?” she turns to Jay and asks.
Jay shrugs.
“Anyway, it was closed a few years ago. The owner got sentenced for serving whale meat. Can you believe it?” She shakes her head and sighs. “Such a pity, because you could just land your plane and eat, you know? It was right there. Tell me, does your family fly private or commercial?”
It takes me a while to realize she’s asking me a question. I put a hand to my chest. “Me?”
She nods.
“We fly commercial,” I tell her. “Always Cathay or Singapore Airlines.”
She seems a little disappointed by my answer.
“But only business or first,” I quickly add.
She sits with the answer, pursing her lips in such a way that I almost wonder whether the whole monologue about the sushi place was just a long-winded way to ask if we also had a private plane. Is that what this dinner’s about? Her trying to figure out where exactly on the social ladder we are? If that’s the game . . . I sit up straight. My mom invented this game.