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 don’t know what to say—$2,000 is a lot more than Ming pays Underwear Kevin. On the other hand, we’d be giving up so much more than a room.
My mom frowns. “Look, you know the property taxes are going up, the mortgage payments are killing us . . . ,” she says. My eyes slide over to the stack of tax bills on top of the trash bag. She doesn’t have to remind me. My dad may have left us this house, but he didn’t own it. Not even close.
“What if we didn’t send so much money back to the Philippines to Lola and Lolo . . . ,” I suggest. Every month, my mom sends $500 back to my grandparents in the Philippines. That check’s the first one in the mail before any of the other bills get paid.
“You know I have to send money home!” my mom protests. “We’re Filipino; that’s what we do—we take care of each other!”
So take care of us, I want to say.
“Let’s not fight. It’s going to be okay. We’ll take her in, and we’ll make her feel at home,” my mom says. “I’ll cook her Chinese food. Pick her up from school . . .”
Funny how my mom will remember to pick up this girl, a girl she’s never met, but she doesn’t remember to pick me up, her own daughter, from the agency. I cross my arms. “So you’re basically just going to be her mom. You’re renting yourself out.”
I can hear Mr. Connelly’s voice in my head shouting, “Whoa! Tone it down!”
My mom sticks her hands into her pockets. “What will you have me do?” she asks. “Beg Rosa for more money?”
I can hear Rosa’s shrill laugh in my head, Poverty’s the result of laziness. A smart person grabs opportunity by the throat. That’s what she did when she stole my mom’s idea. The two of them used to work for an old lady, cleaning her house together. One day, my mom got the idea that they go off on their own and start a house-cleaning business. There were more and more wealthy Chinese families moving in, buying up houses, and they needed people to help keep them clean. But before Mom could do it, Rosa went out and bought a van with her husband’s money. Now there are ten vans and twenty-five of us cleaning for Rosa. Ideas are cheap, vans are expensive, according to Rosa.
My mom looks down at the mattress, her face tired.
“My coach is probably going to pick me for Snider,” I tell her, hoping my good news will cheer her up. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been using my good news to try to fill the void my dad left.
Her face blooms. “That’s great!” she gushes, pulling me into her arms.