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
“Your father pulled a lot of strings to get you in this late in the school year,” she continues. “If you transfer now, you can put all this behind you. No one ever has to know about this.”
As my mom talks, I put the couch cushion over my eyes, trying to swallow the lump in my throat as she makes plans to, once again, airbrush my past.
Seventy-Eight
Dani
In debate, there is a moment before you open your mouth, when you’re bathed in the spotlight and the microphone amplifies your breath, and you look out at the audience and you can either choke or you can slay.
I lean forward into the mic, slow and steady.
“Earlier this year, my teacher, my debate coach, Mr. Connelly, who taught me everything I know about debate, who’s here in the audience today”—I look at Mr. Connelly. He flashes me a grin. The crowd starts to cheer, then freezes when they hear my next words—“sexually harassed me.”
There’s a collective wave of gasps.
There’s no turning back now. I speak clearly into the mic, describing what it felt like to have my coach, my hero, proposition me. To find myself—me, a strong, opinionated debater, the kind of girl who takes no shit from anyone onstage—a victim of sexual misconduct offstage. Mr. Connelly flinches as I tell the audience how it all started with him believing in me.
“It used to take my breath away, that someone could believe so much in me,” I say, staring at him. “It made me feel invincible.”
I describe what it was like trying to navigate sexual misconduct as a scholarship student. Is it possible to keep training with him? How would that work, do we establish ground rules? I’ll let you hit on me in exchange for killer feedback? Hold my hand for rebuttals? The crushing fear that the alternative would mean he’ll punish me, take away my scholarship, or worse, ruin my future.
My voice quivers as I describe what it’s like to lose a coach. Not just any coach. The one man who’s ever believed in me. In my weakest moments, I would lie awake at night, fighting the urge to grab my phone and text him, It’s okay, I forgive you, whatever it takes just to hear those four magical words again—“my bright, shining star.”
As I talk, I feel something change in me. I always thought that if I went out there and spoke my truth, I’d be filled with a kind of shame that I can never undo, but instead, I feel lighter. Like the crushing stone that has been weighing me down for months is finally being lifted. And the anger that has consumed me is morphing into something else—hope.