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
His voice is raw and vulnerable. I had no idea he was hurting this bad.
“I won’t!” I promise.
“And it’ll be so unfair because they won’t even appreciate how pretty you are,” he continues. “All Chinese girls look the same to them! They’d be just as happy with ugly Yan!”
Yan’s a girl in our school who has tiny eyes and single eyelids. I have double eyelids and long lashes, the source of envy from my classmates. What my classmates don’t know is I used to have single eyelids too, until my mother took me to Korea, at my grandmother’s suggestion, to have my eyes done when I was ten. I bet Yan could look cute too if she went to Korea.
“Nothing’s going to change,” I assure him. “We’ll Skype every day. Six a.m. California time, nine p.m. China time.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me. He parts his lips, and I think he’s going to tell me to try harder to stand up to my parents, but instead he kisses me hard on the mouth. His lips are hungry, his hands traveling fast down my cheek to my neck.
“Whoa,” I say, pushing away from him. I try to catch my breath. The umbrella mothers give Teddy a dirty look.
“C’mon, I want you to remember me,” he says.
I shake my head at Teddy. “No,” I say. Not like this. “And what do you mean remember you? I’m still going to be with you!”
“You say that, but you won’t,” he says. “You’ll meet some other guy and you’ll . . .”
I take a step toward him. Our hands touch.
“I won’t,” I say.
A man selling roses on a tricycle squeezes by us. Teddy looks down at the umbrellas and mutters, “Maybe we should just break up.”
“What?”
“Well, you’re going away and I’ve got the gaokao coming up,” he says.
I can’t believe it. And to use the gaokao of all things to break up with me.
“Fine. You want to break up? Let’s break up.” I let go of his hand and start running.
Teddy calls out for me. “Claire, wait—”
But it’s too late. I race across the street and hail a taxi, the tears pooling in my eyes.
Two days later, there’s a big black box waiting for me on the dining room table. I’m hoping it’s from Teddy, apologizing. We haven’t spoken since the day at the park, though I’ve spent hours glued to his WeChat, going through old pictures of us.
“It arrived this afternoon,” Tressy says, setting down a plate of fried chicken.